Eight Faces at Three

by Craig Rice

  “You were in bed, too, Parkins?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the little man.

  Again Malone nodded. “The beds, then, I take it, were mussed and rumpled. Yours too, Mrs. Dayton. But when your brother and the Parkinses came back to the house, all of the beds were smooth and neat, as though they had never been slept in.”

  Jake thought he heard Hyme Mendel sigh faintly.

  “We’ll get to that in a minute, too. First, about this telephone call.” He looked at Holly for a moment. “Did you at any time during that night make a telephone call to anybody?”

  “No.”

  “You are positive of that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Malone appeared to be thinking deeply for a moment. “Glen, you thought that you recognized your sister’s voice?”

  “I thought so, yes. If there was any difference, I probably put it down to the effect of the accident she said she had been in.”

  “I see.”

  “And besides,” Glen finished, “I had been in bed and I just woke up. I probably wasn’t paying much attention to what the voice sounded like. I was sleepy.”

  “Ah yes. You were in bed when the call came,” said Malone thoughtfully.

  “In bed and asleep.”

  “Parkins,” Malone said casually, “it was Glen who answered the phone, not you?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “I thought so,” Malone said. He looked at Glen. “In bed and asleep. Then tell me,” he said in a suddenly thundering voice, “tell me, young man, how you heard the telephone ring, were awakened by it, when you were in bed and asleep and when the telephone cannot be heard ringing on the second floor of this house?”

  Silence.

  Then everyone started to speak at once.

  “Shut up,” said Malone calmly. “Parkins, what did you do after Mr. Glen told you of the call?”

  “I dressed, sir, in something of a hurry, and I took one glance in Miss Holly’s room to see if it was all ready for her. Then I went out and got the car. I had a bit of trouble getting it started, and then I drove it up to the house and picked up Mr. Glen.”

  “We’ve been assuming,” said Malone slowly, “first, that Alexandria Inglehart was murdered at three o’clock, then, that she was murdered between the time when Glen and Parkins left the house and the time when they returned.” He paused, and mopped his face with a crumpled and grayish handkerchief. “Parkins, when you drove away from the house, Alexandria Inglehart was still alive?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How do you know? Did you go into her room?”

  “No, sir. But I saw her sitting up in front of her window—” His voice broke suddenly and trailed away.

  “Exactly,” said Malone. “She was sitting up in front of the window when you found her dead, four hours later.”

  Again everyone started to speak at once. Malone waved them to silence.

  “But sir,” said Parkins, “the window was closed when we left, and it was open when Miss Holly went in there.”

  “Of course,” said Malone, “we have only Holly’s word for it that she didn’t open it herself. But we’re pretty sure that Alexandria Inglehart’s body was left by that open window for some time.”

  Andy Ahearn nodded and cleared his throat. “Old lady was froze stiffer’n aboard.”

  “But how was the window opened?” Hyme Mendel asked.

  “It was opened,” said Malone, “by that same Lewis Miller who was found murdered in the Inglehart summerhouse last night. The same Lewis Miller who was Holly’s father.”

  Hyme Mendel seemed too stunned for speech.

  “And Glen’s,” Holly added.

  “No,” said Malone, shaking his head. “No. Not Glen’s.”

  “But he’s my brother. We’re twins.”

  “No,” said Malone again, “Glen is not your brother. You are not twins.”

  No one spoke.

  Nellie Parkins, sitting up as straight as a ramrod, had been pale. Now she turned a pasty gray. Suddenly she seemed to collapse as though her bones had been turned to jelly, slipped sideways, and slid down to the floor.

  Malone looked at her compassionately. “Someone take her away. Miss Parkins, you’d better go with her.”

  Andy Ahearn carried her, flopping against him like a disjointed doll, into the next room, Maybelle trailing after him. As though it seemed very important indeed at the time, Jake noticed that she did have run-over heels.

