“I saw that happen myself, baby. I was here. I mean does anybody know where they are now?”
“In the packroom,” Dot said eagerly. “I could have told you that all along if you’d asked me. Nobody claimed them. She didn’t save any letters, and nobody’s written to her since. It’s very sad, really.”
“So it is,” Lillian said. “And where do you get the inside information?”
“I’m personal friends with Miss Small.”
“Me too.” Lillian shook her head. “But she holds out on me… Why don’t you wash your hair sometime, Mainwaring?”
Dot got up. “I’m leaving, this minute! It’s nothing to do with you, April, I want you to understand that, but I’m not the type to take insults. And if I may say so, I’m sorry for you, Lillian Harris, I really am.”
April waited until the door closed. “Lillian, you’re bad! Did you have to hurt her feelings like that?”
“Sure. She was getting ready to reform me.”
“You’re awful… Does her hair need washing, honest?”
“Sure.” She smoothed April’s soft curls. “You’re sweet, baby, but you’re too democratic. Next time you have a party, invite Minnie May. Gin smells clean.”
April put her cheek against Lillian’s. “Ssh,” she whispered. “She’s coming back, I can hear her. Ssh.”
Someone knocked. “Come in,” April called.
Lillian said, “It’s Jewel. She looks like she’s running away from a wolf. Come on in and shut the door.”
Jewel closed the door behind her and leaned against it. “Can’t stay, I’m still on duty. Listen, something funny happened downstairs.”
“Well?” Lillian waited.
“An old lady came in looking for a room. She made out like it was for a niece. It was funny.”
“How?”
“She made out like she was lame, but she wasn’t lame. She was putting it on. She got her legs mixed up. First lame on one, then lame on the other. I was watching.”
“Who’d she see?”
“Plummer, the dope. Plummer fell all over the place, lah-di-dah, make you sick. Then she whispered something to the old lady, I couldn’t hear it all but I heard suicide. Then the old lady said something like ‘Poor Ruth.’”
“I’m crazy about this,” Lillian said. “Then what?”
“Then Plummer got cold feet and the old lady knew it. She made out like her niece’s name was Ruth. And she asked to see the rooms even when Plummer told her we didn’t have any.”
“So.” Lillian leaned against her pillow. “Where was Kitty?”
“She was there. Kitty told me the last part. I wasn’t there then. I had to—I had to run up for a minute. When I got back the old lady was gone and Plummer looked scared. What do you make of it?”
Lillian laughed, softly. “I wouldn’t even try to make anything. Get along, Jewel, you’re scaring April to death. Some old busybody, that’s all, maybe a reporter dressed for the part. What do you care, anyway?”
“Care!” Jewel sent a long look across the room. “I don’t care. I’ve got nothing on my conscience!”
“Nobody said you had.”
“Nobody better. I’m only telling you. You said to tell you if I ever heard of anybody asking for Ruth Miller.”
“This one didn’t ask outright, did she?”
“No, but that’s what she was getting at. It was plain as day. Even Plummer, the dope, caught on.”
“Well, keep it to yourself. Who’s still out?”
“Moke and Poke, Minnie May, and a couple of others. Jane, Gloria, I forget who else. Nobody much.”
“Cake, or do you have to run?”
“I can eat it in the car.”
Lillian took the cake over to the door. “Goodnight,” she said, “and thanks.”
April sat on her bed and waited for Lillian to come back. “What are you doing, Lillian?”
“Walking around, stretching my legs.”
“Why did Jewel talk like that? I didn’t see anything funny in it.”
“Jewel has a bird brain. You know what a bird brain is? Teeny-weeny. And don’t forget she was the first one out in that courtyard. She’s still rocky.”
“I never did understand how she—”
“Nothing to worry about, nothing to understand. Take off that bathrobe and get in bed.”
“My teeth—”
“Skip them tonight. It’s cold in the hall. Cover up.”
“Maybe I will… Lillian, what are you doing in Ruth’s closet?”
“I like that! It’s mine now, don’t forget that!”
“I didn’t mean anything, I just keep forgetting. Are you going to open the window?”
