Wolf in Man’s Clothing

by Mignon G. Eberhart

  Alexia stopped yawning so suddenly her jaws snapped together and Maud’s scorn changed to alert interest. I went on, “There was a kind of bump against the closed door to my patient’s room.”

  “Bump!” said the District Attorney.

  “Yes. Something in the hall struck against the door.”

  “Something! What?” cried the District Attorney. He looked a little astonished at having, so to speak, got a bite. “Well-well, go on,” he said impatiently as I hesitated. “What was it? Didn’t you go to the door and open it and look?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did open the door and I saw…” I stopped again on the verge of saying I had seen Nicky coming from a room down the hall. But that was wrong. I had seen Nicky, but that was before something-whatever it was-had struck against the door, and struck so sharply it roused me and the cat. No; that was wrong, too; the cat had already aroused, as if he heard someone in the hall. The bump against the door had come later. And when I had got to the door and opened it no one was in the hall.

  The District Attorney said, “Well, who did you see? Who did you see?”

  Nugent was very still and very observant-as, I suddenly realized, everyone in the room was watching, too, and listening. There was indeed a strained and queer silence. I said slowly, confused not so much by the silence as by the singularly intent quality in it, “I didn’t see anyone. I don’t know who it was. I saw nothing.”

  “But you…” began Soper explosively, and Nugent said, “All right, Miss Keate. We believe you.” His eyes looked very narrow and green. He went on quickly, “You were in the library when you heard the sound of something falling. What did you do?”

  “I ran upstairs.” I told him of it again, briefly. And brought forward what seemed to be, up to then, a bit of new evidence, or at least a new fact. That was the matter of Craig’s being found in the linen closet, unconscious and bleeding from a bruise on his temple.

  “He says somebody was in the hall and struck him,” I explained.

  The District Attorney interrupted. “Who?”

  “He said he doesn’t know. But if someone did that it proves there was an intruder, a-a thief…”

  “But he said he was in the hall when he was struck,” said Soper, looking a little impressed with his own astuteness, and very pompous. “You say you found him in the linen room.”

  “I did. Or rather Miss Cable found him there first.” Again glances went to Drue; again no one questioned her. “Someone must have dragged him into the linen closet and left him there. A man, I mean.”

  “A woman could have done it,” began Soper, and Nugent cut in rather quickly. “I’ll question Craig Brent later,” he said, his eyes still very green and thoughtful, however. Soper, brought up short, frowned, tapped his stomach and began again briskly. “Now then, about Conrad Brent’s business affairs…”

  That did not take a very long time; everyone I think was convinced that Conrad’s business affairs were in good order and in any case it would be an easy matter for them to find out through his bankers and his lawyer. There seemed to be, however, little question on that point. He had been a rich man, living well within an income which was, certainly, on the more or less lavish side. Only later inquiry could confirm it, but just then there seemed to be no reasonable doubt but that his affairs were perfectly balanced and sound.

  Nothing however was said of his will-which seemed to me another omission. After that they went into the matter of alibis-very cautiously, very suavely, so one didn’t at first realize the exact trend of all their detailed questions of time. In the end, however, so far as I could see, no one really had an alibi except Craig. Nicky, at least, had admitted his presence in the morning room when Conrad returned. Had he seen Drue? Was he going to tell of her interview with Conrad? There was no way to know and no way to read Nicky’s enigmatic face. At length the District Attorney observed, rather pettishly, that there was no alibi, really, for murder by poison, looked impatiently at Nugent and fidgeted. Nugent looked back at him and shook his head, only a little, almost imperceptibly, but as if he’d said, “Wait-not yet.”

  I saw that. And I thought I prepared myself for it. I didn’t really; no one does against catastrophe. But I knew that it was coming; they had asked about a hypodermic, so they had seen that tiny red mark on Conrad Brent’s arm. They had searched Drue’s room and mine and had taken away the little bag in which she carried instruments and the few drugs she had, so they knew she had a supply of digitalis and knew she didn’t have a hypodermic-as I had and as any nurse normally would have. They had established the fact that Conrad’s medicine was gone, box and all, so he couldn’t have taken it himself. They wouldn’t have far to look for a motive, or a witness of sorts, either, for Nicky must have seen Drue going to the library even if, for any purpose of his own, he did not then admit it. Above all, the look Soper and Nugent exchanged admitted a previously agreed-upon purpose.