  “I suggest,” said Malone in the terrible silence, “that Alexandria Inglehart was already dead when Glen woke Parkins and told him about the telephone call that was never made. I suggest that the clocks in this house were set at three and stopped before Parkins ever woke—all save Parkins’ own clock and that one was stopped while Parkins was getting the car. I suggest that during the time Parkins was getting the car, Glen’s and Parkins’ beds were made, and Holly Inglehart Dayton was put back in her bed from where—”

  Jake never knew what really did happen. There was a sudden quick movement in the other end of the room; the lights went out. In the darkness he heard running feet, a table overturned, a door banged and locked.

  Almost without thinking, he threw open one of the long French windows that opened onto the terrace, and ran out into the snow. In the distance he could see a black figure headed for the lake shore.

  Instinctively, hardly knowing what he was doing, he ran after it.

  Chapter 32

  Behind him was the house, a blaze of lights. Dimly he could hear voices and shouts of confusion. Ahead of him was the lake shore and the cliff, with that treacherous sudden bluff, and the cruel jagged rocks below. Between him and the cliff was that running figure.

  “Why am I doing this?” he wondered as he ran through the snow.

  The figure grew nearer; he was gaining on it. He drew in his breath; ran a little faster.

  If only he could make it before the figure reached the cliff.

  What was the fool trying to do? Escape? Or was it suicide?

  He was nearly at the cliff’s edge. He could hear the water pounding against the stones and the broken cakes of ice that ground against the rocks.

  He wasn’t going over the cliff. He was going along the edge, making for the woods. Had a car hidden there, most likely. Probably been anticipating this.

  Why not let him go? Perhaps he could get away safely. Spare Helene the agony of going through the trial, having the whole thing dragged on and on.

  He kept on running.

  Let him get away. Perhaps Helene actually cared for him. Nobody could tell what she actually thought or felt about anything. Let him get away, and then some day Helene would meet him somewhere and marry him.

  The running figure was almost within his reach now.

  With almost his last breath he made a flying leap that brought the figure down to earth.

  For a minute or two that seemed to stretch out forever, they struggled there in the snow. Glen fought desperately, frantically, to get away. Jake held him with arms that had suddenly turned to iron.

  They rolled closer and closer to the cliff’s edge.

  Why didn’t they come down from the house? Why didn’t they see that he had come this way? Wouldn’t Helene know that he would come this way? Or did Helene know, and was she purposely keeping silent?

  The snow was against his face, in his eyes, blinding him, nearly smothering him.

  Let the fool go! He couldn’t get far anyway.

  Ah, there they came. There were voices in the direction of the house, coming nearer. If only he could hang on another moment or so! Glen heard the voices too, and increased his struggles. Jake felt a sudden blow from Glen’s knee that left him gasping for an instant.

  Still Jake held on. They clung there to the edge of the cliff, Glen almost over the edge, gasping and struggling, Jake holding him with a frozen grasp. The stones cut against his arms, his face was over the edge, and he could see the gray stones lashed by the black water below.
In a moment they would both go over, if help did not come.

  Let him go! Much better that way! No—Helene might not want it. Helene might love the man. Impossible to tell what Helene wanted or didn’t want. Hang on to him. Save him for her. Perhaps Malone could get him an acquittal.

  Help was very near now. He could hear them shouting to him, hear their footsteps.

  Just then Glen made one last dying effort. The cliff’s edge began to crumble beneath their weight. In trying to save himself, Jake loosened his grip for just one moment, and in that moment Glen, in his final struggle, wrenched himself free.

  Jake saw the twisting, screaming figure plunge down toward the dark water, strike against a rock that sent him spinning in another direction, finally collapse on the ice and broken stones below. For an instant he looked down at the dark, contorted heap, saw blood beginning to spread over the ice and snow-covered stones. The last, agonized, terrorized scream still rang in his ears.

  Then he felt hands pulling him gently away from the crumbling cliffs edge. He looked up and saw Helene’s face bending over him, chalk white. He tried to speak, could not, tried to move, and felt a sudden blaze of pain. Then everyrthing faded away, mercifully, into nothing.

