"I call a thirty-five per cent chance of success more than a risk," Steven snarled with cold anger. "The whole idea is insane."
"You want to kill him, you want him dead," shrilled Inga at her sister-in-law.
Maria whirled on her, "It is you who must want him dead," she shouted. "Why did we ever listen to you and those stupid doctors! If it had been done immediately, as Dr. Lavin here has said, the chances for success would have been much greater, but now, even after all this time, I say it is still what Poppa wishes—you have seen that he does wish it. To have a chance to move again, to speak again, however slim—do you not think he wants that rather than the living hell he has now! He would rather die than go on like this! If you have any feelings for him at all, you must see that!"
The young man beside Maria suddenly held up both hands in an appeal for silence. "Please!" he commanded in a rather high tenor voice. 'This is getting us nowhere. Let me restate the case and my position in it, particularly now that there is another doctor who can confirm my statements." Penny opened her mouth to correct him, then quietly shut it again as he went on. "There are undispersed dots from the cerebral hemorrhage resting on your father's brain cortex. After this length of time the only way to remove them is by surgery. The risk is high, as I have indicated, but without it the likelihood of recovery to a state much beyond what he is in now is remote. From my two visits to the patient, I am satisfied that he is aware of what surgery entails and does wish it. However, I have no intention of proceeding without consulting another specialist in the field, who must also convince himself of Mr. Dimola's wishes, and even then we would not proceed without the full written consent of Mrs. Rinaldo Dimola, which, preferably but not necessarily I may point out, would have the approval of the rest of the family."
"Oh, you'll get hers all right, for wouldn't she be the merry widow, wouldn't she just!" hissed Inga with surprising venom.
Annette's pale face went a shade paler, as Steven suddenly roared, "Be quiet, Inga! You've said enough." The icy blue eyes trained on him with cold anger, but the terrible cold flame died, and Inga subsided, muttering to herself. Annette spoke for the first time, her voice low and troubled. "I have already said. Dr. Lavin, since it is evidently what my husband desires, that I would give the necessary consent, but I would want additional opinions."
The doctor gave an abrupt nod. "Well then, I will leave now. When you have decided, call my office and I will send you a list of surgeons from which you can choose a further consultant. They will be the best in the field. Good night to you all." He gave a stiff bow and escaped from the room with evident relief.
There was a momentary silence after he left as the combatants glared at one another, and Penny could feel the wave of hostility, the throbbing of raw nerves, that filled the room with almost unbearable emotion. Then Alexander came to with a start and turned to her. "I'm sorry, but you have caught us at rather a bad moment. Dr. Spring. Did you say something about important news?"
Feeling a terrible sense of anticlimax, Penny struggled to put verve back into her act. "Yes, well, I thought I should tell you about this latest important development— Zeb emerged briefly from his coma and called for me. Unfortunately by the time they found me and I got to the hospital, he was slipping back into it again. But I did make sense of some of his mutterings"—she tried to sound breathlessly excited—"apparently he wrote down what happened this fall after I had been here. It has to do with the body in the bog. He hid what he wrote, apparently in the museum room; he didn't say where before he became unconscious again. Since we've already been through all the papers there, he must have hidden it in one of the Indian pots. I'm going over to the house now to search for it It is even possible your wife knew something of it, Mr. Dimola, since she made the museum room our ill-fated rendezvous. In any case, when I find it, it will be invaluable evidence which will probably come out at the inquest. I just thought you ought to know."
They were all staring at her as if the news had not quite penetrated their other preoccupation and they were patiently waiting for her to finish and be gone. Penny mentally cursed an unkind fate, as Alexander stared at her with slightly blank, troubled eyes. "Er, you want some one of us to assist you?"