  So they had not yet questioned Drue. My feeling about that was right. Obviously they thought that it would weaken her to have to sit there before them and hear the case built up-possibilities eliminated, circumstances set forth so they were indisputable.

  I felt cold and queerly stiff, as if all my muscles had tightened hard. I felt that I had to look at Drue and I wouldn’t.

  It came sooner than I expected and it was worse. Maud at last brought the thing to its ugly climax. She said, suddenly and impatiently, interrupting a question as to any possibility of the medicine box having been empty and thrown away by Conrad himself, previous to his attack, “Nonsense!”

  Everyone looked at her. She said again, “That’s utter nonsense! Conrad never would have done that. He always kept a supply of digitalis on hand. Besides, as Claud has already told you, his prescription had been refilled only three days ago. He hadn’t had an attack since, so it was a full, new supply. And I don’t see why you don’t get to the point. He was given a hypodermic, you know that; Claud saw what he felt sure was the mark and told me. Nobody but a nurse would have given him a hypodermic-a nurse or a doctor, and Claud wasn’t here. And you know who had a motive.”

  I said quickly, “A hypodermic mark?”

  Nugent glanced at me and Maud stopped, shooting a light black look at me. Nugent said, “Do you want to say something, Nurse Keate?”

  “Yes. I don’t see how anyone, even a doctor, can make a positive statement about the mark made by a hypodermic needle. It is very small; frequently so small that it can’t be seen at all. The skin is elastic and instantly closes after the needle is withdrawn.”

  Maud’s eyes snapped. “It frequently shows, too.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t question Dr. Chivery’s statement to the effect that he found some sort of small mark that might have been made by a hypodermic needle. I do question anyone being able to say with any degree of certainty that a-well, a bare pinprick is the mark of a needle.”

  “Miss Keate,” said Maud. “You are not here to question the veracity of the doctor you are working for!”

  “It’s the plain truth,” I said. “Ask anyone.”

  Maud whirled around toward Nugent. “Dr. Chivery’s word has never been questioned. As I was about to say, it is obvious that only one person in the house had a motive. That was Drue Cable.”

  “Mrs. Chivery…” began Nugent, but she went on so vehemently that her tight little body jerked; her black eyes plunged in little bursts from one to the other of us.

  “She must have come down to the library to see him; to try to persuade him not to make her go. He had told her she must leave today. She threatened him, yesterday afternoon. I heard her and so did you, Nicky. You heard her say, ‘I could kill you for this.’ I know exactly what happened. She came to the library and she accused him of breaking up her marriage. Conrad had an attack and asked her for medicine; she went to the desk and-and took the medicine away, pretended it was gone. So Conrad, dying, begged her to help him. She was a nurse. How could he know what she would do…?”

  “Stop! We’ll get a
lawyer. You can’t accuse…” I rose and Nugent was at my side, his hand tight on my arm. Drue looked like a ghost, white, rigid, with great dark eyes fastened on Maud. There was a shadow of a smile on Alexia’s lips. Maud swept on vigorously, black eyes snapping. “So she gave him a hypodermic of digitalis and she gave him too much. It killed him. As she planned. She thought it would never be traced. That’s how it happened…”

  “That’s enough, Mrs. Chivery,” said Nugent. But Soper’s voice rose over Nugent’s. “She’s perfectly right,” he said loudly. “I’ve thought so from the very first. She’s perfectly right, Nugent; there’s no other real explanation. I’ve been patient, I’ve covered every possible line of inquiry. But that’s enough…” He got up and looked at Drue, his little eyes bright and accusing. “She did it. The girl did it. She intended to kill him with the revolver. Then he had a heart attack and this way was easier for her, a nurse, and she jumped at it. She hid the medicine; she pretended to him that it was gone; she told him she’d save him. And then she killed him. Arrest Drue Cable now, Lieutenant. It’s a clear case; I’ll take the responsibility for it, and I’ll bring the charge. We’ll get a grand jury indictment at once. It’ll be murder in the first degree.”

