Nobody was in the upstairs hall—except the bridegroom. He came to her before she reached the top of the stairs. "Dear Dorothy," he said and put one arm hard and tight around her shoulders. His otl:ier hand came cruelly to her face. It held her jaws and the pain shocked her. The violence shocked her.
Then he put her on his hip and more or less carried her down the deserted hall to the front bedroom that used to be Nathaniel's. He stood her on her feet inside the room. He was able to manage her with one hand, one arm, because her bones were so softened, her muscles so flaccid, her flesh so sagging with shock and fear. He closed and locked the door behind them.
Downstairs, Johnny Sims re-entered the house. He strode down the wide re-carpeted hall to the study, the room where Christy had died. He found the phone and dialed long distance. He had failed and Grimes, Copeland, Father Klein . . . You stood up to failuie. He had failed, and Clinton McCauley would have to be told.
Dorothy could not speak. The big man's big hand would not permit it. His eyes were not such as to be spoken to. "Dear Dorothy," he said, "a rotten error. I would rather have had you my hving bride."
Her feet could not resist against the floor, could not even touch the floor, as he swning her toward the side of the room. "But I'll hang you in my closet," said Dick Bartee,
''like an old suit I don't bother to take. Hang you by your pretty neck . . /'
His lips came and kissed her neck. Her flesh crawled. She arched and struggled to no avail.
"You'll be a suicide," Dick said, "Lovely Dorothy. So young. But I'll have the Bartee money."
She tried desperately to wag her head, no.
"Nan's your only family," Dick said. "McCauley is dead. ' Never mind how I know."
He had the closet door open now. "You don't think I'll do this?" He was amused. "You don't think I dare? I'll do it and no one will believe I did it. They'll all say I wouldn't have dared." He chuckled. "People have always been saying I wouldn't have dared. But, you see, I do dare."
He had a flannel sash from a bathrobe in his free hand.
"It takes so httle time to kill," he told her. "You'll be surprised."
She knew he was beyond the reach of any word, even if she could have spoken. She couldn't speak, or cry out— couldn't fight his bulk and strength. She was helpless.
"One blow for Christy," he said. "Took one moment.-4t did surprise me. Took longer for Miss McCauley."
The sash was coming around her neck but Dorothy did not even feel it. Her heart was sinking in such horror and such sorrow. "Five minutes," Dick said, "which is a long time. I wanted to be sure. And I couldn't leave a mark... It won't be so long for you. The time you take to die in the closet," he said, "I can use to change my coat."
The sash tightened. His one hand had two ends of it at the back of her neck and were twisting. When the sash was effectively choking off her breath and speech he used both hands to make the knot.
"I'll rush Nan out of here," he told her. He was smiling confidently. "Nobody will find you, for quite some time. We'll be far away. Honeymoons are spent in secret places. Take time to find us. They won't imagine. If you are just bold enough—Did you know this. Dotty? You are practically invisible. You can do whatever you want."
Now he had her by the waist in one hard arm, lifting her. The other hand was fixing the sash somewhere high.
He finished the task. He looked into her eyes. "I wish I had known" he said a httle regretfully. "I wish I'd paid at-
tention." His voice went into exasperation. "I never bothered about the color of people's eyes."
Then he let go at her waist and her weight came down. Her head went tight and then light. She writhed. She vaguely knew he was fixing an old suitcase near her feet, but she lost the abihty to hear or to see . . .
Dick closed the closet door.
Into the phone downstairs Johnny said, "Emilyl Emilyr
"Warrant out for him," Grimes was barking on the far end of the line. "Sherifi's oflfice. Copeland ought to be there, by now. Listen, we haven't got him, Johnny. We haven't absolutely got the proof."
"What have you got?" Johnny gasped.
"Got his rented car near the Schmidt Memorial, right time. Got a man with a hat on, in the room. Got a redheaded woman saw the man with the hat come out. But she cUdn't see the face. Can't identify. Don't you admit that, mind."
Johnny said, "Emily!" once more, and then, although he made no further sound, he thought ttiat he was cursing in a loud voice.
Grimes said, "Wait for the law. Then try to rattle him. Get an admission. Trick him, if you can."
Johnny hung up. Then, he was in tlie hall and he saw Copeland there, with Marshall and Bart Bartee.
