“Jonny’s mother. Oh, no, Matt!”
“She left Jonny when she was a baby.”
“But she—she did phone to me for help.”
“She could have phoned to you after stabbing Conrad, or even before, for that matter, with the intention of trying to establish her own innocence, or to tell some story about someone else killing Conrad, and that she tried to help him and phoned to you. Oh, there could be a dozen twisted reasons for it. Murder is a twisted, stupid affair; a murderer is innately stupid, twisted, unaccountable by reasonable and normal standards. Then after she phoned perhaps she changed her mind. Oh, I realize that all this is only supposition. But there’s a kind of logic about it!”
He sat down, with a kind of dissatisfied plunge, in the chair near her. “The fact is, of course, there’s no way of knowing exactly why she phoned to you. But we do know that she was in the rooming house with Conrad. We do know she was escaping when you reached the steps. So she could not have expected you to get there so soon, and she was trying to get away before you came.”
“But she said, ‘Go away.’ ”
“And she said, ‘I shouldn’t have done it.’ Perhaps she meant exactly that! Perhaps she regretted it.” Matt stared at the rug, lost in surmise, and Laura thought of the moment on the steps in Koska Street and, perhaps, a murderer almost literally red-handed, within moments of murder—in the dusk, above a street deserted except for the taxi driver. She thought of Maria Brown’s drawn, pallid face in the dim light and the way her dark eyes fixed themselves upon Jonny.
Matt said slowly, as if presenting a case to himself as judge, “She may seem unemotional and hard now. Certainly she would have to be hard. But she couldn’t have simply killed a man and gone coolly away. She must have vacillated a little, changed her mind, got in a flurry, although”—he shook his head—“she doesn’t sound like that kind of woman either. Yet all this is only supposition. Nothing much to go on except she is trying to find Jonny. So there’s some reason for that.”
“Suppose he was murdered for—oh, revenge, something like that.”
“You mean a blood feud, extending to Jonny. How did Peabody come out with the interpreter and Jonny?”
“He didn’t come out at all.” Laura told him wearily. “He was here this morning. You knew that.”
Matt nodded. “Peabody told me he intended to question her. I take it Jonny wouldn’t talk?”
“No. The man spoke Polish. He was really very gentle. But Jonny wouldn’t say a word. They had to give up. But I don’t think Lieutenant Peabody feels they can give much weight to a child’s testimony anyway.”
“It’s important all the same. See here, Laura—let’s try it ourselves. Where’s the Polish dictionary?”
They questioned Jonny, the kitten listening with alert black ears, Matt with a Polish dictionary beside him doggedly looking up words, and Jonny on his knees chuckling at his labored pronunciation—and giving them no information whatever. When Matt contrived a labored sentence “Ty widzisz ojciec wczoraj”— “you see father yesterday,” she laughed. “Nie, nie!” She sought for English words. “You—say—funny—”
“It wasn’t yesterday,” Laura said, “it was the day before.” Matt gave her a disgruntled look. “How am I going to say day before yesterday? Yesterday is good enough so long as I get the word father across.”
He studied the bristling consonants and tried again. This time there was undoubtedly a flash of comprehension in Jonny’s blue eyes, which then went perfectly blank. “Nie,” she said. “Nie.” And suddenly put her arms around Matt’s neck and hugged him and hid her face against his shoulder.
Matt gave Laura the same hopeless look the interpreter had given Peabody over the child’s brown head. “She understands all right.”
“Why doesn’t she answer you?”
“Perhaps she was taught not to,” he said slowly. “Conrad must have been out of sympathy with the party in control in Poland for some time. Perhaps there were times when he had to make sure that if anybody questioned her about him, any question at all, she would shut up like a little clam. Refuse to say anything. How can we know, how can we guess the kind of life a man in Conrad Stanislowski’s position had to live? Certainly he told you, and I believe it, that he had been making plans to get Jonny out of the country and then escape himself. He must have felt that there was danger every time somebody knocked at the door. Danger with every breath he drew. Yes, Jonny would have been a danger to him unless he taught her not to reply to any question at all, no matter what it was. Even a child can hear and see things. Even a child can be ruthlessly questioned. Well—that’s that.”