  Nicky looked at his fingernails. “Well,” he said softly into the sudden silence, “I may as well tell you, then. Drue was with Conrad in the library. I saw her. And I heard her say, ‘I’ve got your revolver.’ They had a terrific row.”

  10

  DRUE ROSE AUTOMATICALLY, AS if she didn’t know what she was doing, but she didn’t speak. I was close beside her and I would have known. Alexia smiled a little and said something low to Nicky. Maud looked openly triumphant; Peter quickly started for the door as if to tell Craig and then as quickly came back into the room again. Soper said loudly that he was right, he’d known it from the first, but Nicky ought to have told it earlier. I believe I said loudly, too, a number of times that Drue wouldn’t talk without a lawyer. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Then Nugent’s voice cracked like a whip, so viciously that it brought us all up short.

  “Do you mean she had the revolver with her? In her hand?” he asked Nicky.

  “Oh, no,” said Nicky. “I would have seen it.”

  “Then she wasn’t actually threatening him with it?”

  “I can’t say about that,” said Nicky airily.

  “And what did you do then?”

  “After I saw her go into the library?” Nicky’s tone was very nonchalant. “I thought from the sound of Conrad’s voice that she-well, might need somebody to back her up. But she seemed able to take care of herself, so I went upstairs. I’d just got to sleep when something fell-I don’t know what-and they said Conrad was dead.”

  “What else did you hear?” demanded Soper quickly. “What did Brent say when she told him she had his revolver? Did he call for help? You must have heard what else they said!”

  Nicky paused, looked at his fingernails, thought for a moment and said, “N-no. No, I’m afraid not.”

  “But if you heard their voices…” began Soper, and Nugent said abruptly, “You’ll swear to all this, Mr. Senour?”

  And Nicky said he wouldn’t.

  It was an inexplicable and sudden volte face to which he clung with silky stubbornness. “I can’t swear to anything,” he said. “I won’t. I’ve only said that Drue came downstairs while Conrad was in the library.”

  Soper was furious. “You said they had a row. You said you saw her in the library with him just before he died. You said she threatened him with his own revolver!”

  “I won’t swear to anything,” said Nicky, ignoring Alexia’s frown and Maud’s angry eyes and clutching little hand upon his arm.

  “You don’t have to,” shouted Soper angrily. “Every word you’ve said has been taken down in shorthand. Perfectly openly; you were all aware of it.” One of the troopers in the corner, scribbled that too, rapidly, in his shorthand tablet. But Nicky shook his head.

  “You’ll never get me to sign it or to admit anything of the kind on the witness stand. I won’t be the one to bring evidence like that against anybody-in court.”

  Alexia was biting her full underlip with sharp white teeth, her eyes ominously fixed on Nicky. Maud made an angry little exclamation and must have vanished about then, silently, for when next I looked for her she was gone. Soper said angrily that Nicky would be a witness; he couldn’t help himself; he, Soper, would see to that. Nugent said suddenly, “We’ll question Miss Cable alone. Right, Soper?”

  “But…” said Alexia, and Nugent said again, “Alone. If you please…”

  So the others-Alexia, Nicky, Peter and Beevens-were obliged to leave, and did so rather reluctantly, I thought, as if they wanted to stay. But Nugent closed the door after them briskly, and Soper looked at me.

  “Well?” he said sharply, “are you staying here?”

  “I am,” I said simply but firmly.

  “You’re not! You heard what…”

  “Oh, let her stay,” said Nugent. Soper shrugged and Drue, standing very slim and erect beside the tall armchair, her gray eyes level and clear, said, “I didn’t murder him.” Said it like a simple statement, clearly and distinctly, like a child reciting a lesson. I suppose it seemed unreal to her. Yet it was real enough, too.