"Oh, no," she said hastily, "no need at all. I'm sorry to have disturbed such a private family discussion. 1*11 be off." "There is no need to rush off on that account," Annette put in in a voice devoid of all emotion. "I feel that we should postpone any further discussion until we have all cooled down and slept on the matter. I, for one, am going to do just that. I'll see you to the door." She swept through the room, not looking at any of the others, and taking Penny's elbow steered her firmly out- As she opened the front door she looked at Penny with veiled eyes. "I will do it for him, not for me," she said. "I think he wishes to be dead, and maybe it is better so."
Outside it had begun to snow; great white flakes that slapped and stung but which did not settle on the wet black earth. Penny hurried to where the car was parked away from the house and dived into its welcome warmth.
"How did it go?" Carson's voice came out of the darkness.
He had a dark seaman's jacket on over his uniform, which rendered him almost invisible.
"I don't know." She shivered. "Not too well Fm afraid.
And damn this snow! That won't help at all, the murderer might not want to risk it"
"It won't settle, not while it's this wet," Carson said with certainty, "but do you want to call it off?"
"No, it's too late now. We may as well go on with it. If nothing happens we'll have to try something else."
They drove in silence to the Grange house. "I'll wait by the path that had the bicycle tracks," Carson volunteered.
"I think it's the most likely route, and I can keep an eye on the rest of the clearing from the big oak there. How long shall we give it?"
"I think if anything is going to happen, it will happen fairly quickly." Penny was subdued. "The murderer isn't going to risk me finding something and taking off with it Let's say an hour at the outside."
"Going to be a mighty cold hour," Carson sighed, and slipped into the night.
She let herself into the house, with little chills running up her spine that had nothing to do with the raw night outside. When the orange cat, who had slipped inside with her but unseen, rubbed itself against her legs, she almost screamed, but quieted her throbbing heart and gave him some milk in the kitchen, where she made certain the back door was locked and bolted so that the only possible ingress to the house would be the front. She took a quick glance through all the rooms, then went up to the museum room, switched on the desk light and prepared to set the stage. She took a few pots from the cabinets and ranged them on the desk, then scattered some sheets of notes from the files among the pots. This done, she sat down and steeled herself to wait. The cat jumped into her lap and, eyes closed in bliss, began kneading it, purring loudly.
The minutes stretched out and with them her nerves. Nothing happened. She wondered now how wise she had been in spinning Detective Eldredge her fairy tale of going off to Boston. She had contacted him and heard about Toby's findings concerning Lorenzo, but to quiet any suspicions he might still harbor about her own activities had told him she was off to Boston, destination unspecified. Then she thought she heard a muffled thud from somewhere below and started slightly, disturbing the now-sleeping cat, who jumped down swishing his tail. She strained her ears, but there was nothing save the fight patter of the snow against the windows and the wintry creakings of the old house. She kept her eyes glued on the closed door, her mouth dry with apprehension. I wish I'd brought something to munch on, she was thinking, when the doorknob began to turn slowly.
The door swimg open, revealing a large shadow outlined against the wall, and then someone stood on the threshold shining a flashlight into her eyes. Even m her rising fear, Penny felt a small thrill of triumph as she knew she had been right. "Come on in," she said, in a voice that sounded strange to her, "I was expecting you ..
."
CHAPTER 21
At first the fates had been kind to Toby; he had packed and got out of Colle d'Iraola in record time. He had driven to Bologna, dumped the Bentley on a startled archaeological colleague with the injunction to guard it until his return, and had found a quick flight to Rome. There came the first hitch: no plane until the following afternoon, when he would have the choice of several; he chose the Rome-Chicago flight, which stopped in Boston.
During his enforced wait he fumed and fretted as to what he should do. He tried several times to reach Penny at the Dlmola number with no success; the household at that end seemed upset and confused, which did nothing to lift his spirits. Despairing of reaching her direct, he thought about an appeal to the state police, but then decided against that too. Knowing her as well as he did, he thought that whatever Penny was up to was probably not legal at all, and if he put the state police on to her it would mean (a) she would never forgive him for ruining her plans, and (b) she might get in serious legal trouble herself.
