The Black Eye

by Constance Little

  "Where were they, for the most part?" Ken asked.

  "I should say more in Mary's bedroom—but they were all over the place." She coughed and leaned a little toward Ken, with her chilly gray eyes on his face. "Tell me—you ought to know—what really happened up there? It's most peculiar and unpleasant, living in a place where murder has been done. I've put in a complaint to the management."

  Ken murmured that we didn't really know anything and that anyway it was all in the papers.

  Mrs. Brindle snorted. "That's simply an evasion, young man. After all, you were right there—you could tell me some of the details."

  I spoke up then and told her some of the details in a low, confidential tone, while Ken squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

  In no time at all we were gossiping about the Emersons, the Fredons, Lucy and Mr. Boxton, and Mary's occasional maid who came in for cleaning when she felt like it—the only one Mary would tolerate, and the only one who tolerated Mary.

  Mrs. Brindle had something to say about them all—Lucy, who was always running after the men, John, who was always running after the women, Betty, who had had a secret boyfriend—Mrs. Brindle shot a significant glance at Ken—Mrs. Budd, who was slightly common, didn't I think? Homer was a fine man, but dull—always talking about dull things—and Betty was certainly not the type to run away with a dull man—although, come to think of it. there was one subject they both seemed interested in and had discussed together quite frequently—very odd, too, because it was Egyptian mummies.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I COULD SEE that Mrs. Brindle felt no significance in what she had just said and I realized that Egbert must have kept quiet about the mummified condition of Betty's body. Ken and I did not exclaim or comment, but there must have been something electric in our silence, for Mrs. Brindle stopped abrupt in mid-sentence, looked from one face to the other, and asked, "What's the matter?"

  "Nothing," Ken said, too airily. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

  It seemed clumsy to me, and I added hastily, "We mustn't impose you any longer, Mrs. Brindle. We came down only to apologize, but it's been so pleasant.. . Mr. Egbert will be sending out an alarm for us."

  Ken rose at once, and Mrs. Brindle reluctantly accompanied us back to the foyer. She asked in a ghoulish whisper, "Do they keep you prisoners up there?'"

  "It's just that they like us to be around within call," Ken explained. "Help them out when they get stuck."

  She gave him a half-doubtful look and then made us promise to return a the earliest opportunity and tell her the latest developments.

  Out in the hall, with the Brindle door closed behind us, Ken grinned a me and announced, "This is where I leave you. I'm going to run the blockade and try to get in some supplies—a few delicacies to tempt your appetite."

  I nodded. "Go ahead. My appetite can always be tempted by a steak, and I could use some candy, and—"

  But he was already sneaking quietly down the stairs, so I went on up by myself. The door was locked, and I had to ring, and Mary answered, with strand of hair hanging across her forehead and her hands red and still wet.

  "Where have you been?" she asked crossly. "Ken has disappeared, and Lucy went out and left me. Said she wanted to get some supplies. She deliberately insulted me, too. She wore a hat and dress of mine and then told me she wanted to look dowdy so that the reporters wouldn't recognize her."

  "Oh, don't let Lucy bother you," I said, swallowing a grin. "She was just talking."

  Mary mopped at her wet hands with her apron. "Well, I should hope my clothes are in quiet taste anyway. Lucy's things were always a bit gaudy."

  I gave a conservative nod to keep her quiet, but spoke no words that she could repeat to Lucy.

  I discovered that I was being maneuvered toward the kitchen so I stopped dead and said firmly, "I'm going to take a nap."

  "Why on earth?" Mary asked, looking exasperated. "You slept all right last night, didn't you?"

  "Yes, but I'm going to take a nap anyway."

  She followed me into my room and said fretfully, "If you'd help me in the kitchen it would be done so much sooner."

  "Now look, Mary, you need rest yourself, and if you'd go in now and take a nap—and let the kitchen blow—you'd feel a hundred percent better."

