by Jerry eBooks
“But I believe we’ve gotten to the very root of the trouble this time,” he added. “We understand it all now, don’t we, Mrs. Haversham?”
Lydia Haversham smiled vaguely.
“Yes, I’m sure we do,” she said.
“And you realize that you couldn’t possibly have committed that hammer murder any more than you could have committed any of the other crimes to which you have confessed. You didn’t even know the victim.”
“It’s all preposterous!” Charles exploded. “My sister was at home the entire evening the crime occurred. I telephoned her from the office at ten o’clock sharp. I always telephone when I work late.”
Lydia nodded.
“Charles always telephones,” she said. “He never forgets. It was only that he forgot to get his passport out of the safe—” Charles swung about and faced his sister, but his words were for the doctor.
“She should forget about that!” he said. “Now that you’ve probed the past—or however you put it, Doctor, she should forget—shouldn’t she?”
“She should—and will,” the doctor answered, “—now that she really understands why she felt compelled to confess to crimes her nature would never have allowed her to commit. You see, Mrs. Haversham—” and now the doctor faced Lydia for the first time “—you aren’t guilty of anything. Your husband suffered a fatal heart attack on the stairway—that was all. It was no one’s fault. It could have happened to you—or to your brother—or to myself, for that matter. Many people have no warning whatsoever about such things. It so happens that your husband did have a medical record. You are completely absolved.”
Lydia Haversham’s eyes didn’t leave the doctor’s face while he spoke. She might have been memorizing every word. “It could have happened to anyone,” she repeated softly. “Anyone,” the doctor agreed. “It’s unfortunate that the workman came to service the elevators while your husband was still in his office. It’s unfortunate they didn’t know he was there. It’s unfortunate that he had to make an unexpected trip to his office, but none of these things are conclusive. His heart might have stopped that day anyway. You’re not responsible.”
His voice was firm and persuasive. Lydia listened attentively, but she didn’t seem quite convinced.
“I asked him to get the passport—” she began.
“For me,” Charles cut in. “You see, Dr. Armstrong, I received a wire late Friday night—an important business matter in our South American branch. My brother-in-law couldn’t get away, so I offered to make the trip myself. But it all happened so quickly, and there were so many things to do. Packing—tickets—In the rush, I forgot my passport in the safe, and only Harlan and myself knew the combination. If anyone is to blame for what happened, I’m the guilty party—but I don’t crucify myself, Lydia. I can’t afford to. I have to carry on the business, as I know Harlan would want me to do. He’d want you to carry on, too. You know that.”
It was a long speech for Charles. He’d put a lot into it. He was a bit out of breath at the finish.
Lydia nodded, her eyes far away.
“South America,” she said. “You never did go, did you, Charles?”
“How could I? When Harlan was found—”
“I’ve never been to South America. Why don’t we go, Charles? Why don’t we just forget everything and take a holiday?”
Charles seemed startled. He looked at the doctor. The doctor smiled.
“I think that’s an excellent idea, Mrs. Haversham.”
“But the business—” Charles began.
“Your brother-in-law left you his wife to care for as well as his business, Mr. Lacy. Speaking professionally, I’d heartily recommend a holiday. It should make a good beginning for a newer and fuller life.”
The doctor came to his feet as he spoke. His words were like a benediction, to which he added one thought as he helped Lydia from her chair.
“And I don’t want to ever find you in Lieutenant O’Konsky’s office again, Mrs. Haversham.”
Lydia smiled as she took her brother’s arm.
“You won’t, Dr. Armstrong,” she promised. “You won’t.”
The lettering above the entrance stood twenty feet high: HAVERSHAM INDUSTRIES, INC. The ancient building was qualified to serve as a museum piece, an example of the rococo. Eight stories up, the door to the executive suite opened and a man and a woman came out into the hall. It was late. The hall lights cut a path through the darkness; the stairwell was a black hole with a small bright path at the bottom. Lydia Haversham advanced to the balustrade and looked down.