  “You were with him,” said Soper. “You had a motive…” He began his attack with bluster, but Nugent’s voice cut sharply into the bluster, “Miss Cable,” he said, “will you make a statement of exactly what you did do? Just tell it to us in your own words.”

  “I think she ought to have a lawyer,” I said again. “You can refuse to talk, Drue.” I wasn’t sure that she could refuse to answer their questions, but in any case she lifted her firm little chin and looked at Nugent.

  “I’ll tell you,” she said. “I’ll tell you as much as I can.” I held my breath again and tried to think of ways to stop her if she said too much.

  “I was in the library as Nicky says,” she began.

  “All right, Miss Cable, go on.”

  “I did want to talk to Mr. Brent. So I waited until he returned from his walk, then I came to the library. We talked for some time. He had a heart attack then and…” She faltered, and I was sure she was going to tell about the hypodermic. I rustled warningly. A faint flush came into her face and her hand went up to her throat, almost as if to stop the words on her lips. “And-he died,” she said. “If such a large amount of digitalis was found, I don’t know how he got it.”

  Well, that was true enough and so far safe. But I wished I could be sure that she saw, as I saw, that the one thing they were after was an admission that she had given Conrad digitalis. It was the important material evidence; it was the clinching fact, it was the missing link in the chain they had forged. There was no possible way for her to prove, ever (to them, or to a jury), how much she had given him, and that it was not a lethal amount. Her instinct was for telling them the truth, I knew that; and the truth would have been, literally, the most horrible and fatal trap, as things stood then. Soper burst into question again.

  “But this revolver, Miss Cable. You had a revolver. Why?”

  She turned to face him. “I found that revolver in the garden,” she said steadily, “yesterday afternoon.”

  “G-garden,” said the District Attorney.

  “Where my-that is, where Craig was shot that night. It was hidden and I found it. In the burlap wrapping around one of the rose shrubs.”

  Nugent’s eyes had an odd expression. “Why did you look for it, Miss Cable?” he said. “Why did you bring it to your room?”

  She turned back to him; there was less defiance in her manner when she spoke to Nugent, more confidence-which might be her undoing. She seemed to trust him and to want to tell him the whole story and Soper was ready and eager to pounce upon any unguarded admission. She said, “Because I didn’t believe the story of an accident. I went to the garden just to have a look at the place where my”-again she corrected herself quickly-�
�where Craig had been hurt. I searched it and I found the gun. That’s all. I brought it to my room because I intended to show it to Craig when he was better.”

  “Why?” said Nugent rather softly.

  “Because it proved someone shot at him,” she said.

  “He says it was accident,” said Nugent, watching her closely. “He ought to know.”

  “I wanted him to have that revolver,” she said with a kind of obliquity.

  “You’re saying that his accident was actually an attempted murder?” cried Soper.

  Again she whirled around to face him, her chin high, her voice steady. “He wouldn’t have shot himself like that! He wouldn’t have been cleaning a gun in the garden at eleven o’clock at night!”

  “Did you know that the revolver belonged to Conrad Brent?”

  “I wasn’t sure. I knew that he’d had a revolver.”

  “Did he admit it belonged to him? When you took it to the library, I mean?”

  “Yes. That is, by implication. He recognized it and asked where I’d found it.”

  “See here, Miss Cable,” said Soper with a crafty look, “did you accuse him of trying to kill his son?”

  “No. Certainly not.”

  “Why did you give him the revolver?”

  “Because I wanted him to know of it, of course. I wanted him to know that I had found it in the garden, hidden. I wanted him to know.”

  “Why?” said Soper again.

  “Naturally because something ought to be done about it. It proved that Craig didn’t shoot himself. He wouldn’t have hidden it.”

  “Exactly what did he say?”

  Drue flushed. “He said I couldn’t have found the revolver just there. He said I was-was trying to make trouble.”

  “And you…”

  “I saw then that he was ill. I told him he’d better lie down. I started to leave but he-he asked me to stay with him. And then he got worse. All at once. And-and died.”