I could see Joe staring at me with narrowed eyes, and Richard said quickly, "Be quiet, Leigh. You're talking too much."
Joe departed for the dining room, and Rhynda came in. She went over to Berg and stood looking down at him and wringing her hands. She did not say anything. I reflected without venom that she had started me out on the night's series of horrors, and I wondered where she had been, but I did not like to ask her in front of the others.
Richard came to me and said in a low voice, "Why don't you stay in bed, Smithy, during the night? I'm afraid you're in for a spot of trouble now."
"The house can burn down around my head, before I'll do it again," I said bitterly. "But I wasn't the only one who was roaming around."
"Who else?" he asked quickly.
"Well, Rhynda, and somebody was standing at the foot of the stairs."
He shook his head. "That doesn't help much. Rhynda was with me, and if you couldn't recognize the other person, Joe probably won't believe in him."
My head drooped, and I stared at the floor in silence. So Rhynda had been with Richard in the small hours of the morning. I suddenly felt so desperately tired that I wanted to stretch out there on the drawing-room floor and sleep until Easter.
I looked at Berg's quiet figure and found my gaze concentrating on one of the limp hands. It lay palm upwards, with the fingers flexed, and a pin gleamed dully from one of the creases.
CHAPTER 25
Joe came back with the telephone. He had wrapped it in a soiled handkerchief, and I said hysterically, "Someone must have told you."
"Huh?"
"About fingerprints. Always wrap the weapon—"
Richard nudged me sharply and muttered, "Careful."
"What are you babblin' about?" Joe asked.
I gestured towards Berg. "There's a pin in his hand."
Joe and Richard leaned over the prostrate figure, and Joe carefully retrieved the pin. It had a black head, of course.
"Only one missin' now, "Joe murmured thoughtfully.
I fumbled at the collar of my dressing gown and said, "No. Here it is."
Joe gave me a long hard stare. "I think it's about time you did a little explainin', and I want the whole story."
I gave it to him and was strongly of the opinion that he garnished it with a pinch of salt. He got Doris out of bed again, and she corroborated what she could. She seemed upset when she learned of Berg's condition and wanted to administer first aid, but the doctor arrived at that point, so she retired to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee.
Dr. O'Beirne examined Berg briefly and observed that the wound was just above the temple, on the frontal bone. A fraction below and it would have been a good deal more serious. As it was, he would probably be all right, if he did not develop pneumonia. But he had lost a lot of blood, with a consequent lowering of his resistance, and pneumonia was possible, if not probable.
The doctor superintended his removal to his own bedroom upstairs, and Mrs. Ballinger led the procession, wringing her hands and getting in everybody's way. She took a seat by the sickbed and refused to be budged. The rest of us went down again for coffee.
Rosalie shook her head over it all until she must have been dizzy. "It's such a good thing you went down, Leigh. You see, the doctor says if he had been left to lie out there all night he would almost certainly have died by morning."
"I can't understand why the gong was played," I said thoughtfully. "Surely interference of any kind was the last thing that was wanted."
"Maybe it was the wind," Rosalie suggested brightly.
"The wind," I said patiently, "probably would not know how to play 'Swanee River.'"
Joe set his cup down and dried his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at me with a gimlet eye and asked ominously, "Who, besides you, heard that gong ring, anyways?"
I looked guilty at once, as I always do when I am perfectly innocent, and while I was trying desperately to remember whether Doris had mentioned hearing it, Donald Tait spoke up unexpectedly.
"I did," he said. "I heard it distinctly, and then I heard someone go downstairs."
Joe flicked him a glance and asked, "Anybody else?"
Donald said, "Yes. Amy."
Amy's eyes flashed angrily. "I did not hear it," she said hotly. "I never heard a thing!"
Rhynda gave a slow, aggravating laugh. "It's all right, Amy. Dear Aunt Mabel is upstairs and out of earshot." She raised her long lashes and fixed Rosalie Hannahs with a cool, lazy stare. "You may have to fix Rosalie, of course," she added deliberately.