To quiet his own jumping nerves and conscience, however, he did call Detective Eldredge again to enquire cautiously how things were going. They were going splendidly, he was informed. Lorenzo Dimola had already been traced to New York, there had been a long-distance call from the Dimola house to the TWA desk with a message, but they still had no definite information on what the message contained or the identity of the caller. "But early days yet, and so far the progress is excellent," Barnabas Eldredge enthused. "We are greatly indebted to you. Professor Glendower, for the leads."
"Er, have you any idea where I might get in touch with Dr. Spring?" Toby ventured. "I don't seem to be able to reach her at the Dimola estate."
"None, I'm afraid. Did say something though about going into Boston." Eldredge was unrelentingly cheerful! "Be back in time for the inquest tomorrow, for sure, Barnstable Courthouse, 11 o'clock. Could try her there."
"Well, if she does happen to contact you," Toby said with forlorn hope, "would you give her a message from me? Tell her I'm on my way and to do nothing about what she has in mind until I see her."
"You're coming over here!" There was shocked surprise in the detective's voice.
"Er, yes, just on personal business; Dr. Spring will understand," Toby said a little desperately.
"Oh, yes, well I'll surely do that. Come and see us when you get here, be glad to fill you in," Eldredge assured, and rang off.
Toby almost groaned as he put down the phone; whatever Penny was up to she was doing it on her own without any official knowledge or blessing. He only hoped that her natural curiosity would drive her to call the police in time for his message to do some good.
It seemed the fates were still smiling when he took off from Rome on time a couple of hours later, but they turned perverse just as the flight reached Boston. "There will be a delay in landing," the pilot's bland voice announced over the intercom, "due to a pileup of incoming traffic over Logan. A snowstorm is moving in from the west. We will fly a holding pattern until cleared for landing."
This went on for an hour, and the early darkness had fallen by the time the plane rolled to a stop before the lighted terminal. Toby was seized with an increasing sense of urgency; it would take ages to get a car and find his way to the benighted fastnesses of the Cape—and time was of the essence. He had spent the agonized waiting time above the rolling snow clouds rereading Penny's letters. John Everett, Penny's publisher—he would contact him and get him to drive him down to the Cape. Once there, he had a sketch map Penny had sent him of the Dimola estate, and, if she was to be found, he would find her.
Once through customs and immigration he rushed to the nearest phone and called John Everett at his office, praying it would not be closed. This time luck was with him: John Everett was working late. "You don't know me, Mr. Everett," he boomed into the phone, "but I"m Toby Glendower, Penny Spring's colleague, just in from Rome. You haven't seen her here in Boston by any chance?" On being assured not, he trumpeted on, "I have reason to believe she may be in some danger, and since I know you are a good friend of hers, I wonder if you could pick me up at the airport here and take me down to the Cape. I feel it is very urgent and you know the way and I don't."
"What danger do you think she is in?" Everett sounded concerned but unsurprised.
"I think she is probably laying a trap for the murderer— by herself."
"Good Lord!" Now there was genuine alarm in Everett's voice. "Hang on, I'll be right there. Meet me outside the TWA entrance—a bright green Triumph Spitfire. Be about twenty minutes, if I'm lucky."
As Toby went outside the first great white snowflakes began to fall from the scudding, leaden clouds above. John Everett was as good as his word, and the short, roly-poly man and the long, lanky one, after the briefest of greetings, somehow poured themselves into the tiny car and sped off. Toby looked anxiously at the falling snow. "Will this slow us down much?"
John Everett cast an expert eye at the heavens. "Coming in from the west. We may even keep ahead of it. Probably hasn't even started on the Cape yet. Won't settle anyway, too wet. What is this all about?"
Tersely Toby outlined the situation and his conclusions. "Penny has probably already seen that, with the known facts, the police will be able to get so far but no further. Knowing her, I think she'll try to lure the murderer out of cover by using herself as bait in some way. I only hope to God she got my message and won't try anything until we get there."
