Episode of the Wandering Knife

by Rinehart, Mary Roberts;

“I believe they’re trying to trace the watch,” she said warily. “They seem to have located it, but someone bought it today. I’m afraid it’s gone.”

  But Nina had dismissed the watch. She waited until Aggie brought in the fingerbowls. Then she showed the first real emotion Hilda had seen since her arrival. She leaned forward and lowered her voice.

  “I’m worried about Tony, Miss Adams. She’s not herself at all. And she does such strange things. I’m quite sure she reads my mail before I get it, for one thing. She steams the letters open in the sewing room, and once or twice since you came I know she has locked my door. I hate telling you this, but Alice thinks she’s not—well, that she has some mental condition. The way she broke her engagement, for one thing, with everything ready.”

  It was Hilda’s chance.

  “You have no idea why she did that?”

  “Not the slightest.”

  “Of course Pearl Harbor was a shock. Sometimes these things are late in developing, Mrs. Rowland.”

  But Nina shook her head.

  “She got over that very soon. Only a couple of months. It was terrible, of course.”

  Hilda was silent. Whatever had happened Nina obviously had no idea of it.

  “Sometimes these nervous upsets come from something held over from childhood,” she said after the pause. “Can you recall anything of the sort?”

  Nina reached over and took a cigarette from Tony’s package on the table. She was thinking back, her handsome face troubled.

  “She was a very happy child,” she said. “She had a nurse she adored, a Hawaiian woman. Then when she was ten we had to let her go. The nurse, I mean. It was dreadful. Tony fretted for a long time. But it was necessary to send her away. You see she—”

  The sentence was not finished. Tony came back. If she had heard what Nina had said she made no comment. She was very pale, although her voice was gentle.

  “You’ve been up a good while,” she said to Nina, avoiding Hilda’s eyes. “How about bed and a game of gin rummy?”

  In her room that night after Alice was settled for the night Hilda went over the situation. Since the conversation with Nina she was confident that the secret Tony was guarding was hers alone. And that whatever it was, up to a short time before Tony had been a happy normal girl, falling in love, getting her trousseau together, writing daily letters to her fiancé, and opening and exclaiming over the wedding gifts as they arrived. Then something had happened and it was all over.

  Hilda was no prude. She knew the temptations of beautiful women, and Nina was all of that. Had there been a lover, and did Herbert have knowledge of it? But Tony was a modern girl. She might resent such knowledge bitterly, but she would not try to kill her mother for such a lapse.

  She considered the maid, Delia Johnson. What was it Nina had said about everyone having his price? Had she, Nina, had her price? And had Delia known it?

  But that was absurd. Selfish she might be, and self-indulgent she certainly was. But to attempt to connect her with the Japanese was preposterous. All in all Hilda knew that night that she had failed, and that her case was almost over.

  But how nearly over she had no idea.

  X

  Later Hilda was to try to bring the events of that night into some sort of order, and to find it difficult.

  She remembered the walk with Tony, of course. She had found the girl in the lower hall, looking lonely and lost, and for once the woman in her triumphed over the detective.

  “Why not come out and get some air?” she asked. “I’d like company anyhow, after last night.”

  The girl’s face was pitiful as she looked at her.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t been very nice to you, Miss Adams,” she said unexpectedly. “You see, I’ve been in sort of a jam. And I had no idea …”

  She hesitated, and Hilda thought she might bring up the matter of the watch. She did not, however.

  “I’ll get a coat,” she said, and ran quickly up the stairs.

  They had not had their walk after all, of course. They started companionably enough, after Tony had shot a quick glance up and down the street. But neither Johnny Hayes nor Herbert was in sight. Only a man in plain dark clothes who began suddenly to whistle for an invisible dog, and they had reached the corner of the block before a tall uniformed figure detached itself from the shadows and confronted them.

  Tony stopped and caught her breath.

  “Just what,” said Johnny Hayes sternly, “did you mean by upsetting Mother the way you did yesterday?”

  Hilda thought Tony was about to turn and run. So evidently did Johnny, for he caught her by the shoulder and forced her to face him.