"Rhynda Ballinger, I don't know what you're talking about!" Rosalie protested, on the verge of tears. Joe waved them to silence and concentrated on Amy. "Did you or did you not hear that gong?"
"Well, only very faintly," she said, glaring at him defiantly.
"I don't believe she hears as well as Donald," Rhynda said sweetly and flashed a warm smile at Mr. Tait, who smiled back. I looked with fear and trembling at Amy, but apparently she had not noticed, because she failed to explode.
Richard and Joe had disappeared quietly after Amy's admission, and my mind had followed them restlessly. I found that I could not sit still, and after a while, I got up and wandered out into the hall. They were both there, carefully examining the floor.
Joe was on his hands and knees in front of the door to what we called the reception room. It was a small room at the front of the house that was never used. Richard was at the edge of the rug that lay in the exact center of the hall. As I walked out, he said, "Nothing here."
"Well, here's one,"Joe announced with subdued triumph.
Richard straightened up hastily, and I followed him. Joe was pointing to a small drop of blood on the floor in front of the door to the reception room. Richard opened the door, and we went in and switched on the light. The single window was wide open, and on the floor beneath it was another drop of blood.
They both looked out of the window, and I squeezed my head between them and looked out, too. The spot where Berg had been found was directly below us. Between the path and the house there was a narrow flowerbed, and although the earth was, of course, pretty hard, we could see in the light from the window that there were two fresh indentations in it. They looked like heelmarks.
"Looks like he was hit at the door, carried to the window, and thrown out,"Joe observed sagely.
But Richard shook his head. "Berg is a big man, and it would not be easy to carry him from the door to the window, and harder still to lift him and throw him out. And granted that it could have been done, there would have been a lot more blood spilled. I think he was hit at the window and pushed out as he fell. Whoever hit him probably aimed for the temple, but got it a bit too far up. It was well thought out, because if the blow did not kill him, the exposure almost certainly would. Smithy's nocturnal rambling could hardly have been foreseen, of course.
"It was the same in Freda's case. She was drowned after the blow. Whoever is doing it tries to make doubly sure. I think there's no doubt that Berg owes his life to the person who played that gong."
"I intend to find out about that," Joe said. "But this guy ain't so smart. He don't kill them off at the first smack. If the Freda dame had been found sooner, she coulda been pulled around all right."
"Well, she'd have to have been discovered almost at once," Richard said doubtfully. "At that, she had a much better chance of being found than Berg did."
Joe moved restlessly. "But look," he said presently, "with your theory, how do you account for the blood over by the door?"
"I suppose it fell from the telephone as it was being taken to the dining room."
"But why take it to the dining room?" I asked reasonably.
Joe groaned, "Jeep! It'll be good to be done with this case. And the best thing about it will be not havin' you tailin' me around twenty-four hours out of each day."
He went off, pulling a flashlight out of his pocket and saying he was going to study the possible heelmarks in the flower bed.
&nb
sp; "Woman's place is in the home, Smithy," Richard murmured reprovingly.
"I've had enough home to last me the rest of my life," I said gloomily. "I'm going to live in the park and eat nuts."
He smiled at me and rumpled my hair around. "How about a nice steam-heated apartment with all the rooms on one floor, and only four or five at that?"
I was thinking about Rhynda having been in his room, so I moved my head away and shrugged.
He said suddenly, "I have an idea. Where's that little book with the list of things you found in the various bedrooms?"
"It's upstairs. Why?"
"You go and get it," he said earnestly. "Take it to my room, and wait there for me. I'll come up as soon as I can get away from Joe. I don't want to confide in Joe just yet. He might do things I wouldn't like."
"How long do you expect to keep me waiting?" I asked doubtfully.
"Not long, I promise."
He dashed off after Joe, and I went slowly upstairs. I felt a bit annoyed with him. If he thought he was some sort of a lady-killer, entertaining all the girls in his room, then I declined to be among those present.