He gave Jonny a hug and put her down. “All right, no more talk.”
Jonny waited a moment, looking up at him earnestly. Then she put her hand in an odd, almost apologetic gesture upon his face, leaned forward confidingly and kissed his cheek. It was an infinitely touching little gesture. “Dobre,” she said gently. “Good.” She gathered up Suki then and ran out of the room.
Matt said, “That settles it. She knows exactly what I was trying to ask her. And she’s not going to say a word, not anything at all concerning her father. I think even the Polish language frightens her a little. It puts her on guard. Conrad trained her not to speak, not to answer questions. There’s no other explanation for it. He must have been terrified after he made up his mind to escape. Terrified for himself and terrified for Jonny. Yes, he’d fix it so nobody could get anything out of Jonny.”
“Matt, if Conrad was her father, all that fund goes directly to Jonny. Doesn’t it?”
“There’s a lot of things to check up on. We’ll have to prove he was her father. It’ll all take time.”
“But whether he arrived here in America, or didn’t arrive, we had planned for the fund to go to Jonny.”
“That was our idea, yes.” His eyes were sharp and intent. “Has anybody objected to that?”
Laura said slowly, “I don’t think Doris wants her to have it.”
NINETEEN
“OH.” MATT’S FACE CLOSED in upon itself.
Laura said, “But if this man was her father, Jonny would inherit all the fund automatically from him, wouldn’t she? I mean—unless Maria Brown is her mother—”
“That would complicate things, certainly. But aside from that, if the man was Conrad Stanislowski and if he died intestate, yes, Jonny would inherit directly. The way things are, of course there’ll be some red tape to unwind.”
Laura hesitated, aware of his closed-in, uncommunicative face, aware, too, that she was treading on delicate ground. She said carefully, “Has Doris told you how she feels about the money?”
Matt replied promptly. “Not in so many words, no. I can’t say she was overjoyed about finding Jonny and bringing her here. But Doris has got plenty of money, or at least she did have.” He caught himself up shortly.
Laura said, “She did have! What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Really, nothing, Laura. At least nothing of importance. Don’t forget,” he said, with a flicker of laughter in his eyes, “she’s my client. But I assure you she doesn’t need the Stanislowski fund. If you and Charlie, as trustees, agree that the fund should be continued for Jonny and take it to court, I’m with you. And I don’t think Doris will object or contest it with her own claim. Not if she follows my advice. Besides, she really feels that the fund ought to go to Jonny. She’s a good egg, you know, Laura.”
And you’re in love with her, Laura thought. She said stubbornly, “I think we should have something settled about that.”
“It will have to be settled in January. Now then, I’m going to tell Charlie about this Maria Brown’s visit to you and about that affair last night.” He went to the telephone.
Charlie was not in his room at the club; he was not in the bar, he was not in the dining room. Matt tried Doris’ number.
“Doris? No, I’m at Laura’s. Well, I really want to talk to Charlie, is he there? Something rather odd has happened.” He covere
d the mouthpiece with his hand and spoke to Laura. “He’s there. Shall I tell them to come here? Right.” He said to Doris, “Come over here, Doris, you and Charlie. I’d rather not tell you over the telephone. All right.”
He hung up as the little French clock struck seven. Laura started to the kitchen. “I didn’t realize how late it is. I’ll get out something for them to drink.”
Matt went with her and Jonny followed, Suki in her arms, and instantly the bright little kitchen took on a warm and domestic air. Matt got out whiskey and soda, glasses and ice; he found cheese and crackers and put them on a tray and then poured himself a drink and sipped it leaning against the table, while Laura prepared Jonny’s supper. He made conversation with Jonny; when the back door bell rang he went to open it, instantly alert and guarded; it was the Christmas tree Laura had ordered.
