by Ellery Queen
He glanced over at Pat. She was watching Dakin as if the Chief had hypnotized her.
“And what did your autopsy show, Doc?” asked Dakin deferentially.
“Miss Haight died of arsenic trioxid poisoning.”
“Yes, sir. Now let’s get this organized,” said Dakin. ”If you folks don’t mind?”
“Go ahead, Dakin,” said John F. impatiently.
“Yes, Mr. Wright. So we know the two ladies were poisoned by that one cocktail. Now, who mixed it?”
No one said anything.
“Well, I already know. It was you, Mr. Haight. You mixed that cocktail.”
Jim Haight had not shaved. There were muddy ruts under his eyes.
“Did I?” There was a frog in his throat; he cleared it several times. ”If you say so¯I mixed so many¯”
“And who came in from the kitchen and handed out the tray of drinks?” asked Chief Dakin. ”Including the one that was poisoned? You did, Mr. Haight. Am I wrong? Because that’s my information,” he said apologetically.
“If you’re trying to insinuate¯” began Hermione in an imperious voice.
“All right, Mrs. Wright,” said the Cheif. ”Now maybe I’m wrong. But you mixed that cocktail, Mr. Haight; you handed it out, so it looks like you’re the only one could have dosed it up good with rat-killer. But it only looks that way. Were you the only one? Did you leave those cocktails you were making even for a few seconds any time up to the time you brought the tray into this room last night?”
“Look,” said Jim. ”Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe the things that happened last night knocked my brains for a loop. What is this? Am I suspected of having tried to poison my wife?”
As if this had been a fresh wind in a stale room, the air became breathable again. John F.’s hand dropped from his eyes, Hermy’s color came back, and even Pat looked at Jim.
“This is nonsense, Chief Dakin!” said Hermy coldly.
“Did you, Mr. Haight?” asked Dakin.
“Of course I brought that tray in here!” Jim got up and began to walk up and down before the Chief, like an orator. ”I’d just mixed the Manhattans¯that last batch¯and was going to put the maraschino cherries in, but then I had to leave the pantry for a few minutes. That’s it!”
“Well, now,” said Dakin heartily, “now we’re getting places, Mr. Haight. Could someone have slipped in from the living room and poisoned one of them cocktails without you knowing or seeing? While you were gone, I mean?”
The fresh wind died, and they were in choking miasma once more. Could someone have slipped in from the living room¯
“I didn’t poison that cocktail,” said Jim, “so somebody must have slipped in.”
Dakin turned swiftly. ”Who left the living room while Mr. Haight was mixing that last mess of drinks in the kitchen? This is very important, please. Think hard on it!”
Ellery lit a cigarette. Someone must have noticed that he had been missing simultaneously with Jim. It was inevitable . . . But then they all began to chatter at once, and Ellery blew smoke in great clouds.
“We’ll never get anywheres this way,” said the Chief. ”So much drinking and dancing going on, and the room dark on account of only candles being lit . . . Not,” added Dakin suddenly, “that it makes much difference.”
“What do you mean?” asked Pat quickly.
“I mean that ain’t the important point, Miss Wright.” And this time Dakin’s voice was quite, quite chill. Its chill deepened the chill in the room. ”The important point is: Who had control of the distribution of the drinks? Answer me that! Because the one who handed that cocktail out¯that’s got to be the one who poisoned it!”
Bravo, bumpkin, thought Mr. Queen. You’re wasting your smartness on the desert air . . . You don’t know what I know, but you’ve hit the essential point just the same. You ought to capitalize your talents . . .
“You handed ‘em out, James Haight,” said Chief Dakin. ”No poison-er’d have dropped rat-killer in one of those drinks and left it to Almighty God to decide who’d pick up the poisoned one! No, sir. It don’t make sense. Your wife got that poisoned cocktail, and you was the one handed it to her. Wasn’t you?”
And now they were all breathing heavily like swimmers in a surf, and Jim’s eyes were red liquid holes.
“Yes, I did hand it to her!” he yelled. ”Does that satisfy your damn snooping disposition?”