  “No, you don’t,” he said. “You’re staying right where you are. We’re having this out, here and now.”

  “Let go of me,” Tony gasped.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Not ever, if I can help it. You crazy little fool, what notion have you got in your head anyhow? I’m not going to the Pacific with some fantastic bit of nonsense between us. What if you did walk in your sleep? Hell, yes, I know about that. Aggie’s a friend of mine. D’you think I care?”

  He dropped his hand, but Tony did not move. She was trembling. She put out a hand and reached blindly for Hilda, as though to steady herself. The man across the street was walking toward them. Hilda recognized him. He was a plainclothesman named Rogers from Headquarters, and she wished furiously that he would mind his own business.

  “Anyhow, you gave me the brush-off before that,” Johnny was saying. “What was it? What did I do?”

  “It has nothing to do with you, Johnny,” Tony said, her voice shaking. “Only if you ever cared for me you’ll let me alone now. I couldn’t go on with it. That’s all. I can’t go on with it. Ever.”

  “Why? That’s all I want to know. Why? You did love me. I think you still do. What crazy idea have you got in your heart?” Then, still ignoring Hilda, he put his arms around Tony and held her. “Tell Johnny, darling. Let me help. You know I’ll do anything, everything. Tell Johnny, won’t you?”

  Tony shook her head, but her composure suddenly broke. Against his uniform she began to cry, great heavy sobs which shook her whole body, and he was wisely silent. He let her cry it out, while Hilda saw that Rogers had turned back and was the plainclothesman once more whistling for his imaginary dog.

  When it was over Tony released herself.

  “Give me a little time, Johnny,” she said brokenly. “Maybe things will be better soon. I’m sorry about your mother. I just tried—I do care, Johnny. Always remember that, won’t you?”

  “What do you mean, remember?”

  “When you’re overseas I’ll write. I promise I’ll write,” she said, her voice feverish. “There’s nobody else. Just you. You can be sure of that.”

  She turned and started back toward the house, and young Hayes stared gloomily after her.

  “Now what the hell do you make of that?” he asked.

  Hilda was cautious.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “She’s in some sort of trouble. I may learn about it before long. Why not give her time? That’s what she asked for.”

  “Time’s the one thing I haven’t got,” he said, and turning on his heel left her abruptly.

  Hilda found Rogers waiting for her on her way back, a middle-aged man with shrewd intelligent eyes.

  “Nice little scene,” he observed. “Only what did it mean? Boy’s been waiting for a couple of hours. Not the fellow who got you last night, I gather?”

  “No,” Hilda said absently. “He used to be engaged to her. He’s sailing soon, and she’s worried.”

  He let that go. “I’ll be around,” he told her. “Just watch your step.” He went back to his lonely vigil in the shadows.

  That matters were approaching a crisis of some sort Hilda felt in her very bones that night as she put on her dressing gown over her long-sleeved nightdress and placed her slippers under Alice’s couch. But tired as she was she did not go to bed at once. She ca
rried up Volume XIII of the Encyclopedia Britannica and went through it page by page in her room. At one place it had apparently been laid facedown on something which had smeared it slightly, and she stopped at one rather brief article. Was it possible? she thought. But she dismissed the idea and put the book away, yawning. She had had little real rest the night before, and because she was still bruised she had taken a couple of aspirins. After an hour or so she went to bed and dozed off.

  She wakened some time after two in the morning, to find her neck stiff and to try to rearrange her pillow. There was some light in the room from the hall, and after her custom she glanced at her patient’s bed. The first intimation she had that anything was wrong was that the bed was empty.

  She looked at the bathroom, but the door was open and there was no one in it. Still she was not apprehensive. Alice had not been able to sleep and was wandering around somewhere in her new freedom. Nevertheless she put on her slippers and went out into the hall. Everything was quiet Nina’s door was closed and locked. Tony’s door was closed too. And of Alice there was no sign whatsoever.