Matt superintended its journey through the kitchen, and made sure that the kitchen door was bolted before he followed the spreading mass of rustling green, shedding pine needles as it went, into the living room. Matt chose the space for it before the window; Matt coped with the intricacies of the three-legged holder which Laura unearthed from the shelf in the coat closet. Matt tipped the men who brought it, and saw them out the kitchen door again and the door bolted again. And then he got out the boxes of Christmas ornaments. Jonny with difficulty was persuaded to leave the heaps of tinsel, red and green and blue and silver, sparkling and gay, in order to eat her supper. Once convinced however, she settled down in a polite but businesslike way while Matt talked of Christmas, and then when she’d finished all three of them went to trim the tree. Matt paused at the wood-box and built and lighted a fire in the small fireplace, and stood for a moment watching the flames catch; the golden light touched his tall figure to sharp relief. “Looked nice yesterday,” he said to Laura. “Now then—what goes on top of the tree? I’ll get the kitchen stepladder.”
He was on the ladder, perched precariously to reach the topmost branch with a star whose silver glitter had been rather worn down during the years since it had first been fastened to the top of Laura’s Christmas tree by Peter March, nearly twenty years before, when Charlie and Doris arrived.
“Cocktails came in just after you phoned, Matt,” Doris said. “We thought we’d have a drink before we came—” She stopped and stared at him, balanced on one long leg and stretching for the top of the tree. “What on earth are you doing!”
Jonny, her hands clasped around a Santa Claus of red and gold, was holding her breath, her whole sturdy little figure tense, watching Matt. Charlie said, “It’s a nice tree, Laura. Just the right size. Shall I take your coat, Doris?”
She slid out of the beige-toned coat; a scent of carnations drifted across to Laura. Doris wore no hat and her hair fit her head as neatly and elegantly as a little golden cap. She had changed to a dinner dress, black and filmy, with a lace top and a short skirt; her little feet were clad in sandals which were barely thin straps over the thinnest of stockings. She wore pearls at her throat and diamond and emerald bracelets. She shivered a little and went to the fire and adjusted the lock on one bracelet. Charlie said, “It’s getting colder. Looks like it may be a white Christmas.” He laid the beige mink coat carefully across a chair as if he had a minute sense of its value.
Doris said impatiently, “It’s two weeks till Christmas! Why trim a Christmas tree now! Besides—anything can happen before then. If Peabody decides to make an arrest—”
“There it is!” Matt said loudly and cheerfully as he secured the star, and Jonny clapped her hands and dropped the Santa Claus. Doris tapped her small foot and did not finish her sentence. Jonny fell down on her knees with a little wail but the Santa Claus hadn’t broken. “Here,” Matt said, “give him to me. I’ll put him right below the star.”
Charlie strolled over to watch the process. “A little more to the right. It’s hidden by a branch. What happened, Matt? Why did you call us?”
“I’ll tell you—” Matt secured the Santa Claus and came down from the ladder “Maria Brown was here.”
Laura listened. Jonny busied herself with the silver tinsel balls and ovals and gaily colored bulbs, dispersing them earnestly, her little face rigid with concentration, among the lower branches. Suki, his eyes shining red with excitement, crouched at the base of the tree and made sudden forays upon the boxes of Christmas ornaments. Matt poured drinks for all then, coolly, as he talked. Jonny was utterly absorbed in her task; even if she had understood their words, Laura thought, she wouldn’t have heard anything they said. It was only when Matt went on to tell them of Suki that her head jerked around, and her blue eyes, startled, fastened upon Matt inquiringly. He observed it; he nodded at her reassuringly. He didn’t mention Suki by name again.
Both Doris and Charlie were skeptical about Matt’s explanation for Suki’s sickness.
“Cats are always picking up something!” Doris said, eyeing the kitten distastefully. And Charlie said doubtfully, “It couldn’t have been anything very serious.” He, too, eyed the kitten, who at that instant lashed his tail, sprang open a tinsel bauble and sent it whirling across the room, Jonny and the kitten after it in hot pursuit. “But this Brown woman—that’s very serious. I don’t like it. I think I’ll have another drink.” He leaned over the tray on the long table before the sofa, his discreet face grave.