“How far it is,” she said softly, “—and how empty. Are we really so alone, Charles? Is there no one else in the building?”
Charles Lacy, topcoat over his arm, scanned a pair of small green books held in his free hand.
“Our passports seem to be in order,” he remarked. “We’d better get going if you still want to catch that midnight plane . . . I’ll say this for you, Lydia, when you decide to do a thing you don’t waste any time.”
“No more than necessary,” Lydia murmured.
Charles stuffed the passports into a pocket of the topcoat, and then, for the first time, became aware of his sister’s position at the balustrade.
“Lydia! Come away from there!”
But Lydia didn’t move.
“It is a terrible fall, isn’t it?” she said.
“You’re not to think of that any more. It’s all over. We’re going away on a holiday and forget everything.”
“Is it really that easy, Charles? Have you forgotten? Don’t you ever hear his scream as he fell? Surely, he must have screamed . . .”
Lydia turned slowly as she spoke. Her eyes weren’t sad any more. Her eyes were hard. She looked at Charles—a thin man with a pale moustache and a face that had gone chalk-white.
“Lydia—”
“But that wouldn’t bother you, would it? You hated him. You were jealous of everything he had—everything he was. But you knew how to use him. You made yourself valuable to him with your great efficiency. That’s what made me suspicious, Charles. After it was all over—the shock, and the funeral—I found myself wondering why my efficient brother made so many mistakes on one day. Why you forgot your passport in the office safe so Harlan had to go for it—why you forgot to tell him the men were coming to service the elevators that morning—why you neglected to reserve the ticket you supposedly had to pick up at the airline office.”
A thin man with a chalk-white face. Charles’s mouth chewed at words that wouldn’t come. Lydia’s wouldn’t stop.
“Yes, I checked on that. I discovered there was no record of a reservation for Charles Lacy on any airline in the city that morning.”
Now Charles spewed out his words.
“You’re talking nonsense! Airlines make mistakes. No record of a reservation isn’t proof that none was made.” Lydia smiled.
“I knew you’d say that—that’s why I didn’t tell the police. You’re so much more clever than I. You would have explained everything—even the wire from South America—if there was a wire.”
She stood with her back against the balustrade, her hands grasping the railing at either side. She started to move slowly along the balustrade. She reached the first step . . . the second . . .
“This is the way it was, wasn’t it?” she said.
“Harlan here—starting down the stairs—and you behind him.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying!” Charles cried. “You’re imagining things again!”
“But I never imagine things, Charles. I’ve only been playing a game. Don’t you remember the story of the shepherd boy who cried ‘wolf’ so many times when there was no wolf, that nobody believed him when the wolf did come? I’ve been crying ‘murder’ . . .”
“But why, Lydia? Why?”
Lydia looked at her brother. He was only a step away—a step that seemed to make him tower above her. She leaned back against the railing and looked at him long and hard.
/> “You wouldn’t ask such a question if you could see your face, Charles. I’ve been watching it through all those confessions—watching, waiting for you to break. But not you! Not a man so wrapped up in hate! I think I might have forgiven you if you’d shown even a sign of regret—but it’s too late now.
I’ve played my game well. I could confess to a dozen crimes and nobody would believe me. But someday, somewhere—on a stairway, on the deck of a ship, on the mountain trail of some scenic tour, perhaps—someday I’ll pay you back for killing my husband.”
Lydia’s voice was calm and deliberate. Then the quiet came, the hollow, empty quiet of the blazing hall and the black gulf behind her. Her hands tightened on the rail.
“You tell me that,” Charles said. “You idiot! Do you think I’m going to wait for you to kill me? Do you think I’m as big a fool as Harlan?”
She didn’t think he’d wait, of course. Her weight shifted as he lunged toward her. Afterward, she wasn’t sure if her foot had come out in a school-day trip, or if Charles had stumbled because his legs had become entangled in his topcoat. She never forgot how he plunged forward, how he started tumbling wildly down the stairs, until he struck the fragile supports of the balustrade and went through . . .