I got the little book from under my pillow, went to Richard's room, and pinned a note on his pillow to the effect that I would wait for him in my own old room. I went there forthwith, the little shopping list still clutched firmly in my hand. I sat down and began silently to curse Richard, the lady-killer. I admitted to myself that I was one lady he had killed, but no one, I said to myself firmly, would ever know it, unless he became really serious. I was musing on this possibility, despite his obvious friendliness with Rhynda, when the door opened and Rhynda herself walked in.
"I read your note," she said, stretching herself out on the bed, "but let me give you a little word of warning. Don't get serious over one Richard Jones, because he and I are going to be married quite soon."
CHAPTER 26
I said promptly, "Congratulations."
She looked at me from under the arm she had thrown across her forehead. "Why?" she asked. "Or is it Berg you were after?"
"May I have Berg, then?" I said politely.
She pulled herself off the bed abruptly and said, "Oh, shut up!" and started for the door.
"Are you mad," I asked, "because I didn't pull down my hair and cry?"
She turned around and said slowly, "As a matter of fact, I am— but I suppose I'll get over it. In the meantime, I'll console myself with the sure knowledge that you won't get Berg, either."
She went out and banged the door, and I sat there, wondering what had made her angry. Rhynda was never mean unless she was angry.
I didn't think much about Richard—I didn't want to—but I was conscious of a faint relief that I had never showed him I was serious, and I earnestly vowed that I never would. Having settled that with myself, I began to wonder why he had not turned up and realized suddenly that Rhynda had probably destroyed my note.
I went out into the hall and passed Rosalie Hannahs, who was bustling along in the direction of Berg's room. "Patient's easier now," she called cheerfully. "Mabel and I are taking good care of him."
"Mabel!" I thought scornfully. "What does Rosalie expect to get out of all this? Berg, maybe, since I can't have him?"
I giggled to myself as I thought of Berg standing up at the altar beside Rosalie in the sort of wedding clothes she'd be sure to pick out for herself. I remembered the odd thing I had found in Rosalie's room when I had searched the bedroom—a train ticket to Elkton, Maryland, the eloper's Mecca, but it had never been used.
I knocked on Richard's door and he answered at once.
"No wonder you were fired out of your job," he said aggrievedly. "You never do what you're told. I've been waiting here for half an hour."
"Now that we are no longer engaged," I said with dignity, "you can't bawl me out like that. Nor can you tell me where to get off at, or to head in, and I won't accept either cards or spades from you."
He laughed and pulled me into the room. "When did you break the engagement?" he asked chattily.
"About ten minutes ago. Rhynda and I tossed for you, and she lost."
He laughed again. "Rhynda can breathe easily. She has red hair, and an old aunt of mine once told me that a person of my coloring should never marry a redheaded woman. Besides, you can't stand me up like that. I told the family the wedding was February 15 and the bride a blonde. Everything will be arranged by now, and my dear old aunt will have ordered the decorations in pale pink and baby blue."
"I don't want to upset everything," I said reasonably, "but you'd better make it the sixteenth. My aunt Hortense's birthday is on the fifteenth, and if I don't go around there with all the other sucker relations, she might leave me out of her will."
"The sixteenth," he said gravely, and jotted it down in a notebook. Then he kissed me as though he meant it, but I was too busy being afraid that Rhynda might walk in to enjoy it much.
He became businesslike after that, and took the shopping list from me. We sat down on a settee that had been covered with chintz from the five-and-dime, a rather unique pattern which was made up of sprays of lilac and nasturtium growing out of the same red flowerpot.
"It's a pity to sit on the flowers," I murmured, but he ignored me and fixed his attention on the little book.
He pored over it for some time to himself. Once he asked abruptly, "Where did that old telephone come from?"
"Mrs. Ballinger's clothes closet—always kept there. Also it was in my old room, on the bedside table, earlier this evening."
"How do you know?"
"I saw it," I said, "and raised my eyebrows at it."
"Well, don't tell Joe anything about it—he'll run you in. He's determined to run somebody in before lunch so that he can snap his fingers at the interfering louses."