  He opened his eyes in the Inglehart library. Malone was bending over him solicitously. He found that he was lying on the couch, a cover spread over him. His shoulder still pained.

  Holly, her face very pale, sat watching him. Helene was across the room, looking out the window.

  “Don’t try to move,” said Malone, “you dislocated your shoulder. It’s all right now.”

  He lay quiet for a moment.

  “Drink, please.” His voice sounded hoarse and strange.

  “Sure.”

  Malone poured brandy down his throat.

  He could see Dick’s white face, wrinkled with concern.

  “Feel better?”

  “Much.”

  “Strong enough to do some listening?” Andy Ahearn asked. ‘،Malone has some explaining to do. But he’s been saving it for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Holly spoke up suddenly. “Why did he do it? Why?”

  Helene continued to stare out the window.

  “Because,” said Malone gently, “he knew the game was up. You see, my dear, Glen was not your brother, nor was he Alexandria Inglehart’s nephew.”

  “You said that before. But—”

  “You were one of twins,” said Malone. “You had a twin brother. Your mother died when you were born and your aunt offered Miller, your father, a considerable sum of money if he would sign away all his rights to you and your brother. She wrote that she was mainly interested in the boy, but that she would take you both. Then, before the final arrangements could be made, your twin died.”

  “Oh,” said Holly, and again, “oh.”

  “Your father found a fatherless baby who had been born at the same time as you and your brother. The mother was glad enough to have her child brought up in luxury. That boy baby was Glen Inglehart.”

  He paused to mop his face.

  “But Nellie Parkins,” Jake began, weakly.

  “She was Glen’s mother,” Malone said quietly.

  There was a long pause.

  “I see it now,” Holly said very slowly. “She came here as our nurse. She stayed here to take care of us. She married Parkins and stayed here all these years. And all the time she knew Glen was her child.”

  Malone nodded.

  “Go on,” Andy Ahearn said.

  “Recently,” Malone said, “Miller found himself without money. He came here, told Glen the whole story, produced proof. For a while he was satisfied with blackmailing Glen. Then, realizing that Alexandria Inglehart was an old woman, who didn’t have long to live, he decided to get back the agreement he had signed at the time of the twins’ birth. With that destroyed, he could claim a share of the estate after her death. Or even better, by going to Alexandria Inglehart herself with the truth, he could blackmail her. With her pride, and her fear of scandal, she would have given him anything rather than have it be known that Glen Inglehart was the illegitimate child of the Inglehart housekeeper. And so Alexandria Inglehart had to die.”

  “But why Aunt Alex? Why not my father?” Holly asked.

  “Because,” Malone said, “your father had already reached Alexandria Inglehart with his story. Glen knew it, and Nellie Parkins knew it. Nellie knew that the old woman had sent for her lawyer, to change her will. She planned to cut Glen out of the estate. And Nellie told Glen.”

  Holly was silent.

  “But as luck would have it, Lewis Miller chose that particular night to burglarize the house and get back the agreement. He entered by the window. We can only guess at much of it, but it’s near enough. The house was dark. He climbed up on the little roof below the window, looked in, and saw that the old woman was dead. Then he opened the window, which can be done easily from the outside, went in, and rifled the safe, got what he was looking for, and went out again. But while the window can be opened from the outside, it cannot be closed from the outside. I know, because I tried it. So it was left open.”

  “The safe,” Jake said suddenly. “Was it left open, or—”

  “I saw it open,” Holly said.

  Malone nodded. “You did. Miller, in his haste, evidently left it ajar. My guess is that Nellie, who was the first person in the room, saw it, sensed what had happened, and closed it. She’ll tell us when she comes to.”

  “Then Miller kept on blackmailing Glen?” Jake asked. He wished he could have one word with Helene, wished she would stop staring out the window and look at him.