  When she looked downstairs the front hall was dark and empty, and for the first time she began to feel anxious. She tried to reassure herself. Alice had been hungry and had managed to get down to the kitchen, and because it was nearer she made her way to the back stairs. She stopped sharply as she approached them.

  Below her someone was coming up, or trying to. All she could see was a dark huddling figure near the foot of the staircase, a figure which seemed to be on its hands and knees, and which was making small painful noises as it scrabbled at the steps.

  “Miss Rowland!” she said sharply. “Wait there. I’ll come for you.”

  She could not find the light switch, and so it was not until she had reached the figure and stooped over it that she realized it was Tony—a Tony who gave a small gasp as she touched her and then fainted dead away. Hilda reached down and felt her pulse. It was slow and feeble, and she hardly knew what to do. In the end she decided to get her down rather than up, and getting below Tony’s body she half carried, half dragged it to the floor below. There she laid her out flat and felt for the light switch. The glare almost blinded her as she went back to the girl. She had not moved. Her face had no color whatever, and there was blood on her hands and on the front of her white blouse.

  Even in the shock of this discovery Hilda realized that Tony was fully dressed. She had changed from what she had worn at dinner to her usual skirt and blouse, but she had discarded the sweater. The blood was coming from a deep cut on the palm of one hand. Otherwise she seemed uninjured.

  There was no sign of Alice as she straightened and looked about her. The door from the small back hall to the kitchen was closed, and when she opened it she thought at first that the kitchen itself was empty. On the table, however, there had been set what was the making of a light meal: a loaf of bread with a knife beside it, a small pat of butter and some sliced cold meat and mustard. At the edge of the table was a bloody print as though someone had laid a hand flat on it.

  Tony had not moved when she glanced back at her, and she moved into the room. Only then did she see Alice Rowland, facedown on the floor beyond the table, with the back of her head crushed and the fragments of a milk bottle on the floor beside her.

  She was dead, beyond a hope.

  Hilda stood over the body, with a sense of helpless rage which fairly shook her. She had come on this case to prevent further trouble, and she had not only failed. She had slept while a murder was being committed. Worse than that, it was her patient who had died. Only once in her long experience had such a thing happened, and the picture was too plain to be ignored. Whatever she thought—if she was thinking at all—she knew the police would be sure Tony had done this thing—the Tony who was now lying with blank open eyes on the floor in the hall, staring at the ceiling but seeing nothing at all.

  That was when she saw the envelope. It was lying a few feet from the body. She picked it up almost automatically. It was addressed to Alice Rowland, and it was quite obviously the one she had taken from the postman that day. She thrust it hastily inside her uniform and leaving Tony where she was ran upstairs to Nina Rowland’s room. It was still locked, and she pounded on it furiously. If Nina had been awake she gave an excellent imitation of shocked arousing.

  “What is it?” she called, her voice frightened. “Who’s there?”

  “Open the door,” Hilda shouted. “It’s locked. And hurry. Please hurry.”

  Nina unlocked her door. She was in her nightdress, her feet bare and her hair in curlers with a net over them. In her short-sleeved gown the bandage on her arm showed plainly. She was very pale.

  “What’s wrong?” she managed. “I was asleep. What happened?”

  Hilda surveyed both Nina and the room. It looked like any normal bedroom where a sleeper had been disturbed, the windows open, the bed clothing thrown back and a jar of skin cream with some tissues on the toilet table. The memory of the quarrel between Alice and the woman in front of her was strong in her mind, but she had no time to investigate.

  “Tony’s all right,” she said. “She’s cut her hand. I … Maybe you’d better get your clothes on, Mrs. Rowland. There’s been some trouble, and Tony’s fainted.”

  She did not wait. She ran down the front stairs, stopping only to turn on a light. Across the street Rogers was sitting on a low stone wall smoking a cigarette. When she called to him he came over on the run.

  “We’ve had a murder here,” Hilda said breathlessly. “Come in and call the Inspector. I’ll be in the back hall downstairs.”

  She showed him the telephone in the library and went back to Tony, still lying where she had left her, and with her eyes still open. They were less blank, however. They moved slowly from Hilda to the stairs and then to the green-painted walls.