  To my utter surprise, she showed signs of indecision and finally admitted weakly, "I am dreadfully tired; perhaps I'd better rest. It's all been so upsetting and frightening—and Lucy nagging at me all the time, as though I hadn't enough . . ."

  I untied her apron and steered her along to Homer's room. "You just forget Lucy and everything else. You need to relax."

  I removed the spread from the bed and held it out of her reach so that she couldn't refold it the right way, and after fussing a bit she presently lay down and heaved a deep sigh.

  "I expect you're right—I feel as though I might sleep a little. Close the door after you, please—I don't want Lucy banging in and disturbing me."

  I closed her in and went back to my own room, which was in a mess because neither Lucy nor I had touched it since we got out of bed in the morning. I yawned and, wandering over to the window, had a look at the Emersons' apartment across the way. I backed up immediately and hid behind the drape, because Mrs. Budd was standing at one of the open windows and appeared to be washing the surrounding woodwork. As I watched her she stopped suddenly and, laying the back of her wrist across her eyes, began to cry with the easy abandon of a child. I swallowed uncomfortably and was about to turn away when John appeared behind her. He put an arm across her shoulders and spoke soothingly to her. After a minute or two his voice became clearer, and I heard him say, "Go and powder your nose, now, and get your hat, and I'll take you for a drive. You need some air."

  "But we can't, John—you haven't enough gasoline."

  "Yes, I have. Come on." He urged her away from the window, but the last I saw other she was still shaking her head.

  I yawned again and, stretched out on the bed, and immediately my mind became a beehive of thought and speculation. That small object, for instance, that had dropped back into the drawer when Betty was lifted out—I had heard it distinctly, although I had not seen it. But surely Egbert had found it; he must have searched the drawer.

  Perhaps he hadn't found it, and it was still there. I considered this for a while and then got up off the bed and went out into the hall, determined to have a look myself.

  But the door to Mary's room was locked, and I returned to my bed, wondering who had locked it and why. Surely they couldn't lock Mary out of her own room—with all her things in there? And if they had, did she know about it?

  I went off to sleep after a while and must have slept for some time. I woke up perspiring, heavy-eyed, and cross. The telephone was ringing persistently. I lay there for a while, frowning and wondering why nobody answered, and at last dragged myself off the bed and stumbled across the room.

  The bedroom door was locked, and there was no key. I rattled the knob, unbelieving, for some time, and at last knelt down and peered into the keyhole. The key was in the lock—on the outside—and there could no longer be any doubt that someone had deliberately locked me in. I made a quick, feverish search of the room while the phone petered out, but there was no other key, and at last I went slowly back to the door and knocked tentatively. There was no response and no sound of any sort, and after knocking and calling for a while I went over to the window. The Emerson curtains were stirring in a light breeze that had sprung up, but there was no sign of anyone. I leaned out and called Mrs. Budd's name, and then John's, but the curtains continued to flutter lazily, and no face appeared behind them. I was pulling myself together for one last yell when I heard Mary's voice and turned to see her head bobbing out of Homer's window.

  "Eugenia! For heaven's sake! Are you locked in too?"

  "Yes!" I bawled. "What's going on anyway?"

  "I don't know—it must have been that man Egbert. Listen, don't rouse the whole neighborhood. Can't you make t
he fire escape, there?"

  I turned my head and saw that the rear living-room window, next to me, opened on to a fire escape. The iron railing was only a few inches from my own sill, and after eying it dubiously for a moment I called to Mary, bravely, that I'd try.

  I eased out onto the sill, gingerly, and clutched the railing with sweating hands. I had climbed over it and was in the living-room window in a matter of seconds—but my legs were trembling as I made my way to the hall, although I felt brave and dashing at the same time.

  The apartment was very still, and it was a relief to hear Mary's voice calling that her key was lying on the floor, outside. I found it and opened the door for her.

  She was more annoyed than anything else. She had a crooked hairpin in her hand, and she explained, "I got the key out, all right, but these hairpins aren't strong enough to turn the lock. When that policeman comes around here again I shall have it out with him. I'll go to somebody higher up, if necessary, but I will not submit to being locked into my room like a rat in a trap."