Doris swung one small foot. “But she didn’t threaten Laura! She only asked her about Jonny! She didn’t take out a gun or anything like that! I’ll take another drink, Charlie.” She held out her glass to Charlie; the glass decanter reflected a rosy gleam from the fire; Doris’ bracelets shot dazzling little lights. “Of course if this woman, Maria Brown, was a witness— I wonder what she knows!”
Charlie handed Doris her glass. “Probably nothing. Except that it was murder. My own opinion is that she had some reason of her own for avoiding the police. She knew they would question her and she’s afraid of them.”
“She asked about Jonny,” Matt reminded him.
Charlie lifted his eyebrows. “She’d read the papers. She had a glimpse of Jonny. My guess is that she scents blackmail. She doesn’t know exactly what or how but she hopes there may be some chance of getting some money for herself.”
“Maybe,” Matt said. “On the other hand, it struck me that she might be Jonny’s mother.”
Charlie stared at him, his glass at his lips. Doris cried, “Her mother! But she’s dead! She’s—” Doris caught her breath, lowered her silky eyelashes, and under their cover very swiftly explored the theory, for she said with scarcely a second’s pause,
“Besides if she was his wife that affects— Exactly how would that affect the Stanislowski fund?”
Laura replied, “If she’s his wife, Matt says that presumably she would have a third of the fund. That is, if she comes forward and proves her identity—”
Matt interrupted. “And if she did not murder Conrad,” he said dryly, looking down into his glass.
Doris’ pretty pink lips set themselves firmly. She turned to Charlie. “Charlie, I think this is too far-fetched. Don’t you agree?”
“Well,” Charlie said deliberately, “I suppose it is a possibility. But I rather think my own explanation is the more likely one. If she were the mother she’d have come to us, tried to claim the child and the money before now. No, I think she’ll prove to be an accidental witness, with a police record probably. I think she’ll see to it that the police don’t find her. And as to this business about the kitten, really, Laura, I wouldn’t take that too seriously. Isn’t there some other way the kitten could have got this— sedative, or whatever it was?”
“No,” Laura said flatly. “I have nothing of the kind in the house.”
“But it seems so—well, purposeless. And certainly it would have been a very dangerous thing for anybody to enter your apartment like that. Suppose you had seen him. I can’t help thinking that was an accident.”
Doris’ cheek had flushed to a delicate pink. She looked at Laura steadily. “The poin
t is, why should anybody try to murder you?”
Matt, leaning on the mantel, looked thoughtfully down into the fire and said nothing. Charlie coughed in a rather apologetic way. “Doris is right,” he said. “You say, Laura, that you’ve told the police everything you know. Why should there be an attempt to murder you? It’s true that you are standing in the position of guardian to Jonny, but if Jonny is the motive for this murder and you were—removed, it wouldn’t make it easier for anybody to— well, to get hold of Jonny, for instance. We would only tighten our guard about Jonny. It would only result in even more care for Jonny’s safety. No,” he said deliberately, “I don’t think that’s the answer.”
Jonny had turned at the repeated mention of her name. Matt saw it and strolled across the room to select a gay ornament and suggest its position on the tree, and Doris got up with a swish of silk skirts. “Well, for my part I think Laura’s imagination is running away with her. The kitten picked up something, cats are always picking things up in odd corners. Nobody is trying to murder Laura. And as to this Maria Brown—I don’t say I don’t believe you, Laura, but are you sure that all happened just as you told it? I mean—” Doris was suddenly very gentle and friendly. “I mean, you’ve had a shock, finding that man murdered and all that. Isn’t it possible that you exaggerated things? Unintentionally, of course! All of us would understand that.”
It flicked a swift, small anger again in Laura. It had always been that way between them. “I assure you, Doris, that I told the truth!”
“You don’t like me,” Doris said. “You’re angry. You—as a matter of fact you’ve never liked me, Laura! Come now, you may as well admit the truth. You have hated me ever since Conrad married me.”
“That’s not true!”
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