When the scream died away, Lydia Haversham opened her eyes. Charles’s topcoat still dangled on the railing. She extended one gloved hand and pushed it over.
Her face was soft, her eyes were sad, and a ghost of a smile touched her lips.
“It could have happened to anybody,” she whispered.
MURDER AND THE SOUTH WIND
Mary Roberts Rinehart
The trouble was that no one knew just when the bridge game started that afternoon. That left none of us with an alibi—not even Mother—and at least two of us had a possible motive.
It was frightfully hot in Florida last winter. There had been a south wind for weeks, which meant mosquitoes, no fishing, and everybody’s nerves in poor shape. I had coaxed Tom, my husband, down for a month’s vacation from the Washington madhouse, but with no fishing he risked sunstroke by playing golf every day. Thank God, he was on the course that afternoon. At least he had an alibi.
Anyhow, there we were, the four of us, and the fifth who wasn’t there in body was certainly there in spirit. He was Captain Hugh Gardiner, on a ten-day furlough, and he was there in spirit because one of our players, Fanny Raeburn, had divorced him and taken her maiden name, and because Pat Wilson was supposed to be going to marry him.
They had wandered in separately in search of a cool place, but even our patio was hot that day. Fanny was already there when Pat came in. Pat looked as though she was going to back out, but Fanny gave a queer little laugh.
“Come on, Pat,” she said. “I hope we’re civilized enough to behave ourselves. How about some bridge?”
Pat came in. She looked lovely in spite of the heat and I saw Fanny staring at her. But Pat didn’t look well. There were circles around her eyes, and Fanny leaned toward me as she put up her bicycle. We all used bicycles on the island. No gas.
“She and Hugh had a fight last night,” she said. “Something about a girl at the hotel.”
“How on earth do you know?”
“Our Mary Pearl,” she said smugly. “The Negroes know everything that goes on. It gives me the creeps.”
“Where’s Roy?” I said, to change the subject. Roy was the brother she was visiting.
“Where do you think?”
Well, of course, I knew. Roy Raeburn was out after seashells. It was more than a mania with him. It was a science. He was an authority on shells of all sorts, and every beach on the island knew his stooped, near-sighted body and the collectors box he carried. Which, of course, put him in the picture later.
We played in the patio, but the game wasn’t a success. For one thing, Pat played terribly. And there were five or six fighter planes out over the Gulf of Mexico shooting at a towed target and making a lot of noise. I remember Mother tucking away the two dollars she had won when it was over and looking up at them.
“I hope it’s cool for those boys out there,” she said. “When I think of what’s ahead of them—”
Pat stared at the sky.
“I don’t think it’s safe,” she said. “Those bullets travel a long way. If anyone is out there in a boat—”
Fanny grinned.
“Worried about Hugh?” she inquired, rather nastily. Pat flushed.
“Hugh?” I said, astonished. “Don’t tell me he’s fishing?”
“He heard the tarpon were in,” Pat said defensively.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “With this wind? There isn’t a tarpon within a hundred miles.”
“They may be in, but they’re not showing,” Mother said idly.
I kept quiet. There is an old argument about the tarpon. One school of thought maintains that they are in the Pass all the year round but simply not interested. The other insists that they go somewhere back to spawn in the spring. Friendships have crashed over this. But this is only incidentally a tarpon story. Actually it is about a murder.
I remember that Fanny had gone into the house to get her sun hat when one of the guides came through the gate in the hedge. He seemed embarrassed when he saw us, and took off his cap.
“Could I speak to you, Mrs. Hull?” he said to Mother.
“Why, of course, Joe,” Mother said. “What is it?”
I think now that he was pale, under his leathery tan. And just then a four-engined bomber came over the treetops and nobody could speak for a minute or so. Joe simply waited. I noticed that he had not looked at Pat.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather see you alone, ma’am,” he said doggedly when the noise had subsided. “It’s sort of a private matter.”