“When you cover up. I’ll undress in the bathroom. Ready? Here we go.”
April pulled the blankets to her chin. “Lillian?”
“What now?”
“What are you doing at the window?”
“Looking at the stars.”
“Are they bright?”
“So-so. I’ve seen better. Turn over and go to sleep. I’ll be back soon.”
Lillian’s voice was mild and soothing and her movements made no sound. She leaned out of the window and looked up, not at the stars but at the window directly above. It was lighted. She drew back and stood where she was, rubbing a finger along the white-painted sill. She did that every night and sometimes in the morning. No one ever saw her do it, and no one ever saw the curl of her mouth.
Miss Small told Miss Brady it was time to be thinking about their Christmas tree. “We might have our own little tree up here,” she said. “I know we’ve always had it in my room, but with the girls running in and out at all hours it doesn’t seem as personal as it should. And I know they look at my things when I’m not there.”
“I told you to lock your door, Angel.”
“You don’t lock yours! But honestly, you know how it is, Monny. Mrs Marshall-Gill thinks the girls should feel free to come to me whenever they like… Do you mind having our tree here?”
“G’wan. I love it… April entertained tonight.”
“Who, dear?”
“Harris, of course, and Mainwaring. Funny combination.”
“Oh, I don’t know. April’s lonely, in spite of Lillian, and she has to take what she can get… What do you want for Christmas, Monny?”
“From you, not a thing. You spend too much, you go crazy. Don’t look like that, I know what things cost.”
“But, darling—”
“Woolworth’s. I know, you can buy the ornaments, the tinsel, and stuff. And the tree. That’s your share, and that’s all. Now where’ll we put it? Might as well settle everything now. Not much time left. Be here before we know it.”
Miss Small’s eyes wandered happily. “Lovely, lovely room. I feel so relaxed in here. All your beautiful, wonderful things. Well, let me see. What about that table in the corner? Is it very valuable?”
“Not if you want to use it. Angel, you’re nothing but a kid. I didn’t give a damn about Christmas until you came here. Tree on table. That’s that. Now what do you want me to give you?”
Miss Small hesitated. “Monny, if you really do want to know—”
“What do you think I’m doing, making conversation? Do you think I like to hear myself talk?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking—I mean I haven’t any—I mean if we’re going to Europe—”
“Come on. What are you dreaming about?”
“Pigskin luggage!”
Miss Brady collapsed against her pillows and roared.
“Does anybody in the whole world have one half as much fun as we do?” Miss Small marvelled. “Darling, you’re sitting on your cigarettes.”
“Hand me another pack. No, nobody… What’s the matter?”
Miss Small had reached for the cigarettes, but her hand had stopped in mid-air. “Somebody coming down the hall, and I’m afraid it’s for me. Oh dear, I simply can’t bear another tale of woe.”
“Might be for me
, for a change,” Miss Brady boasted. “Whoever it is, I’ll get rid of her.”
Together they listened to the slow, unhurried steps and waited for the knock. When it came, it had an almost human personality. It was light and measured, tempered with caution and certain of result.
“Come in,” Miss Brady called.
Lillian Harris, wearing a crimson bathrobe and looking sleepy, edged into the room. “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Brady,” she apologised, “but I didn’t like to disturb Mrs Fister. She’s usually asleep by now. And I hate to interrupt you and Miss Small—”
“You’re not interrupting,” Miss Brady said. “What’s wrong? April sick again?”
“No, not April.” Lillian kept her place by the open door.
“Well, come on in and close that door. There’s a draft. What’s your trouble? You girls haven’t been frightening each other, have you?”
“Oh, no, Miss Brady, April and I never did that. It’s just that I’ve got a headache and nobody on our floor has any aspirin. I thought you might be awake and—”
“Certainly. There’s headache stuff in the bathroom, all sorts. Go in and help yourself.”
“I’ll get it,” Miss Small said. “Sit down, Lillian. We’re very glad we can help.” She left the room quietly.
“Coffee?” Miss Brady asked. “Although you probably shouldn’t have it.”