Copeland said, "I took a cab. Deputy's slow. Close behind me, though. I hope."
Johnny said, "Where—?"
Bart Bartee answered, divining the real question. "Gone up to change. Nan and Dorothy, too. He's upstairs."
Johnny thought he was raging, shouting. Actually he made no sound with his mouth but liis feet pounded on the Bartee's stairs.
The three men followed after, exchanging panted bits of information.
Johmiy banged open Nan's door. She was in her slip, alone. She squealed, "Johnee^ ... /"
"Where is Dick Bartee?"
"You stopl" she wailed. "You leave us alonel"
"Where is he?"
"I won't tell you." She stamped her foot—a child in temper.
Johnny turned and went down the hall slamming doors )pen. A place of deep shelves, a bathroom, an empty bed-oom, Dorothy's perfume . . .
He came to the door to the front bedroom that used to be ■^athaniers. This door was locked.
"Bartee!" he shouted.
No answer.
"Water's running someplace in there," puffed Marshall.
Bart said, "His bathroom. He can't hear."
Johnny hfted up his foot and began to kick at the lock of he door. Loud, hard blows.
Blanche came hurrying up the stairs.
Dick's voice said, inside the room, "What the? Come in, vh>' don't you?"
"Unlock the doorl" bawled Johnny.
"It's not locked."
Johnny kicked it again.
Then the key began to work inside, at the lock. Dick opened he door. "Who locked my door?" he said, looking astonished. What's going on?"
Johnny raged through, feeling nine feet tall.
"Now, just a mlflute," said Dick Bartee and his fists curled, lis shoulders tightened for the giving of blows.
Johnny knew about foot-fighting. Johnny's long right leg wung up and Johnny's shoe caught Dick Bartee on the ide of the jaw. He staggered back and fell.
Marshall and Copeland and Bart Bartee had come into he room.
Johnny stood, dead white v^dth fury, and he thought he was houting curses, looking down.
Dick Bartee, on the floor, presented a face of astonishment md even respect. Violence impressed him?
Then Nan was screaming. Nan, in her shp, pushed through he men, screaming, and flung herself dov^oi upon Dick.
"Shut up. Nan," said Johnny in a voice of thunder. "Shut ip! Be quiet!"
He wanted the noise to stop, the noise of the curses in lis brain, the thundering and roaring of his own blood. He vas almost deaf with the noises, but not quite.
His brain was getting a little signal.
And Johnny, with a mighty effort of his will, began to
listen to the brain. There was tapping somewhere in this room—a rat-a-tat. What? Where? Inside this door?
Johnny yanked open the closet door and there was Dorothy hanging in the closet, her pink dress flowing downward, her toes chattering on the wall, her body turned and swayed and turned around, from where it was hanging by the neck.
Nan screamed again on a pitch of terror.
Johnny stepped into the closet and grabbed the swaying body in both his arms. He Hfted. He held it with one arm. His other hand fumbled and tugged to try to loosen the terrible tightness of the cloth around
the neck.
Marshall's hands came, helping to tear the sash, away from the high hook.
Johnny staggered and went down on one knee with Dorothy's body across the other.
Nan was screaming, "Dotty! Dotty." She had turned her face into Dick Bartee's shoulder and he said loudly, "What's going on herel Dorothy!"
Then Bart Bartee was saying to Johnny, "Doctor Jenson is downstairs. Give her to me."
CHAPTER 21
Johnny looked up from the wreck of beauty, the havoc of Dorothy's face. He looked up at Bart and their eyes held.
"Too late," said Johnny.
"I'll take her. Try . . ." So Bart took her up in his arms and Copeland helped. They carried the limp pink thing out of the bedroom and Bart was shouting, "Doctor Jenson"—and then the door closed. Johnny turned to face Dick Bartee.
Dick had scrambled to his feet by now and Nan was on her feet, too, held up in his arm.
"Dorothy!" said Dick with bulging eyes. "How the devil did she get in there?"
"What is it?" wailed Nan. "Oh, what is it? What happened?"
Johnny was taking a deep, deep breath and resolution was pouring through him. "Sit down on the bed, Nan," he said in a voice of command, "and if I hear one more girlish shiiek from you, I will throw you out of this room."
