"Tonight," I said promptly. "Give me the address again. I—I've forgotten it."
This didn't seem to surprise him much, and he gave me an address which I carefully wrote on my piece of paper. He asked for the names of my friends then, and I gave him Ken's and my own and hung up, feeling very clever.
I put on a lot of superiority when I told Ken the tale, but he didn't seem to be much impressed.
"You mean we're going to some unknown address with a view to purchasing a princess? Are you nuts, or was he?"
"You're wasting time," I said, practically hopping from one foot to the other. "Come on, will you? We'll soon find out what it is."
Ken settled himself more comfortably in his chair and lit a cigarette.
"Now wait a minute. I told you I just came along for the ride, but I think I'll have to take action after all. I'm going to phone Egbert."
"You'll do nothing of the sort," I said furiously. "I'm sick and tired of Egbert and his clean little face all washed behind the ears. I'm doing this thing myself. I found the magazine, didn't I?"
Ken squinted at me through a haze of cigarette smoke and asked calmly. "You wish to go and poke your nose into that address all by yourself?"
I deflated a little and admitted, "Well, I'd like you to come along. Why do you have to be such a pig about it?"
"I'm trying to be reasonable. You won't know where to fit this in, but Egbert has all the other pieces, and he'll know where it belongs."
"What more does he know about it than I do?" I exploded.
"He has all the facts at his finger tips."
"Yes," I agreed bitterly, "and all he can do is play tiddly winks with them. We've been there all through the thing, haven't we? Egbert got all the facts he has from us anyway—he asks us every inch of the way."
Ken shook his head. "He gets out of us what we know—which is only part of the picture. For instance, do you know how those murders were committed?"
"Why—yes. They were poisoned."
"Who told you?"
I thought for a while and then said lamely, "Everyone knows it."
"Everyone thinks it, but it must have been an odd sort of poison. Suzy seemed peaceful enough—she wasn't, apparently, sick or in pain beforehand."
"Then—then what was it? There was no blood on her."
"How do you know that? You didn't really examine her, and neither did I—nor did we really examine Betty or Homer—but Egbert did. You and I don't know how they were killed."
"All right, so Egbert knows how they were killed, and we don't. But he still wants a motive—and if you'll only come with me, maybe we can give him one."
"I've been thinking about it quite a lot," Ken said, ignoring me. "Who the devil could have poisoned her anyway? She'd gone home with Emerson and Mrs. Budd—and of course we don't know when she came back—but you know when Mary came in."
I nodded, diverted in spite of myself. "Mary and I didn't go into the living room until we'd had coffee, so I suppose Suzy might have come in while we were in the kitchen."
"Somebody could have shot her. . . gun with a silencer . . . not much blood. Nobody heard anything."
"You're drooling," I said coldly. "Why would Egbert keep it a secret if she'd been shot?"
"Maybe he's looking for the gun and thinks he'll have a better chance of finding it if everyone else isn't looking too."
I realized that he was stalling, and I said abruptly, "Either you're coming with me or you're not—make up your mind. Because I'm going anyway."
He began to toy with a knife, and I became conscious of a woman at the next table who was staring at me. I looked full at her, and she averted her eyes, and I automatically put a hand to my hair. I discovered that the yellow ribbon had slipped back off the bandage, and I pulled it forward again, at the same time cussing furiously at Ken. "Why didn't you tell me that, silly-looking bandage was showing?"
He glanced up. "It isn't. But now that you mention it, I really ought to change that dressing."
"You won't touch it," I snapped, and added with sudden inspiration, "at least not until we get back."
"Don't be silly," he said, with purpose glinting in his eye. "It ought to be looked at and changed. It's dangerous to neglect a thing like that."
"When we come back."
He gave a gusty sigh and threw the knife he had been playing with half across the table. "This is going to mean trouble—for both of us."
"Get the bill," I said, tapping my foot. "Come on—get it.
"You can't get a waiter to come at the drop of a hat these days. He'll come when he's ready and not before."
"You're not even trying to catch his eye."
"Quite useless. You can't catch a waiter's eye. Sometimes he gives it to you in an amiable moment, but you can't catch it."
"Well, for heaven's sake watch him, then, in case he decides to give."
The waiter presently approached of his own accord, and Ken paid the bill, although he gave forth with a low whistle when he saw the total. In the lobby he wandered over to an array of postcards and started looking through them.
"Why don't you buy one and send it to Mary, saying we've eloped?" I asked facetiously.
"Good idea. I shall."
He did too, although by the time he got to the point of slipping it into the mailbox I was frantically trying to stop him—without success.
"No sooner said than done," he observed, dusting off his hands.
I gave a vexed sigh and headed for the entrance. "I'm going straight out front there—now—and hail a taxi and give him this address. You can come with me or not, but I'm off."
He came, but he was shaking his head, with disapproval bristling all over him. Once in the taxi, he drew a breath that came from the bottom of his shoes and handed out a battered cigarette.
"You might as well know that I don't like any part of this."
"Astonishing," I murmured. "I had thought you were all eagerness."
"Save your sarcasm. You'll need all your wits when we get there. This is your show."