“I guess not,” Lillian agreed. She drooped over the back of a chair. “We had some up in our room. Just Dot and the two of us.”
Something in her voice sharpened Miss Brady’s scrutiny. “You look as if you had things on your mind, Lillian.”
Lillian raised sleepy, candid eyes. “Oh, no, Miss Brady. I don’t feel well, that’s all. And April—you know it’s queer rooming with a girl like April. I know I wanted to do it, and I still do, but it makes me, well, nervous.”
Miss Small returned with aspirin. “I understand,” she said. “I’ve been wondering if it wasn’t a bad idea in the first place. I’ve even been wondering if we ought to close that room up, temporarily. Although I don’t know what we’d do for additional space. But no matter what we do, Lillian, you must try not to think of what happened. It was a dreadful thing, but you must try to think of it impersonally.”
“That’s it,” Miss Brady agreed. “It isn’t as if we’d really known the poor wretch. I suppose that sounds heartless, doesn’t it?”
“No, Miss Brady.”
The telephone beside Miss Brady rang once. She let it ring again before she picked it up. “Plummer’s midnight report,” she shrugged. “Mouse, cockroach, or centipede crossed the lobby floor at eleven-forty-five, heading south. Minnie May drunk again… Well, Ethel?”
Miss Plummer’s voice was audible but not distinct. Miss Brady listened with caricatured boredom, and Miss Small turned the pages of a magazine. Lillian Harris looked at the ceiling.
Finally Miss Brady said sharply, “Take it easy, Ethel. Start all over again.”
Miss Small raised surprised eyes, and Lillian Harris looked sleepily interested.
Miss Brady didn’t like what she was hearing. Her mouth looked as if she were tapping her feet, but she was as still as marble. Even her lips were still and stiff. She finally said, “Forget it and go to bed,” and hung up. “The woman’s a fool. She was born that way. I’ll be glad when we—well never mind that! Lillian, what do you know about this?”
“About what, Miss Brady?”
“Tonight’s caller. You don’t miss much around here, so come on and talk.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Brady. The only caller we had was Mainwaring.”
Miss Brady tried again. “Been down in the lobby tonight?”
“No, Miss Brady. Why?”
“Some woman inquired about a room hours ago, and Plummer has suddenly made up her mind to have a fit about it. One of those midnight decisions, the old witching hour. She thinks it was the police. Know anything?”
“No, Miss Brady. But Jewel did say something about an odd-looking woman. Very odd, she said. But you know Jewel. I hardly listened.”
“Well, take your aspirin and get along. Goodnight.”
The two women waited until her footsteps died away.
“Monny! What did Ethel really say?” Miss Small’s voice was frightened. “Don’t tell me we’re going to have trouble! Not now, not when we’re almost ready to go!”
“Why should we have trouble? A fool girl chucks herself out of a window, so what? Too bad, but nothing to do with us.”
“Monny, tell me what Ethel said!”
“Some old woman wanted a room for her niece. A niece named Ruth. If you know Plummer, you can guess what happened. She got pally with the old girl and talked too much. Now she’s remembering, and she’s worried. Police, she says. Or a reporter.”
“Reporter?”
“Dead girls boost circulation. Don’t think about it.”
“But the police?”
“Don’t think about it, I tell you. We’ve had all the police we’re going to have. Plummer’s a fool.”
“I don’t know… Monny, I hate all this! All your wonderful work here, ending in a mess! All our plans. Monny, can’t we go away now, can’t we have a breakdown or something and resign tomorrow? I don’t like things the way they are.”
“I wonder… We’ll see. Maybe right after Christmas. We’ll see… Heat up that coffee, will you? I’m freezing for no good reason.”
Miss Small absently heated the coffee. “I don’t think Lillian had a headache. She’s disappointing me again. She’s gone back to that queer, secret manner. I’m ashamed of myself, I really am, but I keep thinking that Lillian may have known Ruth before; you know, known her somewhere else. Lillian was in the lobby when Ruth came, and Ruth was frightened, I told you that—”
“Shut up, darling,” Miss Brady said. “Use your imagination for something pretty. Picture me on a camel.”