"Oh, no, you won't," said Dick angrily. "My wife—'' But he had let her go and Nan was staggering toward the bed. She sank upon it.
Johnny said, "Going to get this plain. Here and now. First, you killed Christy. We broke your alibi."
"That's right," said Marshall heavily.
"Don't be silly," said Dick Bartee. "For God's sake, what happened to Dorothy?"
"You killed Emily Padgett," said Johnny. "In the hospital. Your car was seen there. You were seen in the room. Seen in the corridor. A woman can identify—"
"Ridiculous," said Dick. "Nan, pay no attention. This man is obsessed . . ."
"Dick was with me," said Nan. "Johnny, you're crazy."
"Shut up, yoji Httle fool," said Johnny coldly. "His specialty is fooling young girls. You're not the first one."
The door opened and Copeland came in. He shook his head. "The sheriff's deputy is on the way. Should be here. With the warrant." He looked nervous.
"Warrant? For what?" snapped Dick.
"For you. Murder of Emily Padgett."
Nan didn't scream. Nan leaned on both arms; her dark eyes were bewildered. "Mr. Copeland?" she said feebly.
Copeland said, "Did Dick Bartee know Emily was in that hospital? Did you tell him?"
Nan said, "But he wouldn't—"
The door opened once more. Outside, somewhere in the house, a woman was weeping, loud, shuddering sobs. Blanche? Bart closed the door behind himself, shutting oflE the sound. He looked at Johnny and said tensely, "The doctor can't get a reaction. Sorry—"
"Now, you've killed Dorothy," Johnny shouted. "You lousy murderer!"
"I! Killed Dorothy! Look herel"
Nan said, "Johnny, why do you say Dick's a murderer?"
"Because that's what he is," said Johnny.
'Dorothy? How?" Dick said. "But she must have got in, locked the door. I was in the bathroom. You think I hung up Dorothy in the closet and then calmly went to wash my face I You're crazy 1 She did it to herself. Must havel"
"Suicide?" said Bart sharply. "Why would she do that?"
Dick mopped his face. "How do I know? Oh, Lord, poor Dorothy. The disgrace, maybe. Her father? Her mother . . . ?"
Nan said slowly, "But Dotty didn't . . . feel disgraced." Her dark eyes were open very wide. She stared at Dick."
Johnny said, "Are you waking up? It was the money."
"What money?" Dick exploded. "Now, hsten and I'll have to be ungentlemanly because this man is obsessed. I happen to know Dorothy—thought about me—too much. Nevertheless, I married Nan."
"A broken heart?" said Bart Bartee and his voice was thin with contempt and disbelief.
Nan said, "But Dorothy—Dorothy's been in love with Johnny these three years gone, she said."
"Ah, httle Nan," said Dick Bartee, with pity. "So innocent . . . What Dorothy said."
"He wants the money," shouted Johnny. "Can't you get that into your iimocent little head. He has always wanted the money and nothing but the money—unless it was Dorothy."
Dick Bartee's eyes flashed. "And how will this get me any money?"
"I don't know," said Johnny to himself.
Nan sat straighter. "No," she said primly. "No, it isn't the money and I've proved it. I didn't tell Dick what Dorothy said. Dorothy said she didn't want the money, I could have it. But I thought if he married me, just me, then that would prove."
She looked around at the stony faces and her chin began to shake. "Prove . . ." Her voice went up. "Provel" She looked as if she'd fly to pieces. "Dotty?"
Charles Copeland went to her, sat down beside her, held her.
Marshall said, "But it's incredible! That he could do such a thing I Hang a giil! Herel Nowl"
"Preposterous," said Dick. "Whatever happened to poor Dorothy, you will never prove that I had anythiag to do with it." ,
"You don't give up yet?" said Johnny softly.
"Give up? Give up what! What do )'ou think you can do to me? Where is your proof?" The splendid animal was fierce and brave.
Johnny stepped backwards, took the door knob, opened the door to the hall.
"Here I am," said Dorothy Padgett in a tortured voice that had to come from a mangled throat.
Something behind Dick Bartee's eyes gave up—and Johnny saw it. But Dick's body sat down and crossed its legs.
"He told me how long it took to kill the others," croaked Dorothy. "Emily!" Her face was no longer that terrible color but it was teiTible.
