I had to go over and over the story about Homer, and she seemed to find the parts that dealt with the golf shoes in the hall and the pipe in the living room almost beyond belief. Homer never left his shoes lying around anywhere—they were kept in a rack in his closet, or on his feet. And I gathered that he would as soon have thought of taking a bath in the living room as exposing his pipe there.
"Homer was always very cooperative about keeping the place nice. I know some people think I'm too fussy that way—John always says so. He told me once that I keep the place more like a museum than a home—but I have nice things, and I like to keep them nice." She stirred her coffee for a while in silence and asked doubtfully, "Do you think I'd better delay going to the police for a while? I mean Homer may come back—perhaps tomorrow."
"I'd wait," I agreed. "You'd look silly if he walked in while you were busy asking them to find him."
"Yes." She fidgeted with the coffee spoon and added in an annoyed voice, "It would be just like Homer, too. But what about Betty? Has she come home?"
I shook my head. "John was accusing Ken of having her living down near the camp with him."
Mary widened her eyes and looked thoroughly scandalized. "That's absurd! Perfect nonsense!" She thought it over for a while and added with less conviction, "Of course he went around with her—but he went around with so many girls." She gave it some more thought and ended by practically going over to the opposition. "I suppose that could have been just a blind, couldn't it? Anyway, I think John cheapens himself by making a scene about it. When a woman leaves her husband and child the husband should put her out of his mind entirely."
"Whom do you think she went off with?" I asked curiously.
"I don't know, and I don't care," Mary said crisply. "I'm as certain that it was some man as I am that it was not Homer."
"But you thought it was Homer at first."
"Well, of course when Mrs. Budd had that card from Betty—naturally. I was so angry and upset—and what else could I have thought? But when I had calmed down and been by myself for a while, I realized that it just was not possible. Homer would never have left me for Betty."
I nodded and refrained from adding that in my opinion Betty would never have left John for Homer either.
"Well. . ." Mary sighed, stood up, and started to clear away the coffee things. I picked up a dish towel and silently vowed to leave in the morning. I dried the delicate cups and saucers with care, and reflected that it must take Mary a long time to do her housework, and no wonder she could never keep a maid.
When we had finished, Mary said she'd just take a took at the living room, to see if they had left it in order.
I tried to get away. I said, "Good night, Mary, I'll see you in the morning," but she took my arm firmly and pulled me along with her.
She touched the wall switch in the living room, and in the sudden, soft glow of light we saw Suzy. She was sitting in an oddly awkward position in one of the chairs, and she was sound asleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MARY HURRIED FORWARD and grasped the girl's shoulder. She shook it and demanded, "Where is he? Where is Mr. Homer?"
But Suzy's head had fallen forward onto her chest, and she didn't wake up.
"Stop it, Mary," I said sharply. "She's ill—we'll have to have a doctor. Is there one in the building?"
Mary shook the limp arm again and said excitedly, "Don't be silly— she's only drunk," but I pulled her away and urged her toward the front door.
"I tell you the girl's ill. Go and wake the Emersons: "
She went reluctantly, and I stood and watched her ring the Emersons' bell. After some little time John appeared, wrapped in an elaborate silk robe.
He said, "Oh. Hello, Mary—you're back. What is it? Have you found Homer?"
"No, no—it's Suzy. She's in my living room, and Eugenia thinks she's ill. I wish you'd come."
"Suzy?" repeated John vaguely, and brushed back the lock of dark hair that had been hanging rather becomingly over his forehead. "But she came in with us—she's in bed."
"John, please! She's in my living room, and I think she's drunk. You must come and see to her."
John belted his robe more firmly and stepped out into the hall, as Mrs. Budd appeared, behind him attired in a flowered wrapper.
"She's not drunk," he said with a touch of impatience. "Suzy never drinks."
Mrs. Budd followed and whispered to me anxiously. "What is it? What has Suzy been doing?"