Miss Small tried and tried.
They talked for another hour, building and wrecking plans, phrasing and rephrasing resignations, composing farewell speeches to Mrs Marshall-Gill. One was for public delivery, one for the ship’s concert.
At the end, Miss Small said, “Monny, that woman who came for a room, did she leave her name?”
“Pond. I told you not to think about that.”
“I won’t,” Miss Small said. “I never heard of her.”
5
Dr Kloppel had washed only half the leaves of his rubber plant and wanted to finish the job. He clung to his white enamel basin and petulantly soaked and squeezed his sponge.
“If you want to know the kind of doctor I am,” he said, “stop any man, woman, or child on this street.”
“I’m afraid you misunderstand,” Mark said. “I’m perfectly confident—”
“I’m an old man and I have all the money I need. I don’t need Hope House. I go there once a week because those women neglect themselves and I believe in charity. I charge fifty cents a call and sometimes give the medicine away. I live alone except for a housekeeper who’s gone around the corner to find me a chop for lunch. Now if you still question my integrity or diagnosis—”
“But I don’t,” Mark insisted. “I’m simply trying to trace the girl’s origin. I thought you could help me.”
“I can’t. I never saw her before that night. I never saw her alive. She was dead on arrival.”
“So I understand. Was there a post-mortem?”
“There was a broken neck. It seemed sufficient.” Dr Kloppel put his basin on the mantel and sighed. “Who told you to come here?”
“Nobody. I read about the case in the papers and got the idea she might be the friend of a friend of mine.”
Dr Kloppel raised one bushy white eyebrow. “I haven’t got the time or inclination to argue that, but you needn’t think I believe it. Now you listen to me, young feller. Hope House is what they call a hostel in some places but I never liked the word. It’s cheap, good, and endowed, and it helps a lot of girls and women who
’d have to live in hall bedrooms otherwise. It’s managed by a rich and well-connected lady named Brady and backed by some fancy New York names. It draws all kinds of girls and all kinds of behaviour. Give you an example. Couple of years ago one girl drank a little bottle of iodine because she’d got herself in the customary natural state. That turned her into a heroine. I told the neighbourhood drugstores not to sell iodine for a week or so. Get me? I’m not dumb. Now when I’m called up at midnight and asked to look at a body lying in the courtyard and I’m told the young lady was anti-social, a liar, and sickly to boot, I don’t have to read my books. I don’t even need the open window to tell me what happened. Very sad but very clear. The young lady had an attack of remorse or melancholia. All I had to do was watch for a repetition or a half-hearted try. I watched, but everybody over there was scared silly. Only one girl developed an unusual interest in windows, and all she did was look out of them too much. I had a talk with her and figured she was showing off. Now go away and leave me to my washing.”
“Dr Kloppel, perhaps if you’ll let me explain—”
“I don’t think you’re a reporter, because you’re too late getting around and there’s nothing to report anyway. You look to me like a natural-born snooper with money. Maybe you’re all right; I don’t know or care. If you still want to play, go to the rooming house next door and ask for Mrs Cashman. She found the body, or her dog did. But keep away from Hope House. I want to play poker tonight.”
Mark found himself on the sidewalk, grinning at the doctor’s neat brass plate. Martin Luther Kloppel, MD. Roberta would like the doctor. But what was that description of Ruth Miller? Anti-social and a liar. He wondered who had come to that conclusion after only two days’ residence. Anti-social and a liar. Nice, hard words that didn’t match Roberta’s soft distress.
He looked at the house next door. A card in the clean, fern-filled window said “Vacancies.” While he stood there, trying to make up his mind, a small, neat woman with a white poodle came down the street and started up the steps.
“Mrs Cashman?”
She nodded, and her round eyes glistened.
“I’ve just come from Dr Kloppel’s. He thinks you and I might have a little talk.” He wondered why Mrs Cashman braced herself before she spoke, but he didn’t wonder long. No one, not even Mrs Cashman herself, could hear her voice without an involuntary cringe. It belonged to a weeping giant.
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