“A-plenty,” said the Chief mildly. ”Only thing is, Mr. Haight, you didn’t know one thing. You went out of the living room to make more drinks, or fetch another bottle, or something. You didn’t know your sister, Rosemary, was going to yell for another drink, and you didn’t know that your wife, who you figured would drink the whole glassful, would just take a couple of sips and then your sister would pull the glass out of her hand and guzzle the rest down. So instead of killing your wife, you killed your sister!”
Jim said hoarsely: “Of course you can’t believe I planned or did anything like that, Dakin.”
Dakin shrugged. ”Mr. Haight, I only know what my good horse sense tells me. The facts say you, and only you, had the¯what do they call it?¯the opportunity. So maybe you won’t have what they call motive¯I dunno. Do you?”
It was a disarming question¯man to man. Mr. Queen was quite bathed in admiration. This was finesse exquisite.
Jim muttered: “You want to know why I should try to murder my wife four months after our marriage. Go to hell.”
“That’s no answer. Mr. Wright, can you help us out? Do you know of any reason?”
John F. gripped the arms of his chair, glancing at Hermy. But there was no help there, only horror.
“My daughter Nora,” mumbled John F., “inherited a hundred thousand dollars¯her grandfather’s legacy¯when she married Jim. If Nora died . . . Jim would get it.”
Jim sat down, slowly, looking around, around.
Chief Dakin beckoned to Prosecutor Bradford. They left the room.
Five minutes later they returned, Carter paler than pale, staring straight before him, avoiding their eyes.
“Mr. Haight,” said Chief Dakin gravely, “I’ll have to ask you not to try to leave Wrightsville.”
Bradford’s work, thought Ellery. But not from compassion. From duty. There was no legal case yet. Damning circumstances, yes; but no case.
There would be a case, though. Glancing over the whole lean, shambling countryman that was Chief of Police Dakin, Mr. Queen knew there would be a case and that, pending the proverbial miracle, James Haight was not long for the free streets of Wrightsville.
Chapter 15
Nora Talks
At first all Wrightsville could talk about was the fact itself. The delicious fact. A body. A corpse. At the Wrights’. At the Wrights’! The snooty, stuck-up, we’re-better-than-you-are First Family!
Poison.
Imagine. Just imagine. Who’d have thought? And so soon after, too. Remember that wedding?
The woman. Who was she? Jim Haight’s sister. Rosalie¯Rose-Marie? No, Rosemary. Well, it doesn’t make any difference. She’s dead. I saw her once. Tricked up. You felt something about her. Not nice. My dear, I was telling my husband only the other day . . .
So it’s murder. Rosemary Haight, that woman from heaven knows where, she got a mess of poison in a Manhattan cocktail, and it was really meant for Nora Haight. There it is right in Frank Lloyd’s paper . . . Frank was there.
Drinking. Wild party. Fell down dead. Foaming at the mouth. Shh, the children! . . . Cinch Frank Lloyd hasn’t told the whole story . . . Of course not. After all. The Record’s a family newspaper!
Four-sixty Hill Drive. Calamity House. Don’t you remember? That story in the Record years ago? First Jim Haight ran away from his own wedding, leaving Nora Wright looking silly¯and the house all built and furnished and everything! Then that Mr. Whozis from Where? Anyway, he dropped dead just as he was going to buy it from John F. Wright. And now¯a murder in it!
Say, I wouldn’t set foot in that jinxed house for
all the money in John F.’s vaults!
Bess, did you hear? They say . . .
For some days Wrightsville could talk about nothing but the fact.
* * *
Siege was laid, and Mr. Ellery “Smith” Queen found himself inadvertently a soldier of the defending force.
People streamed up and down the Hill like trekking ants, pausing outside the Wright and Haight houses to pick up some luscious leaf-crumb and bear it triumphantly down into the town. Emmeline DuPre was never so popular. Right next door! Emmy, what do you know?
Emmy told them. Emmy’s porch became a hiring hall for the masses. If a face showed at a window of either house, there was a rush and a gasp.
“What’s happening to us?” moaned Hermione. ”No, I won’t answer the phone!”