"You're right"—Everett's voice was full of gloomy foreboding—"she would never just fade quietly off the scene as the state detective thinks. Well, let's hope she did get the message or that we're in time." And floored the accelerator.
They reached Masuit in a little over an hour, and as they drove through the scatter of lights in the hamlet, John Everett said, "Where do we make for now, the Dimola mansion?"
"No, let's try Ann Langley's cottage first," Toby said, peering at the sketch map by the dim light of the dashboard. "It's where she was staying, and even if she isn't in, Ann might know where she is and what's she's up to. I only hope this sketch map is accurate!"
At a slower pace, they plunged into the dark fastnesses of the estate, until a welcome gleam of light showed to their left among the close-ranked trees. With audible sighs of relief they scrunched to a stop next to a parked station wagon and a battered Volkswagen and piled stiffly out of the car.
Their arrival had been heard and a light went on over the door of the cottage, a curtain pulled back in a window. Then the door was flung open and the frightened face of Ann Langley appeared. "Dr. Glendower!" she cried. "What on earth are you doing here?"
He loped up to her. "Ann, where's Dr. Spring? I've got to find her at once."
She fell back and held the door open as he and John Everett entered. Toby introduced Everett, then anxiously, "is she here?"
"Why no—she's with Carson Grange. I've no idea where they are. Carson came around earlier and asked if I'd babysit Bobby for him." She waved a vague hand in the direction of a pretty little girl and a plain little boy who were completely absorbed in a complicated mass of building blocks on the floor.
Toby and John looked at one another with relief. "At least she has got a man with her," Toby said. "That's something."
"A policeman," a voice corrected from the floor. "My dad's a policeman. He's got a gun and everything."
John Everett heaved a sigh of relief. "Even better! So at least she's safe for the moment. Now we just have to wait for them to get back."
Toby continued to gaze in concern at Ann. "They gave you no idea of where they were going or what they were doing?"
She shook her head. "No. They just took off, oh, about an hour to an hour and a half ago."
"I know," continued the persistent voice from the floor.
"You do, Bobby?" Ann quavered in surprise.
"Yes, they were going to Uncle Zeb's house."
"Why were they going there, dear?"
The small boy gave an exaggerated imi
tation of an adult shrug. "I dunno. Catch a crook maybe? Dad was in his uniform—got his gun too."
"Are you sure?" There was fear in her voice as the two men glanced at one another uneasily.
"That's where they said," Bobby Grange insisted in a voice permeated with the consciousness of adult vagaries in these matters.
"I think we ought to get over there," Toby said abruptly. "Could you show us the way, Ann? It would save time."
She dithered. "I can't leave the children alone."
"Well bring them then." Toby was testy. "You can take them in your car, we'll follow you, and as soon as we get to the house you can bring them home again."
"Oh, all right," she said reluctantly. There was a small delay as the protesting children were bundled into winter coats and Ann put on her own, then the little safari squelched off into the night.
"At least she's got someone with her," John Everett repeated hopefully.
Toby grunted. "The last time she went careering off with someone like that she damn nearly got herself killed— he was the murderer."
"Oh!" Everett lapsed into startled silence until the car's lights swept the cleared area in which the Grange house stood, then he let out a yelp. "There's somebody lying on the front porch—see!"
Before the car had completely rolled to a stop they were both out of it and running toward the huddled mound before the front door. Toby knelt and turned the still figure over. "It's the policeman," he muttered. "Knocked out by the look of it—see the ugly cut on his forehead."
Footsteps pattered behind them and Ann flew up onto the porch and gave a little scream. "Oh, no! Not Carson! Is he dead?"
Toby shook his head as he undid the dark jacket with fumbling frantic fingers. "Oh my God, his gun's gone!" he moaned, and leaping to his feet let out a stentorian bellow, "Penny!"
Just as he shouted there came the report of a gun from somewhere upstairs in the darkened house—three times it shattered the silence, as they stood rooted to the spot with shock. "Penny!" Toby yelled again, and bounding in through the door, started to stumble up the dark stairs.
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