  "When did he lock us in?"

  "If I'd known when he did it," Mary said impatiently, "I'd have protested—naturally. But I was asleep, and he must have been very cautious about it, because I'm a light sleeper and the least thing wakes me."

  "Well, don't worry about it now," I soothed her. "Did he lock the other doors?"

  She went over and tried Ken's, but it was open. "No—you see—but of course Ken was not in his room. My own room was already locked—I did it myself to keep Lucy out. She simply lives on other people's affairs."

  I looked at my watch and found that it was nearly eight o'clock.

  "Why—our two supply merchants have never come back," I said in some surprise. "We've been left to shift for ourselves. I suppose they met up with each other and decided to go to a movie or something. Probably that was one of them on the phone a while ago."

  Mary was not interested. She was still plotting vengeance on Egbert, who, she decided, had gone off and forgotten to unlock our doors after completing whatever shady business he had been up to.

  I doubted that Egbert had had any hand in it at all, but I could see no value in further discussion, so I suggested that we get something to eat and led the way to the kitchen.

  We had a meal that was sufficient—if not up to Lucy's standard—and after we had cleared up, and Mary had toured the kitchen looking for the last crumb so that she could sweep it away, I told her that I had a headache and thought I'd go straight to bed. I merely wanted to get away from her fussing, but she brought me an aspirin and stood over me until I had swallowed it. However, she presently retired to Homer's room, and I settled myself comfortably in bed with a book—having made sure, first, that the key was on my side of the door.

  For a while I read in peace, and then I began to think again of the small object that had dropped back into the drawer when Betty was lifted out. I tried to tell myself that Egbert would certainly have searched the drawer, but I couldn't get it out of my mind, and after a while I got up and went out into the hall. I took the key to Mary's bedroom from the desk where she kept it and quietly unlocked the door. No sense in letting Mary hear me, I thought nervously—she'd think I was snooping, like Lucy. And maybe I was, too.

  Once inside the room, I almost turned back, but curiosity was a bit stronger than fear and I switched on a small lamp and hurried over to the drawer. It was heavy and stiff, and after a lot of tugging I was able to get it only part way out. It was in shadow, and I could not see much, so I stretched an exploring hand. My fingers touched something marble cold, and I drew them back as though they had been stung. In fascinated horror I peered more closely into the drawer—and recoiled, gasping and sweating. Betty seemed to be lying in there, wrapped up as a mummy again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I HAVE NO RECOLLECTION of what happened immediately following my gruesome discovery. My next sensation was a sort of gasping surprise because someone seemed to have thrown a bucket of cold water over my face— and then I saw that Lucy and Ken were looking down at me anxiously. I tried to say something and Ken said, "Shh!" rather sternly. "Don't shh her," Lucy shrilled. "Gene, for heaven's sake, what happened to you?"

  "Can't you at least wait until I get her onto her bed?" Ken protested. He leaned over, raised me with the utmost ease, and slung me over his shoulder. He walked out into the hall, and I caught sight of Mary at the door of Homer's room. She called out, "What is it? Ken! What has happened?" Almost immediately she let out a shriek, and I thought she had discovered the body, but it wasn't that. I heard Lucy say, "All right, Mary—don't have hysterics. A little cold water won't hurt the carpet. Keeps the moths out."

  "But what has happened?" Mary asked agitatedly. "What was she doing in there?"

  Ken turned into my room and deposited me on the bed, after which he sat down beside me and held my hand.

  "Now keep quiet. Lucy is going to fix some brew that will calm you down—or give you a lift—I forget which."

  "Did you see it?" I whispered feverishly. "How could Egbert have left that body there—it's dreadful! And cold—so terribly cold. How does he keep it as cold as that?"

  Ken looked at me oddly and asked, "Where did you see the body?"

  "In the drawer, of course—in that drawer under the bed. But I don't know why I fainted. I never have before."