Lola said grimly: “We’re a Chamber of Horrors. Some Madame Tus-saud’ll start charging admission soon!” Since the morning of New Year’s Day, Lola had not left. She shared Pat’s room. At night she silently washed her underwear and stockings in Pat’s bathroom. She would accept nothing from her family. Her meals she took with Jim in the “unlucky” house.
Lola was the only member of the family to show herself out of doors the first few days of January. On January second she said something to Emmy DuPre which turned Emmy pale and sent her scuttling back to her porch like an elderly crab in a panic. ”We’re waxworks,” said Lola. ”Jack the Ripper multiplied by seven. Look at the damn body snatchers!”
Alberta Manaskas had vanished in a Lithuanian dither, so Lola cooked Jim’s meals.
Jim said nothing. He went to the bank as usual.
John F. said nothing. He went to the bank. In the bank father-in-law and son-in-law said nothing to each other.
Hermy haunted her room, putting handkerchiefs to her little nose.
Nora was in a tossing fever most of the time, wailing to see Jim, being horridly sick, keeping her pillow blue with tears.
Carter Bradford shut himself up in his office at the County Courthouse. Large plain men came and went, and at certain times of the day he conferred in pointed secrecy with Chief of Police Dakin.
Through all this Mr. Queen moved silently, keeping out of everyone’s way. Frank Lloyd had been right. There was talk about “that man Smith¯who is he?” There were other remarks, more dangerous. He noted them all in his notebook, labeled “The Mysterious Stranger¯a Suspect.”
He was never far from Nora’s room.
On the third day after the crime, he caught Patty as she came out and beckoned her upstairs to his room.
He latched the door.
“Pat, I’ve been thinking.”
“I hope it’s done you good.” Pat was listless.
“When Dr. Willoughby was here this morning, I heard him talk to Dakin on the phone. Your County Coroner, Salemson, has cut his vacation short, and he’s come back to town on the double. Tomorrow there will be an inquest.”
“Inquest!”
“It’s the law, darling.”
“You mean we’ll have to . . . leave the house?”
“Yes. And testify, I’m afraid.”
“Not Nora!”
“No. Willoughby refuses to let her leave her bed. I heard him say so to Dakin.”
“Ellery . . . what are they going to do?”
“Establish the facts for the record. Try to get at the truth.”
Pat said: “The truth?” and looked terrified.
“Pat,” said Ellery gravely, “you and I are at the crossroads in this labyrinth¯”
“Meaning?” But she knew what he meant.
“This is no longer a potential crime. It’s a crime that’s happened. A woman has died¯the fact that she died by accident makes no difference, since a murder was planned and a murder was executed. So the law comes into it . . . ” Ellery said grimly . . . ”a most efficient law, I must say . . . and from now on it’s snoop, sniff, and hunt until all the truth is known.”
“What you’re trying to say, and are saying so badly,” said Pat steadily, “is that we’ve got to go to the police with what we know . . . and they don’t.”
“It’s within our power to send Jim Haight to the electric chair.”
Patty sprang to her feet. Ellery pressed her hand.
“It can’t be that clear! You’re not convinced yourself! Even I’m not, and I’m her sister . . . ”
“We’re talking now about facts and conclusions from facts,” said Ellery irritably. ”Feelings don’t enter into it¯they certainly won’t with Dakin, although they might with Bradford. Don’t you realize you and I are in possession of four pieces of information not known to the police¯four facts that convict Jim of having plotted and all but carried out the murder of Nora?”
“Four?” faltered Pat. ”As many as that?”
Ellery sat her down again. She looked up at him with her forehead all tight and wrinkled. ”Fact one: the three letters written by Jim and now at the bottom of Nora’s hatbox next door¯the three letters establishing his anticipation of her death at a time when she wasn’t even ill! Clearly premeditation.”
Pat moistened her lips.
“Fact two: Jim’s desperate need for money. This fact, which we know because he’s been pawning Nora’s jewelry and demanding money of her, plus the fact Dakin knows¯that on Nora’s death Jim would come into a large inheritance¯combined would fix a powerful motive.”