I explained as we made our way down Mary's hall, and Mrs. Budd said, "Tch, tch," several times.
In the living room John was bending over Suzy. Her head was hanging sideways now, and her eyes, blank and expressionless, were only half closed. I drew in my breath sharply.
"We should get a doctor at once."
John straightened slowly, his eyes still on Suzy's face. "Yes, we must certainly have one. But I'm afraid it's no use—I think she's dead."
Mrs. Budd gave a little scream, and Mary gasped, "Oh no, John! She— she can't be."
John turned away and without comment went along to the telephone at the end of the hall.
"Oh, poor Suzy—poor girl!" Mrs. Budd cried hysterically. "What could have happened—whatever could have happened? She was perfectly all right all the evening—except that once she told me she felt a little sleepy. After she told us about Homer being here, that was."
Sergeant Smith appeared in a bright green robe and asked, "What's all the activity? Emerson's hanging onto the phone out there in the hall." His eye fell on Suzy, and he added, "What's the matter with her?"
"Hello, Ken," Mary said wanly.
"Mary! When did you blow in?"
"I came tonight. But oh, Ken, we're so worried. John says she's dead."
Ken came closer and peered at Suzy's face. "The poor kid," he said soberly. "John's getting a doctor, isn't he?"
Mrs. Budd began to cry. "I wish I hadn't been so cross with her all day— but I was bothered about the party, and Lucy leaving all of the arrangements to me. It's just like Lucy. I wish—"
"What's just like me?" Lucy asked from the door. "What's going on anyway? Why—er—Mary."
"Lucy!" said Mary. "Did you give this girl anything to drink?"
"Certainly not," Lucy snapped, looking thoroughly offended. "I don't drink much myself, and I don't go around trying to get other people drunk. She didn't even ask me if she could have any."
Mary wrung her hands, and I could see the expensive glitter of her rings. She said distractedly, "I wish the doctor would come. Where's John?"
"I got hold of Sand, from upstairs," John said from the foyer. "He'll be down in a minute—he's throwing a few clothes on."
Ken began to talk soothingly to Mary, and Mrs. Budd, after mopping her eyes and blowing her nose, looked Lucy over and asked her why she had not undressed yet.
"Why, I have," Lucy said loudly, and then remembered and glanced down at the white negligee, which she now wore over her nightgown, and without the yellow ribbon in her hair. She gave Mrs. Budd a suspicious look and apparently decided that silence was the best course.
The doctor came and was taken to the chair where Suzy lay. He made a brief examination in a dead silence that took on a stunned quality when he announced curtly, "She's dead."
Presently Mrs. Budd began to cry again, and the rest of us stirred. Ken asked, "But what was it, Doctor? It must have been very sudden, because she was quite all right during the evening."
The doctor nodded. He would not commit himself, but admitted that he was inclined to think she had been poisoned. There would have to be an autopsy, and the police must be notified.
"Oh no!" Mary gasped. "Not here, surely. How did she get here anyway?"
"That's what I'd like to know," John muttered. "Smith told her to go, after things had been cleared up, and she came back with us."
"She could have come over the balcony," I suggested, "unless she had a key for the front door."
Mrs. Budd, mopping up with a very damp
handkerchief, said vehemently, "She didn't have a key—why on earth would she? And why would she come over the balcony? Someone must have told her to come back, and let her in."
"Talk sense, Mother," John said shortly. "Why would anyone call her back here? The work was done."
Mary and the doctor had gone out to the telephone, and it was just before they reappeared again that Lucy decided to have hysterics. She was no amateur, and she put on a very fine exhibition indeed. We were all fully occupied with her—except the doctor, who seemed to feel that in these busy times this was one job that might safely be left to the first-aid corps.
I was in the thick of the fray, and only dimly aware that some strange men had appeared in the living room, and that first Mary and then John stepped over to speak to them. I saw nothing of the actual removal of Suzy, for Lucy caught a glimpse of it and began to go off like a series of skyrockets.
