Five Fatal Words

by Edwin Balmer; Philip Wylie

  Helen was at home when Melicent returned and she had ignored the fact that it was Melicent's turn to get supper and had opened one of the perpetual cans. She looked out of the kitchenette when she heard Melicent's key in the door.

  "Gee, I'm glad to see you, Melicent. All day I've been worrying about you going down to apply for that awful job."

  "It won't be awful; it's just to read to and be polite to a rich old lady of sixty who wants a lot of attention. That's all."

  "That can't be all--from that ad."

  "Oh," said Melicent lightly. "A lawyer wrote the ad. He would. The work's in Connecticut. I start day after to-morrow." She did not explain that she had not actually accepted yet.

  "Good money?" asked Helen, still suspiciously.

  Melicent did not dare tell the actual amount offered. "They'll settle the actual amount later--but I'll be well paid."

  "You're not telling me all about it, Melicent!"

  "Maybe not; but I'll tell you this: I called up Mr. Wade about Mr. Reese and he said I was absolutely safe on taking anything Mr. Reese recommended." She repeated what Mr. Wade had said; and with that Helen had to be satisfied.

  Next morning Melicent phoned Mr. Reese, "I'll take it."

  "Splendid. I am very much pleased. You will never regret it. Be at this office with your luggage to-morrow at nine."

  Besides Mr. Reese and a chauffeur, there was a young man waiting at the office when Melicent appeared promptly at nine. Mr. Reese introduced him to Melicent as Mr.

  Granger. He also had luggage and evidently had come upon an appointment similar to Melicent's. Was he the young man selected from those who had answered C. K. 122?

  The preparations for departure were unemotional. The chauffeur took Melicent's luggage to the car and returned for Mr. Granger's, and Mr. Reese then added to the introduction of Mr. Granger: "He is also going to be employed at this time by my client."

  Melicent and the young man regarded each other with greater interest. The capacity in which Mr. Granger was to be employed by Mr. Reese's client was not mentioned. Did Mr. Granger or even Mr. Reese know exactly what it was? Melicent wondered. They all went down to the car and the chauffeur, without requiring direction, immediately started.

  The three passengers sat on the wide seat, Melicent on one side, Mr. Granger on the other, with Mr. Reese between them; and across him, Melicent and Mr. Granger conversed, now and then. Mr. Reese, for the most part, was silent-almost moody. Now and then he made some ordinary comment but his mind, obviously, was busy with what was before them.

  Mr. Granger elaborately ignored Mr. Reese's preoccupation. He was a resourceful-looking young man; had not resource also been demanded of him? He had blond hair and dark brown eyes, a complexion which indicated he had spent most of his time outdoors, and there was about him an unnamable suggestion of sophistication and cosmopolitanism. He said nothing about himself, but suddenly Mr. Reese, coming out of one of his interludes of absentmindedness, said: "Mr. Granger has been an airplane pilot; twice he has jumped with a parachute."

  "One time," said Mr. Granger, as though excusing himself, "I had to."

  "The other time?" asked Melicent.

  "No harm practicing," said Mr. Granger and returned to their previous impersonalities.

  They had left New York City behind and having passed Port Chester turned on to the Boston Post Road into Connecticut.

  The trees had changed and the countryside was a panorama of magnificent autumn colors. Melicent found that being out of the city, and realizing that she had employment, contributed a bracing effect which gave keener zest to the excitement of speeding to the unknown.

  Three hours after they had left New York they turned from the Post Road and presently reached a small country town, of which Melicent had never heard before, called Williamsborough. It was at this point that Mr. Reese abruptly volunteered information:

  "We are going to the Cornwall estate; it is more than five hundred acres. My client is Miss Hannah Cornwall."

  "Yes," said Melicent, though the name meant nothing to her. Mr. Granger said nothing but Melicent had the impression that the name meant much more to him.