“Yes. Yes . . . ”
“Fact three: the toxicology book belonging to Jim, with its underlined section in Jim’s characteristic red crayon . . . a section dealing with arsenious trioxid, the very poison with which subsequently Nora’s cocktail was spiked and from which Nora nearly died.
“And fourth,” Ellery shook his head, “something I alone can establish, because I had Jim under observation every moment New Year’s Eve: the fact that no one but Jim could have put poison into the fatal cocktail, or did. So I’m in a position to establish that Jim not only had the best opportunity to poison that drink, but the only opportunity.”
“And that doesn’t even include his threat against Nora that afternoon when we brought him away from the Hot Spot blind drunk¯when he said he was going to get rid of her. Dakin heard it, Cart heard it . . . ”
“Or,” added Ellery gently, “the two previous occasions on which Nora’s been poisoned by arsenic¯Thanksgiving and Christmas, coinciding with the dates of Jim’s first two letters . . . Pretty conclusive, put together, Patty. How could anyone disbelieve, knowing all this, that Jim planned Nora’s death?”
“Yet you don’t believe it,” said Pat.
“I didn’t say that,” said Ellery slowly. ”I said . . . ” He shrugged. ”The point is: We’ve got to decide now. Do we talk at the inquest tomorrow, or don’t we?”
Pat bit a fingernail. ”But suppose Jim is innocent? How can I¯how can you¯set up as judge and jury and condemn somebody to death? Somebody you know? Ellery, I couldn’t.” Pat made faces, a distressed young woman. ”Besides,” she said eagerly, “he won’t try it again, Ellery! Not now. Not after he killed his sister by mistake. Not after the whole thing’s out and the police¯I mean, if he did . . . ”
Ellery rubbed his hands together as if they itched, walking up and down before her, frowning, scowling.
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” he said at last. ”We’ll put it up to Nora.” Pat stared. ”She’s the victim, Jim’s her husband. Yes, let Nora make the decision. What do you say?”
Pat sat still for a moment.
Then she got up and went to the door. ”Mother’s asleep, Pop’s at the bank, Ludie’s downstairs in the kitchen, Lola’s next door . . . ”
“So Nora’s alone now.”
“And Ellery.”
Ellery unlatched his door.
“Thanks for being such a swell clam¯”
He opened the door.
“Taking such a personal risk¯being involved¯”
He gave her a little push toward the stairs.
* * *
Nora lay in a
knot under the blue comforter, staring at the ceiling.
Scared through and through, thought Ellery.
“Nora.” Pat went quickly to the bed, took Nora’s thin hand between both her brown ones. ”Do you feel strong enough to talk?”
Nora’s eyes flew from her sister to Ellery, and then darted into hiding like timid birds.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Her voice was tight with pain. ”Is Jim-did they¯?”
“Nothing’s happened, Nora,” said Ellery.
“It’s just that Ellery feels¯I feel¯it’s time the three of us understood one another,” said Pat. Then she cried: “Nora, please! Don’t shut yourself up! Listen to us!”
Nora braced herself and pushed against the bed until she was sitting up. Pat leaned over her, and for an instant, she looked like Hermy. She drew the edges of Nora’s bed jacket together.
Nora stared at them.
“Don’t be frightened,” said Ellery. Pat propped the pillow against Nora’s shoulders and sat down on the edge of the bed and took Nora’s hand again. And then in a quiet voice Ellery told Nora what he and Pat had learned¯from the beginning. Nora’s eyes grew larger and larger.
“I tried to talk to you,” cried Pat, “but you wouldn’t listen! Nora, why?”
Nora whispered: “Because it isn’t true. Maybe at first I thought . . . But it’s not. Not Jim. You don’t know Jim. He’s scared of people, so he acts cocky. But inside he’s like a little boy. When you’re alone with him. And he’s weak. Much too weak to¯to do what you think he did. Oh, please!”
Nora began to cry in her hands.
“I love him,” she sobbed. ”I’ve always loved Jim. I’ll never believe he’d want to kill me. Never. Never!”