The innocent Mrs Duff
Page 17
But it was not like that. You slept yourself into something. Into that nausea, that shaking, that unnamable dread and wretchedness. The horrors, they called that.
“You’ll have to leave the bathroom door open, sir,” said Mack.
“All right,” said Duff. “I suppose I can take a toothbrush along?”
“Yes, sir,” said Mack.
Duff dropped the toothbrush behind the washbasin.
“Look here. Sergeant,” he said, “Would you be good enough to pick that up for me? My knees aren’t so good.”
“Okay,” said the sergeant.
While he stooped, Duff took a razor blade from a package on th’ shelf and put it into his pocket. Really, there’s nothing left, he thought. After this, everyone will know about… About everything.
Of course, it’s nothing but manslaughter, he thought. Aunt Lou will get in touch with Harold Mallinger at once, and maybe they’ll arrange bail. But I don’t want that. I mean, where could I go? Not back here, with Miss Castle, and Reggie—and my son. Not where I’d ever see Aunt Lou again.
He went down the stairs with Mack, and Lieutenant Levy was sitting in the hall. They went out of the house, to the car that was standing in the drive.
“I hope you catch Nolan,” said Duff.
“We’ll do our best,” said Levy.
Mack got in behind the wheel and Duff and Levy sat in the back together. It seemed to be very dark.
Manslaughter isn’t so serious. Duff thought. After it’s all over, I could go away. Rio, or some other pretty place. We got enough money to live on. I could go off by myself, and start all over again.
Only, there’s tomorrow morning, he thought. I’ll wake up, and I’ll have it. The horrors. And they won’t let me have a drink, that’s sure! I can’t stand that.
They might get me out on bail very soon, he thought. Even to-morrow. But not early in the morning. Not soon enough. He could not wake up to that tomorrow morning. And other mornings. Anyhow, there was nothing left. He was sick and tired of everything.
Not my wrists, he thought. That takes too long. Petronius—who was the fellow we had in prep school? Hours… It has to be my throat. The double-edged blade cut his fingers, but he did not feel it at all. Alcohol is an anesthetic, he thought. He flinched from the idea of a cut straight across his neck. Under each ear, he thought. There’s something there. Some vein.
It was not hard, not painful. Glad to be finished, he thought. After all, I did kill that old maniac. And Jay, and Reggie. And somebody else… Who else?
“What?” asked Levy. “Did you say something?”
There was no answer, and he turned his head in the dark to see Duff lolling back in the corner, his chin on his chest. Heard something, Levy thought. Snoring, maybe. The man’s half drunk.
It’s not going to do much good to question him now, in the state he’s in. Levy thought. Unless he’s frightened enough to sober up all at once. They do that, sometimes. I don’t think we’ll charge him. Not tonight. Maybe never. He knows something, that’s sure, but it doesn’t seem likely that he actually—
The car swung round a curve, and Duff lurched forward, on to the floor.
“Stop a moment. Mack!” called Levy, and turned on the light.
He took Duff under the shoulder and lifted him back on the seat. Then he saw what Duff had done.
“Mack,” he said, “drive to the hospital—as quick as you can. Use the siren.”
They went along the dark country roads as if floating on the wailing stream of sound. Duff, supported by Levy, leaned back in the corner, his eyes opened to slits, his breath bubbling softly.
In the hospital they gave him blood from some unknown fellow-creature, but it was too late. He lay in a glaringly-lit white-walled room, and fainted into death.
But why? Levy thought, in great wonder. Things didn’t look too bad for him. He certainly had a fighting chance. He had everything to live for, money, good name, beautiful young wife.
He must have been guilty as hell, thought Levy.
FIN
ABOUT ELISABETH SANXAY HOLDING
Elisabeth Sanxay Holding (1889-1955) was born and brought up in New York and educated at Miss Whitcombe’s and other schools for young ladies. In 1913 she married George Holding, a British diplomat. They had two daughters and lived in various South American countries, and then in Bermuda, where her husband was a government official. Elisabeth Sanxay Holding wrote six romantic novels in the 1920s but, after the stock market crash, turned to the more profitable genre of detective novels: from 1929-54 she wrote eighteen, as well as numerous short stories for magazines. In 1949 Raymond Chandler chose her as ‘the best character and suspense writer (for consistent but not large production)’, picking The Blank Wall (1947) as one of his favorites among her books; it was filmed as The Reckless Moment in 1949 (by Max Ophüls) and as The Deep End (with Tilda Swinton) in 2001. After her husband’s retirement the Holdings lived in New York City.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Romances
Invincible Minnie (1920)
Angelica (1921)
Rosaleen Among the Artists (1921)
The Unlit Lamp (1922)
Detective novels
Miasma (1929)
Dark Power (1930)
The Death Wish (1934)
The Unfinished Crime (1935)
The Strange Crime in Bermuda (1937)
The Obstinate Murderer (1938) also published as No Harm Intended
The Girl Who Had To Die (1940)
Who’s Afraid? (1940) also published as Trial By Murder
Speak of the Devil (1941)
Kill Joy (1942) also published as Murder is a Kill-Joy
Lady Killer (1942)
The Old Battle Ax (1943)
Net of Cobwebs (1945)
The Innocent Mrs. Duff (1946)
The Blank Wall (1947).
Too Many Bottles (1951) also published as The Party Was the Pay-Off
The Virgin Huntress (1951)
Widow’s Mite (1953)