  He stood up abruptly. "The drawer was closed when we came in. Just a moment—I'll take a look."

  He went off to Mary's room, and I gathered that Mary was there, presumably mopping up the water, for I heard her voice raised in protest and accusation. She said something like, "If you people would leave that drawer alone you wouldn't always be finding things in it," and then for a while there was silence.

  Presently Ken came back and sat down beside me again with a serious look on his face. "Just close your eyes and try to be quiet. Lucy is getting a doctor, and you'll soon be all right again."

  "But did you see it? In the drawer?" I asked impatiently. "Why do you suppose he keeps it there?"

  "Listen. Gene," he said soothingly. "There was nothing in that drawer— was quite empty. The excitement has been too much for you."

  "Do you mean it's gone?" I gasped. "But it can't be—it was there."

  Ken said, "Shh."

  I dropped my head back onto the pillow and thought about it. Someone had removed the body—and there had been only Mary in the apartment with me. But if Mary had done it, surely she would never have left me lying on her precious carpet. I smiled, and Ken stirred and said, "That's better."

  I turned my head on the pillow and looked at him. "Go and search for it, Ken. It can't be far away. Somebody moved it when I passed out. But you ought to look now. Please—don't waste time. It must be around somewhere."

  He looked at me with pity, and after a moment Lucy appeared with a cup of broth. I decided languidly that I should try to keep my strength up, so I started to sip the broth—and ended by drinking it in great gulps and wishing I had more.

  "The doctor will be here in just a little while, dear," Lucy said in her bedside voice.

  "He can give you a going over, Lucy," I said, slipping my legs over the edge of the bed. "You're looking a bit seedy. I have to go and find that thing." They both pushed me back, and while we were fighting it out Mary came in.

  "Eugenia, what on earth were you doing in there? Why couldn't you have stayed in your room, instead of prowling around like that?"

  I figured that I was being scolded for having brought a wetting upon the carpet. I shrugged and said, "I had to go in—and I found something, too."

  "Were you and Mary alone in the apartment?" Ken interposed. "I thought Egbert was keeping a man here?"

  "I expect he had to go off," Mary suggested a bit vaguely. "He locked us in, you know, before he went. Surely the police have no right to do a thing like that."

  This had to be explained to Lucy and Ken—for which they swapped an outline of their own movements. They had met in the local market, and
after prodding and sniffing at the meats, vegetables, and fruits, they made their selections. Ken ran across Alice at that point, and she indicated that she would be free for afternoon tea, if Ken cared.

  Ken cared, and Lucy departed in a slight huff and established herself in a cocktail lounge. She met several people that she knew and had eventually had dinner there. Ken had parted from Alice at about seven and had run across a pal of his who had taken him to a tavern for a couple of drinks. In the end he and Lucy had met in front of the apartment and had come in together. They had found the door to Mary's bedroom open, the small lamp still burning, and I was stretched out on the floor.

  "It was horrible!" Lucy shuddered. "We thought you had been killed— like the others."

  Egbert and the doctor arrived together, and both came in to see me without delay. The doctor was a venerable old soul with white hair, who explained that he had been retired for years, but since he lived in the building, he'd stretch a point and take care of me. Ken and Lucy gave him my symptoms, and I was unable to get in a word of any sort.

  Apparently my case presented no baffling problem. The prescription called for a little bromide, and the orders were for absolute rest and quiet and plenty of good food.

  Egbert gave me a look that placed me—in his opinion, at least—as a sissy of the first water, but he was hustled out of the room by Lucy, Ken, and the doctor. They closed the door gently behind them, and I was left there— getting quiet and rest.

  I took up a book, but I couldn't read. I was scared, all right—but I knew that I was not having hysterics or hallucinations or anything of the sort. I still shuddered at the memory of that ice-cold body. Egbert seemed all-powerful in his own little world, I mused, and yet surely even he would not have the authority to keep the body lying around in a drawer.