Mother looked surprised. She got up, however, and took him into the house. Only Pat and I were left, and Pat had lost all her color under her make-up.
“Something’s happened, Peg,” she said. “Did you see Joe’s face?”
“Probably just a row about something,” I said.
She stood still, looking rather odd. A Navy dirigible had come sailing overhead, and as it was low the engines made a lot of noise. But Mother was still in the house and I was puzzled.
“Joe wouldn’t look at me,” she said, her lips stiff. “I think it’s about Hugh.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” I said sharply. “He’s safe enough. Who’s guiding him?”
She said it was Bill Smith, and I said Bill was a good guide and to stop worrying. Then Fanny came out of the house, with her hat on one side of her head and her eyes wide.
“Why on earth is your mother calling the sheriff?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”
“Didn’t you hear?”
She let that pass. She was not above listening to things that didn’t concern her, but now she was excited.
“Only the call,” she said. “After that she shut the door.”
I grinned. Then I saw Pat’s face. “It’s probably nothing,” I said. “The whole village comes to Mother. Sit down, Pat. Fanny, your hat’s crooked. What’s all the excitement anyhow?”
But I knew something was wrong when Mother came out of the house, followed by Joe. She didn’t look at Pat or Fanny. She glanced at me.
“I’m going down to the guide dock, Peggy,” she said. “Joe’s got his car here. You’d better come with me.”
I got up, and so did Pat. She stared at Mother.
“It’s Hugh, isn’t it, Mrs. Hull?”
I think Mother had meant to lie, but there was something in Pat’s face that warned her.
“There’s been an accident,” she said. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Pat dear. Wait until we know.”
“What sort of accident?” Pat’s voice was frozen.
“Bill Smith says it was a bullet from one of the planes.”
“Is he badly hurt?”
“I don’t know yet. Better go home, Pat. I’ll let you know at once.” But Pat was not going home n
or, as it turned out, was Fanny. I suppose you can divorce a man and even hate him, but it must come as a shock to know that something has happened to him. Anyhow we all got into Joe’s ancient open car and headed for the guide dock. None of us said anything, but over our heads the dirigible had turned suddenly and headed for the Pass which leads between the islands to the Gulf, and from down at the mouth of the bayou I could hear a Coast Guard boat moving out. That’s nothing unusual, of course. The guides have a conviction that the Coast Guard puts out merely to go fishing. But they were not going fishing that day.
At the guide house Bill Smith was sitting on the dilapidated steps, with his head in his hands and three or four guides around him, not talking. Just standing. Pat was the first out of the car.
“Where is he?” she said. “Maybe he’s not—Why haven’t you got a doctor, or somebody?”
Bill looked up. His face was agonized when he saw who it was. “He ain’t here, Miss Wilson,” he said. “He went overboard and he never came up. I’ve been an hour in the Pass, looking.”
It was Fanny who spoke then, her voice incredulous.
“You’re crazy, Bill,” she said. “He can swim like a fish.”
“He was shot first,” said Bill, and put his head down in his horny fisherman’s hands again.
Pat didn’t faint. She just stood there, and she made no protest when one of the guides offered to take her home. She even got into the car herself, but she looked completely dazed. I wanted to go with her. I didn’t like to think of her going back by herself, but she refused.
“Let me alone, Peg,” she said. “I’m all right. It’s just—”
She didn’t finish. The car drove off, and after that Bill told his story.
“I been afraid of them planes right along,” he said. “But Captain Gardiner was set to go.” He got out a cigarette and tried to light it, but his hands shook too much. “I told him it was no good with this south wind, but you know how he was. And I was wrong at that. He struck a fish right off.” He gulped. “Never anything like this happened to me before,” he said dully. “If only I could have brought him in, but he was gone in a second. Must have caught in the line some way, and he never came up. I been looking for him like a crazy man for the last hour or more.”