  “Probably. But perhaps he felt a certain affection for his daughter. He knew that his evidence might clear her. Yet he didn’t want to get himself in trouble with the law. And too, he probably saw a way to make a profit out of what he knew. Lewis Miller was, above all, an opportunist. So he got in touch with Dick Dayton and offered to sell what he knew. Somehow Glen learned that and before Miller had a chance to tell Dayton anything, Glen entered the summerhouse and knocked Dayton unconscious. He didn’t kill Miller then, probably because he didn’t have an alibi. But he built an alibi for that night, and returned to the summerhouse and murdered him.

  “I’m building this,” Malone said, “on a flimsy foundation. For according to the theory I had built regarding the method of the crime, only Glen could be guilty. But Glen had absolutely no motive that I could discover. Then there was Miller’s phrase to Jake Justus and Helene Brand. ‘I am the motive.’ What did it mean? Then when I learned who he was, found that copy of the agreement he had signed, I knew that the motive had something to do with the relationship of Glen, Holly, and Miller. Holly and Glen had been born in St. Louis. That’s why I went to St. Louis, looked up old records, and found the motive for the crime. And realized that the striking difference in appearance, character, and everything else between Holly and Glen should have given me a hint at the beginning.”

  “That tells us why,” said Hyme Mendel slowly. “But I still don’t see how.”

  “The clocks,” said Jake suddenly. “And the beds. And Holly.”

  “Yes,” said Holly, “where was I?”

  Malone smiled at her.

  “You were in bed.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “I do. You went to bed feeling rather strange, and woke up feeling rather ill. You had been drugged. I guessed that from the beginning, and I think Jake did, too.”

  Jake nodded. “I did. But I couldn’t see any reason.”

  “The reason was—so that she wouldn’t wake when Glen took her out of bed, propped her up in the clothes closet of her room, tied her to the clothes pole to keep her upright, shut the door, and left her there.”

  “My dream,” said Holly slowly. “The coffin standing on end. And darkness. And the rope that kept slipping. And the bruises that were under my arms. But why? What was the reason?”

  “It was in case Parkins took it into his head to come int
o your room. Then while Parkins was getting the car, Glen came and put you back in bed.”

  “I knew Holly’s dream was the key to where she was all the time,” said Jake, “but I couldn’t unlock anything with it.”

  “You were trying to unlock the wrong doors,” Malone told him.

  “But the clocks?”

  “All except Parkins’ clock were stopped before Glen woke Parkins. Glen’s bed, and yours, were made at the same time. When Glen and the Parkinses returned it was easy to slip into your room and make your bed without being seen—make it for the second time that night. Here’s the sequence of things.

  “Glen stops the clocks, makes his bed and yours, stows you in the closet. Then he wakes Parkins and tells him about the phone call. Parkins dresses and goes to the garage. Glen goes up to his aunt’s room—having already killed her, I think—arranges her body so that she will appear to be sitting by the window. Then he puts you back in bed and stops the Parkins’ clock.”

  “And when he came back, with the Parkinses—hours later—he came in and made my bed again?” Holly said.

  “That’s right.”

  “But why?”

  “Because Glen figured you would react exactly as you did.”

  “Why?”

  “So that you would be arrested for the murder of Alexandria Inglehart.”

  “Oh!”

  “But,” said Malone, “while Glen was not actually your brother, he was almost your brother. He had been brought up as your brother. You had played together as children. He wanted you to be accused of the crime, but he didn’t want you to suffer for it. So he planned your insanity defense for you.” He turned to Ahearn. “When you first heard the story—what did you think?”

  “I thought the girl was crazy,” Andy Ahearn said.

  Jasper Fleck scratched one ear. “It seemed to me like she must of done it, but I was sure she was nuts when she done it.”

  “I thought the same thing,” Malone said, “and any jury would. Look, Holly. It was probably about three when you woke. Glen knew the drug would run out about that time and he had concealed an alarm clock in his room, right next to yours, to make sure you woke. He knew when you woke, you would be alone in the house with the murdered woman. He wanted to get you up to her room. Hence the clocks.