I gave an involuntary shiver and Richard returned to the notebook. He was silent for so long this time that I began to get bored. I patted my hair, scuffled my feet around, and at last said conversationally, "Did you ever hear about Mrs. Ballinger's angina ? "
He looked up quickly. "What was that?"
"Mrs. Ballinger's angina pectoris. Rumor has it that she will probably go off in her next attack, but she hasn't had one for a long time."
I was utterly unprepared for his reaction to this piece of gossip. He sprang up and almost shouted, "But why didn't you tell me? Why on earth didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't know it myself until the early hours of this morning," I said defensively.
He began to pace the room agitatedly, his head slightly bent. I watched him until he stopped and stared down at me, his eyes somber.
"I think I've got it, Leigh. It seems rather ghastly and unbelievable, but it can't be any other way. I don't see how I can be wrong." He took two more turns about the room and stopped in front of me again. "Listen, Smithy, I'll run over the clues and then with what you know perhaps you'll see it the way I do."
I began to be infected by his excitement. "Go ahead," I said eagerly.
"First, I'll read over this list of things you found in the various bedrooms. Rosalie's: unused train ticket to Elkton, Maryland, dated several years ago. Rhynda: unpaid bill from a trainer for training a Russian wolfhound for show."
"Rhynda doesn't like dogs," I pointed out.
"A Russian wolfhound is not, rightly speaking, a dog," said Richard. "It's a decoration, and Rhynda is nothing if not decorative. But, to go on, Mrs. Ballinger: a solicited prospectus for a boys' school. Richard Jones: a set of false teeth. I'll explain that."
"I'm all ears," I said politely.
"They belong to my father and some day they will be mine."
'They're not yours yet," I said, "and in the meantime, don't you think he'll be wanting them?"
"No. He uses them only when his Sunday set gets out of order. These were to have been dropped at the dentist's to have a missing tooth replaced, but I forgot them and found them still in my pocket when I arrived here."
"All right. Get on with it."
"Berg: a list of words on a piece of paper—'The Elms, Far Point, Windy Point, Harrington.'"
"Harrington is Berg's middle name," I observed.
"Quite right, and stop interrupting. Amy: a maternity dress, size twenty. Am I right in concluding that even if Amy were going to have a baby, any gown in size twenty would be too large for her?"
"You are 'quate rate,'" I said primly.
"All right. Next, Donald Tait: a box of stink bombs. What are stink bombs, Smithy?"
I looked at him in astonishment. "No imagination," I concluded,"and certainly not the right kind of schooling. They are bombs that stink but don't kill. Routine school child's equipment, at least in my day."
"Hmm. Possibly a practical joker. By the way, wasn't there anything odd in your room?"
I blushed and said defiantly, "A set of the Elsie Dinsmore books. I found them in the attic, and I've had the best time with them. The way the poor little dear suffers—"
"I won't tell on you," he said, grinning. He sat down and was silent for a while, then he said, "You've just heard that list—add to it the telephone as a weapon—one drop of blood beside the door, and another at the window—the heelmarks in the flower bed—the gong playing—Amy and Donald looking out of the same window—Mrs. Ballinger's sudden friendship with Rosalie Hannahs, who is living in her house and eating her food without paying for either—and last, but far from least—Mrs. Ballinger's angina. What do you make of it?"
"Nothing," I said promptly. "At that, you've left out a couple of things. Doris heard someone moving around in the kitchen, apparently looking for something, before the gong was played. And Rhynda being in your room for three quarters of an hour or longer."
"I can't place the kitchen episode," he said, "unless it was Joe, or one of his boyfriends, but perhaps it isn't important. As for Rhynda, she was in my room for perhaps five minutes, certainly not longer."
"Then where was she the rest of the time?"
He was unexpectedly interested in this, and I had to tell him exactly when I had first looked at the clock after I had discovered that Rhynda was gone, at what time I had left the room, and about how long I had stayed downstairs.
The Black-Headed Pins Page 15