  They reached a road that, at an enormous iron gate, ran through a tunnel of autumn clad trees and finally debouched on a vast lawn in the center· of which was a colossal house of brick, slate, and wrought iron. As they drove toward it Melicent had opportunity to appreciate its size and magnificence as well as its somberness and austerity. The car stopped under a wide porte-cochère. Mr. Reese, Mr. Granger and she walked across the porch and rang the doorbell.

  The door was opened by a woman. Melicent was never sure afterwards just what remarkable feature of that woman's appearance she had noticed first. Perhaps she had noticed them all simultaneously; the extremely long and aristocratically turned nose, the stubborn and self-willed chin, the high piled, smoothly dressed white hair, the coal black, snapping eyes.

  There was no possibility that this could be any subordinate. At once, Melicent knew this was Miss Cornwall and she heard Miss Cornwall's voice ring like metal suspended on a string struck by another piece of metal.

  "Good morning, Mr. Reese. Thank you so much for coming. I am my own butler this morning because we are changing all the servants."

  "Exactly," said Mr. Reese, taking off his hat. "I quite understand, Miss Cornwall.

  May I present Miss Waring, about whom I have wired you, and also Mr. Granger?"

  Melicent felt the black eyes penetrating and searching her; then they moved to Mr. Granger.

  "How do you do, Miss Waring. Won't you all come in? How do you do, Mr.

  Granger. If you will go in the library, please, Miss Waring, I will see you in a few moments."

  Melicent walked into the hall with Mr. Reese, through open doors and past parted portieres. She could see a number of people sitting in a room that evidently was a living room. She assumed that these were the new servants of whom Miss Cornwall had spoken.

  She had little time to survey them, however, for Mr. Reese opened a door on the left of the hall and bowed her into a vast library.

  When they had taken chairs she said: "Did Miss Cornwell say she was changing all her servants?"

  "Yes; she did."

  Melicent felt that, under the circumstances, she had a right to ask definite questions. "Why?"

  "Because it is her custom," replied Mr. Reese frankly, "to change all her employees once a year."

  "All?"

  "All," answered Mr. Reese, "except her lawyers, that is. My client is, as I have told you, in an unusual situation. She does not care for faithful servants or for old retainers. Each year she makes a year-long contract with all her servants and employees and pays them well; at the end of the time they are dismissed and new ones take their places. It is merely one of her--shall we say--policies."

  "I observed when I mentioned my client's name in the car," he continued, "that it did not seem to enlighten you. There is no reason that you should not know about Miss Cornwall and her family what is very generally known. The Cornwall fortune is one of the great fortunes of America--of the world. For three generations it has been gathering and increasing until it came into the hands, some fifty years ago, of Silas Cornwall--the only surviving member of the family of his generation. He, however, had six children--of whom Miss Hannah Cornwall was the fourth child.

  "Silas Cornwall was an energetic and able business man and more than doubled the fortune; it was entirely in his hands when he died; and he bequeathed it in a rather extraordinary way. His entire holdings--less of course the inevitable taxes--were to be kept together; there was to be no division or diminution whatever of the principal; but all his children, as long as they lived, would share equally in the income of the estate.

  "That is, as long as all six were living, each would have a sixth--and it is no secret that, in recent years, each sixth share of the income, only, has run over a million a year.

  Whenever a child died, however, his or her interest in the
estate ceased; the grandchildren would not inherit. The estate would continue intact and the income be divided into fewer shares until at last all would belong to the last survivor.

  "The sole survivor not only would have the whole income but also would, at last, obtain title and ownership of the entire estate; he or she--whoever it might be--would then be empowered to spend not only the income but the principal, to invest it, bestow it or dissipate it, as he or she would choose.

  "These facts became public, inevitably, with the probating of the will following Silas Cornwall's death some forty years ago. Naturally, they attracted a great deal of notoriety. If you were older, you would have undoubtedly remembered it; but after the sensation died down, little occurred to stir it up again. The six heirs each chose his or her own place and manner of living; and all continued to survive until, about a month ago, Daniel Cornwall died, rather suddenly, in Dutch Guiana. There was something in the papers about it but there were both a spectacular killing in New York and a shipwreck about the same time. The comment on the Cornwall affairs could easily have escaped you.