Johnny had her cold fingers in his own. "All right, weVe got him," he said in a shaking voice. "Will somebody keep me from killing him, here and now, before the law comes?"
Johnny could feel how Dorothy was trembling. Dorothy's fingers clutched his and she said hoarsely, yet clearly, "I would hke to be the one to tell him."
"Yes," said Johnny.
". . . that n^ Uncle CHnton McCauley's eyes are htOwn/' said the blue-eyed girl.,.
Johnny watched Dick's eyes with bitter pleasure.
Bart said, "You bit, Dick. You never paid any attention. You didn't even remember the baby's eyes. Sims rattled you."
Dick rose. "McCauley is dead," he said stiffly.
"What gave you that idea?" said Charles Copeland. "And what's the difference! Nans his daughter. The money has nothing to do with Dorothy."
"I?" Nan said.
"You had manied the money," Johnny said to Dick Bartee, "all cosy. You were home safe. You bet you were. Not now."
From Nathaniel's front windows they could all tell that a car was coming in.
"There's the law, thank God," gasped Copeland.
"Dick?" said Nan. "You didn't? It isn't true?"
Dick Bartee didn't even look at her. "Sorry to skip out on my honeymoon," he said jauntily, "but I don't think I'll wait for the law."
He turned to the side window. He wagged his hips and
crashed the glass out. He put one knee on the sill and his head and shoulders through before anyone could move.
Nan screamed. "No, Dick, not Don't leave mel I believe in youl I do! I know it isn't truel"
She was away from Copeland, oflF the bed, crawUng and scrambling after her dream. She caught at Dick's leg. He lifted it to kick her ojff. But Nan had it embraced, clutched fiercely. She was on her knees and she fainted backward. Dick had no balance, now. His other knee slipped oJBF the sill. His body came in and downward. Upon the jagged shard, left in the lower sash, his naked throat came dov^ni.
Four days later, Johnny pulled his car up at the prison, got out and helped the girls out.
Nan whimpered. "I'm afraid."
"Don't be afraid," Johnny said mechanically.
Nan was so small, so forlorn. Although she was better. Johnny and Cope
land had got Nan away from the law, (although there would be ordeals, inquiries, suspicion of manslaughter—before they could get her altogether free.) Dick Bartee was dead and gone. So they'd got Nan back north, and into the strong hands of Johnny's mother. Barbara Sims had pumped courage into her, helped her, got her in some measure, together again.
Now, of course, this was going to be an ordeal.
Johnny helped her to walk. Dorothy walked by herself. It was Dorothy who had stayed behind, two days, in Hestia and stood up to all the questioning.
Father Klein welcomed them. "He is waiting, my dear. He has been waiting for this a very long time."
McCauIey was better. The resolution of the dilemma had put him back together again, rather swiftly. He'd be out on parole soon.
"We won't go in," said Johrmy. "You go, Nan."
"No, Johnny, Dotty, please? Come with me?" Nan was shivering.
"He wants to see all three of you," the chaplain said.
The frail little man was waiting in the chaplain's office, white head bent down.
McCauley said, "I am a little afraid. Is it really she?"
Nan's face began to change. "Don't be afraid," she said. "Father?"
"This is your daughter, sir. And this is her cousin, Dorothy," Johnny spoke up. He had to be very cheerful, loud, and hearty. Somebody had to be.
"Thank you for all you have done," McCauley's brovvn eyes sent up to him a look of piercing gratitude.
"Thank Dorothy, too."
"I do thank Dorothy."
Dorothy said, w^ith that sturdy sweetness, "Ym. glad to meet you at last, Uncle CHnton."
"That's right," he mused. "You are Essie McCauley and Gordon O'Hara's child."
Nan's face had color. "I am Polly McCauley," she said shyly.
The man looked at her directly for the first time. "Oh, my poor Polly McCauley. My dear little one." The heart seemed to rush out of the frail body toward her. "What a terrible bad time you must have hadl"
Nan was very still. Everyone was still.
Then Nan said, "You've had the bad time. Oh, tell me.'' She sat down. She put out her hands. "What shall I call you? Father? Dad? ITL take care of you now, and .yi?ull help me?"
She had said the exact right thing. McCauley wept for joy.
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