After it was over Dr. Sand had a few words with Mary and John, and then prepared to depart himself. On his way out he stepped over and looked at Lucy for the first time. "Just wondering what she eats for breakfast," he said mildly as I wiped the sweat from my brow and looked up at him. "All I'd ever ask for in this world would be half that energy—only half of it."
He went off, and Lucy calmed down to the point of being coherent.
"It was Homer," she sobbed. "He's gone mad. Poor Suzy told everyone he was here, so he silenced her forever."
Mary walked over and gave her a ringing slap in the face. "That's enough, Lucy. I won't have you talking scandalous nonsense about Homer—you know he wouldn't hurt a fly."
Mrs. Budd collapsed into a chair and said indignantly, "She deserved that, Mary—I'm glad you did it. These people who go around spreading tales! It certainly looks as though poor Homer had become a bit touched in the head—bringing Suzy back here and poisoning her—but Lucy has no right to mention it."
Mary's jaw dropped, and I said hastily, "If the poor girl has been poisoned, surely it was suicide."
John and Ken both said, "No," and then appeared to be disgusted at finding themselves agreeing with each other.
Lucy had been stretched out full length on a couch, but she sat up now and pushed her wildly disordered red curls back from her face.
"Why, that's an idea." she said quite calmly. "Maybe the poor thing had an unhappy love affair."
"Suzy had no boyfriends," said Mrs. Budd firmly.
"Oh." Lucy was still working on her hair. "Well, I suppose that's why she wanted to die. That gets a girl down, too."
Mary was twisting her hands again. She said desperately, "Oh, stop— stop! This is dreadful—what am I going to do? If Homer would only come— he'd be able to help me."
"It's all right, Mary," John soothed her. "We'll all help you—and probably Homer will come back in the morning."
Ken took over at that point. He marched Mary off to her room and forced her to take some sort of a sleeping pill. He said good night to Mrs. Budd and John and saw them to the door, and then came back and told Lucy and me that if we didn't get to bed and get some sleep all the bags around here wouldn't be in closets.
Lucy was afraid to go to her own room, so she trailed after me into mine. She settled down in a chair and began to talk, but I went straight to bed and closed my eyes. I heard her puzzling for a while over Ken's remark and wondering audibly whether he had meant us as a whole or just the spaces under our eyes. She left it unsolved, and the last thing I heard her say before she went to sleep was that Mary had put the two busts on the antique desk in the hall straight again.
I woke up at eight o'clock, to the persistent sound of the front doorbell. I opened my eyes blearily and saw Lucy stretched out in the chair, with her feet propped on my suitcase. She looked awkward and uncomfortable, but the bell had not roused her, and after waiting for a moment I dragged myself out of bed and made my way into the hall.
I glanced at the antique desk—and then looked again. Lucy must have been mistaken about Mary having straightened those busts, I thought—for certainly they were facing each other now.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AS I WENT ON to the front door I wondered whether Lucy had taken the trouble to turn those two busts, during the night, so that they faced each other once more.
If she had, she was playing a losing game, because if Mary wanted them facing outward they would face outward as long as Mary lived and could move.
The doorbell rang again, and as I opened up I saw Lucy come yawning out of my room and disappear into her own.
Three men advanced around and past me into the hall, and one of them mentioned that his name was Bartholomew Egbert.
I closed the door, since they seemed to have come to stay, and said, "I don't believe it."
The articulate one swung around and barked, "How's that?"
"No one ever had a name like that," I said, and realized that I was still only half awake.
He looked me over and then announced rather stiffly, "I wish to speak to Mrs. Fredon."
I shook my head in an effort to clear it. "You could speak to her, all right, only she wouldn't answer, because she's had a sleeping pill, and she's still out."
"Who are you?" he asked abruptly.
"I'm a guest."
"Do you have a name?"
I nodded. "It's just nothing, though—just a name. I'd hate even to mention it, after hearing yours."
He looked me over again—thoroughly—and then suggested smoothly, "Suppose you mention it anyway."