  “How did I get here?” she asked slowly.

  “Don’t you know?”

  “No. I…” She began to remember then, for she lifted her injured hand and stared at it. “Aunt Alice?” she said, with an effort. “Is she …”

  “Can you sit up?” Hilda put an arm around her and raised her, but it seemed to make her dizzy. She let her down again. She could hear Rogers in the front hall, coming back, and went quickly to meet him. He began to speak, but she silenced him with a gesture.

  “Tony Rowland has fainted back here,” she said hastily. “Don’t talk about what’s happened before her. I want to get her out of the way. The other’s in the kitchen.”

  “Tony the little girl with the officer?”

  “Yes. You’ll have to carry her.”

  He picked Tony up easily, to be confronted by Nina at the head of the back stairs—a Nina who had thrown on a dressing gown but had not removed her curlers, and who only stared when she saw what he held.

  “What’s the matter?” she said shakily. “She isn’t hurt, is she?”

  But Tony did not move or speak. She lay back in Rogers’s arms with her eyes closed, and she did not open them even when she had been put in her bed and Nina bent over her. She saw the blood and gave Hilda a horrified look.

  “She’s hurt, Miss Adams. Badly hurt.”

  Hilda on her way out stopped in the doorway.

  “I told you. Her hand’s cut. That’s all. Call the maids, won’t you?”

  But Nina was calling no maids that night. She sank into a chair, evidently on the verge of collapse, and turned a desperate face to Hilda.

  “Who found her?”

  “I did,” Hilda said quietly. “I might as well tell you, Mrs. Rowland. Miss Alice has had an accident. I’m afraid it was fetal.”

  That was when Nina Rowland fainted, and Hilda had two patients on her hands. Not until the two maids had come and they got Nina to her bed across the hall did Hilda get downstairs again. She found Rogers in the kitchen, staring down at the body and looking rather shaken.

  “Who did it? The girl?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said shortly. “
You got Inspector Fuller, I suppose. I’ll get the doctor.”

  “Little late for that, isn’t it?”

  “The family doctor. The girl’s cut her hand.”

  “On the bottle? Or on the knife?”

  She saw the knife then. She had hardly noticed it before. It was on the table, and there was blood on the long blade. He gave her a forced grin.

  “What was it anyhow?” he asked. “A duel? The one with a knife and the other a milk bottle? Where were you while all this was going on?”

  “Asleep,” she said bitterly and went forward as the doorbell rang.

  Two police officers stood outside, their squad car parked at the curb. She sent them back to the kitchen and ran up the stairs to meet both maids in the upper hall. She felt incapable of coping with them just then. She brushed past them and into Tony’s room. The girl had not moved since Rogers had carried her up, except that now her eyes were closed.

  “You’re not asleep, Tony, and you’re not fainting,” she said firmly. “You can hear what I say perfectly well.”

  There was no movement, but Tony opened her eyes. There was such misery in them that Hilda felt like an executioner. She bent over the bed.

  “Listen, my dear,” she said, her voice one Inspector Fuller had never heard. “You must tell what you know. The police are here. You can’t help anybody now. by hiding things.”

  “Is she …?”

  “Yes, Tony.”

  The eyes closed again. “I’m tired,” she said. “Please let me alone. I want to sleep.”

  Aggie had followed Hilda into the room. Now she spoke.

  “Why don’t you let her alone?” she said sharply. “She’s sick. What happened to her anyhow? What are those policemen doing downstairs?”

  Hilda straightened.

  “Miss Alice is dead, Aggie,” she said. “Somebody killed her, down in the kitchen. And Tony here either saw it done or found her there.”

  Aggie gasped.

  “Dead!” she said. “But why? Who would do a thing like that?”

  “Ask Tony,” Hilda said briefly. “I think she knows.”

  But there was no time to ask Tony anything. Dr. Wynant came into the room, and downstairs Fuller had arrived and was asking for Hilda. She went down to find him in the front hall. He surveyed her dourly.