  "I mention it because it will help you to understand that Miss Cornwall naturally has been affected by the death of her brother. The first break in the family circle in more than forty years was a great shock to her."

  "I beg your pardon," interrupted Melicent, "but may I ask, was it a natural death?"

  "Why do you ask that?"

  "Because of an implication I gathered from your tone."

  "I meant none. Daniel Cornwall's death was, of course, natural; it should have been almost expected. He was not a young man and he had chosen to live in a very trying country; however, it immensely disturbed Miss Cornwall and filled her with forebodings.

  You will have to deal with them undoubtedly. Here is Miss Cornwall now, I believe."

  Miss Cornwall stepped into the room. Melicent had been so much impressed by her features that she had given little attention to her dress, which she now saw swept the floor and was cut in a style long since forgotten, a style that belonged to the era of horse cars and round-hatted policemen.

  "I have had your suitcases sent to your room, Miss Waring. I will wish to talk to you after dinner, which you will eat with me in the dining room. Until then I am afraid I will be busy instructing the new servants in their duties. You may pass the time as you wish. But I trust that you will not leave the grounds." She turned to Mr. Reese. "I would like to have a few words with you."

  Melicent withdrew from the library and found herself left entirely to her own resources. She remembered the hours that followed all the rest of her life. She used them to explore the house and immediate grounds. It was an extraordinarily large house and contained more than forty rooms, many of which were locked, many others of which bore no marks of occupancy for decades. Suites of rooms had been modernized, and in those, apparently, Miss Cornwall and her guests, if she had any, made their dwelling. The grounds were under formal cultivation for several acres around the house. Beyond that on either side were woods--woods in which there were paths that led to small lakes, a path that led along a brook, an old bridle path on which there were no footprints of horses, and a path that led to a Japanese garden.

  On the other side of the Japanese garden were acres of woodland and out of the woods, apparently following no path, suddenly stepped Mr. Granger.

  "Hello!" he hailed as he saw Melicent.

  "Hello."

  Granger looked about quickly and then advanced close to her. "Do you know where you are now?" he asked her. "I saw, in the car, you hadn't the least idea."

  "No, I hadn't," admitted Melicent. "But I have now."

  "That's good. We have the bond of arriving here together in common, and probably under rather similar compulsions. I am going to presume on it. What do you do here ?"

  "I haven't been told yet. What do you do?"

  "I am yet to be told entirely, but, as Reese said, I can fly, and there's an airplane kept back there," he nodded into the woods. "Beyond this patch of trees there's another clearing with level ground enough for a take-off and a neat little one passenger ship in a hangar." Granger stopped and demanded suddenly: "You're the answer to C. V. 164, aren't you?" Melicent nodded. "As you're C. K. 122."

  "Exactly; then I'll show you this. My predecessor at piloting was moved out before I was moved in; but he stuck this in under a dial where another pilot was sure to find it." And Granger handed over a much-folded paper on which was written:

  "The old dame never leaves the ground; she never even looks at the ship; but it's always got to be ready. You go up now and then to prove it. That's all. Figure it out your own way; and good luck to you."

  Melicent looked up. "Have you started to figure it out?" she asked.

  "A quick, emergency get-away would be my present guess," observed Granger, taking back the paper. "Now some day do as much for me. Beautiful place, isn't it?"

  "It is very beautiful, but--"

  "Say it!"

  "Lonesome, isn't it?"

  "Lonesome doesn't start to say it. It's gruesome. Going back to the house?" he invited and then corrected, "Perhaps we'd better not go back together."

  "Why not?"

  "I don't know why not, but I'm affected that way by the place. I live over the garage. Meet me here sometimes, will you?"

  Melicent found Miss Cornwall in the library and, evidently, expecting her.

  "You have not been off the place, Miss Waring?"

  "No, but I have been all through the house and on several of the paths. It is very beautiful."

  Miss Cornwall nodded. "It is quite lovely. Dinner will be in fifteen minutes; it is always punctual."