"First I'd like to know the names of your two silent partners, and what your business is here."
The silent partners grinned fleetingly and looked down at Egbert, who was almost a head shorter than either of them. Egbert himself removed his glasses and began to polish them with an immaculate handkerchief.
"We are policemen," he said after a moment.
"In that case, shouldn't you be able to flash a badge?"
The other two did so immediately, but Egbert merely finished polishing his glasses and perched them on his nose. "It shouldn't be necessary," he said equably. "I am almost famous. You should know me."
"There are a lot of things I don't know. I never finished college."
"No. Well, perhaps you can lead us to an assortment of chairs, so that we may ask you a few questions."
I started for the living room, but Egbert caught sight of the dining room on the way and decided to use it.
We all sat down around the table, and I heard Lucy go into the kitchen and start banging pots around. After a while she opened the swinging door and peered out at us, and her eyebrows shot up into her hair. I grinned at her, and Egbert turned around.
"Come in, if you please—I'd like to talk to you."
Lucy stared at him, and her hand went automatically to straighten her hair. "Why, I can't," she said, looking a bit fussed. "I'm in the middle of breakfast. I'll have it ready in a minute—only I'm afraid I—er—didn't plan for so many."
"Quite all right—we have breakfasted. But please go on with your preparations, and perhaps we can talk while you're having yours."
Lucy gave me a baffled look and then disappeared, and he turned to me. "You are Miss Gates? Miss Eugenia Gates?"
I admitted it.
"And in the kitchen—Mrs. Lucy Davis?" I nodded.
"Where is Sergeant Smith?"
"I suppose he's around somewhere," I said vaguely.
Egbert turned to one of the silent stalwarts and snapped, "Find him."
The man disappeared, and I was again in the line of fire.
"Now, when and where did you first see this girl Suzy?"
It was simple enough to tell him what I knew of Suzy, but it was so very brief that he seemed to disbelieve it. He kept interrupting, and seemed to be inferring that I had known Suzy as of yore and had had a score to settle with her.
When I had hotly denied it for the third time I asked, "Does all this mean that she was deliberately murdered?"
Egbert took off his glasses and started to
polish them again.
"Don't do that," I said crossly, "you just did it. Anyway, I can't see why you insist that she was murdered. She might have taken whatever it was by accident."
Egbert said, "No. She took too much to have taken it accidentally. Murder or suicide."
Stated unemotionally, in Egbert's precise voice, the words gave me a feeling of blank, cold fear. I realized fully, for the first time, that either poor little Suzy had been so desperate that she wanted to die or someone had been so desperate as to kill her. And here—right in this apartment, with all those people milling around. I closed my eyes and felt a shudder pass through me from head to toe.
The man who had gone to look for Ken came back, apparently without having found him, and at the same time Lucy pushed through the door from the kitchen carrying a tray loaded with fine delicate little plates. On each plate lay a dainty square of toast, with about a spoonful of scrambled egg on the top. Lucy distributed the plates—one in front of each of us and one at her own place—and disappeared into the kitchen again.
The silent chorus looked hopefully at Egbert, who was regarding his own portion in some perplexity. He picked up the toast at last and, being careful of the mound of egg on top, pushed the whole thing into his mouth. The other two followed suit at once, and when Lucy presently came in again with some cutlery I shook my head at her. "Places for two, only. The gentlemen are taking theirs home with them."
Lucy looked at the empty plates in astonishment. "Well, forever! What did they wrap it in? Do they want some waxed paper?"
Egbert cleared his throat, and I said hastily, "It's all right. Have you any coffee out there?"
"Of course." She disposed of the cutlery and returned to the kitchen, where I could hear her whispering. I knew Ken was out there, and I wondered whether he was planning to skip back to camp and avoid the trouble that seemed to be brewing—since the Army was such an unreasonable outfit at times.
The Black Dream_Rue Morgue Vintage Mysteries Page 6