  At dinner Miss Cornwall and Melicent sat at opposite ends of a long table and were served by a uniformed servant. Few words passed between them during the meal.

  Of course, Melicent had no basis for comparison, but she felt that her employer must be more abstracted than usual; that is, she could not believe that anyone could spend so much of her time, ordinarily, staring into empty space.

  Mr. Reese had departed, Miss Cornwall said, but added no other information.

  From what Melicent knew, therefore, this old woman was alone in the great house with her and with Granger, who was dining elsewhere, and with the staff of strange servants which she had engaged to-day. Well, it was what she chose.

  After the meal was over, the two went into the library, and when Miss Cornwall made no suggestion Melicent selected a book and read at it. Miss Cornwall soon picked up another book and read it, repeating the words to herself. At least, that was what Melicent thought she was doing when she saw her lips move; but after a time Miss Cornwall spoke audibly.

  She probably was not aware that her whisper could be heard, but it was very quiet in the room and Melicent was decidedly on edge.

  "Doubtless even a tulip hopes," she made out the whispered and rewhispered words. "Doubtless even a tulip hopes." With repetition, they became so distinct that Melicent was sure this was what she was saying, meaningless as it was: "Doubtless even a tulip hopes." Suddenly Miss Cornwall became aware that she was speaking audibly:

  "Did you hear what I said?" she demanded.

  "Yes."

  "What was it?"

  "'Doubtless even a tulip hopes,'" repeated Melicent.

  "Does it mean anything to you?"

  "No."

  "See if you can find any meaning in it. Now it is time to go to bed. You will come with me, please."

  They went upstairs together and through a long hall. Miss Cornwall stopped at a door. "This is my room." She opened it. Behind the door was a vast room with casement windows and canopied bed. Both women entered it. Another door in the room was opened by Miss Cornwall and she beckoned Melicent to follow her through it. She switched on the electric lights and a second chamber proved also to be a bedroom--a smaller, brighter, and more ordinary bedroom. "This is your room," Miss Cornwall said.

  For a moment she hesitated and then looked directly at the girl
. "I suppose you will want to know why I haven given no name to your duties and just what they are."

  Melicent grew tense. She realized that now and at last she was going to know the answer to the mystery of the advertisement. "Yes," she said, "I do."

  A curious expression came on the woman's face, an expression that made it haggard, an expression composed of fear and determination, an expression that alarmed Melicent. Miss Cornwall's voice was almost a whisper. "Nominally you will be my secretary. It will be necessary at this time for you to swear that under no circumstances and to no one you utter a syllable about the arrangements I will now discuss. Swear."

  Melicent felt the hand of the old woman on her shoulder. "Of course," she said falteringly, "I swear."

  "Nominally you will be called my secretary," Miss Cornwall repeated, "but it is not for that I am paying you five thousand dollars a year. Your only real duty will be very simple. It is this: Each night at nine-fifteen we will both retire. You will go into your room and lock the door. I will go into my room and lock the door. On your bed I have laid out a nightdress and night cap. When you are ready and I am ready we will open the door between our rooms. You will go into my room and I will go into yours. We will turn out the lights immediately and lock the door between our rooms. You will spend the night in my bed and I will spend it in your bed in your room. That is your sale real duty."

  Half an hour later they had exchanged rooms. Melicent dressed in a long nightgown and wearing a nightcap, was lying in the canopied bed, alone, behind locked doors, and her blood ran cold with a kind of horror that she had never known existed in this modern world.

  CHAPTER II

  THE first night Melicent spent at Blackcroft was a night of absolute terror. What had happened to her had happened so quickly that it was not until she was alone in the dark that she realized its full and horrible portent. Miss Cornwall had made her dress in night clothes like her own and made her sleep in the big bedroom in the canopied bed for a reason that became obvious to Melicent. Miss Cornwall was afraid. She was afraid of somebody or something. She was afraid that somebody or something would steal up to her bed at night and she had hired another person to live in her house and be a substitute for her every night after she had retired, so that the some one or the something, if it appeared, would wreak its vengeance upon, not Miss Cornwall, but her employee--upon Melicent.