We lapsed into silence, and I discovered that I was decidedly nervous. I twisted my hands together and stared out of the window, hoping that I looked more composed than I felt. We left the city and passed through a good residential section which presently changed to more modest surroundings. The cab drew up at last before a rather old house that had certainly seen better days. Ken paid off and then let out a few fruity curses, after the taxi had gone, because he had not told the man to wait.
"We'll have to use the fellow's telephone to call another," he muttered.
"Oh, come on!" I said impatiently. "Stop all these delaying actions, will you? We'll get back to civilization somehow."
Ken set his jaw and took my arm. "Come on then," he said with sudden decision. "If I lose my stripes over this I'll have it out of your hide somehow."
"I shall make it up to you gladly. I'll write you letters and send you boxes of foolishments."
Ken rang the doorbell, and presently the door was opened by an elderly man in shirtsleeves. He had iron-gray hair and wore spectacles with thick lenses.
"Oh." He pushed the glasses up onto his forehead and blinked at us.
"I believe we're expected," Ken announced in his sergeant's voice. "We've come to see the princess."
"Oh yes, yes—of course. Mrs. Emerson gave me your names, but I'm afraid I've forgotten."
I wondered, shuddering, whether he ever read the newspapers, but Ken gave our names, and he nodded and said, "Come in."
We passed through a hall and living room that were dark and musty and crowded with drab old furniture, and out onto a side porch that had been completely glassed in. It looked like a miniature museum. It was crowded with peculiar objects, and I had a vague idea that the things were Egyptian. There was a long coffin-shaped box in the middle of the floor, and the man shuffled, straight over and knelt down beside it.
"She's a very fine specimen," he said, and stroked the lid with loving hands. "Mrs. Emerso
n calls her the Black Eye. I don't know why, but I don't like it. After all, she is a princess. I have her entire history. Here, now . . ."
He lifted the lid, and Ken and I peered in.
A confusion of colors, with a serene painted face staring up at us—it was an Egyptian mummy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
KEN EASED HIS ARM away from me, and I discovered that I was digging my fingers into it with all my strength.
The man was fussing lovingly with his treasure. "See, I'll show you. I wouldn't sell her—not for anything in the world—if I didn't need the money."
He carefully pulled the portrait away and exposed the wrapped mummy underneath. I thought instantly of Homer and Betty, examining this thing, probably with absorbed interest, and then going home to be killed and wrapped in the same way, except that their bindings were pinkish material intended for curtain ruffles, and the princess was bound in ancient, yellowed stuff that was crumbling with age.
I had a sudden attack of nausea and turned away, pretending an interest in the other objects that cluttered the place. I heard Ken telling the man that we were grateful for his courtesy: the princess was an unusually fine specimen, and we, would think it over and let him know. Unfortunately we had no time, just then, to study her history—I think Ken called it a pedigree—but we would do so later, when our engagements were less pressing.
The man was peeved and pleased all at once, and it was obvious that he was caught between his love for the princess and his need for money. He rumpled his hair and said fretfully, "Yes, yes—take your time. Only I don't understand about Mrs. Emerson and Mr. Fredon. He intended to buy her—he said so, definitely. Mrs. Emerson wanted her, too, but she had not the money."
Ken said well, you never knew, did you, and after a final exchange of courtesies and farewells we left the place and headed down the street. Ken was whistling softly, and I still felt pretty sick.
"If we can find some sort of a main street we may be able to pick up a taxi," he observed presently.
I nodded, and he glanced down at me. "Forget it," he said briefly. "Look at that house over there—says 'Justice of the Peace.' Let's go in and get married."
I felt better at once. My stomach seemed to settle, and I said firmly, "No. Girls who get married without being engaged never get the ring—and no matter how long it takes them to have a baby, people always whisper, 'I told you so.' "
"Well," he said mildly, "I told Mary in that postcard that we had eloped, and it always looks better if you're married when you return from an elopement. Besides, this may be your only chance. I might not ask you again."
"We have to take so many chances in the course of a lifetime," I said carelessly. "Look, isn't that a trolley line on the next street?"
It was, and upon inquiry we were told that it would take us back to the city. Once we were in the lighted trolley, with other passengers around us, I found that I could discuss the thing again without the sick, frightened feeling that I'd had before.
"There's one thing I can't understand," Ken said, "and that's why Homer was in the bin and Betty left in the drawer for us to discover."
"But I don't think she was intended to be discovered," I protested. "She was hidden away in that drawer—and nailed in, too."
"All right, but why was Homer in the bin? And who put him there? It isn't easy to lift a dead body."
"Practically impossible, isn't it?"
"Well, we're taught to lift things in the Army—but you have to know how."
"Nobody around there is in the Army, except you," I pointed out.
"I'd push your head down into your neck if we were alone," he said conversationally. "But the thing is, why were they not both put into the drawer? That's what I don't get."
"Mary told me that that bed is going up to the country—she's just waiting until a van is going up that way—and so of course they should both have been in the drawer. Once they were in the cottage, they could have been disposed of somehow."
"Does Mary invite many people up there?" Ken asked.
"Oh yes, at regular intervals, a few at a time. The sort of people who keep their feet off couches."
He nodded and said thoughtfully, "I've been up there twice, with a decent time elapsing in between."
"I've been invited twice, but I didn't go,"
We fell silent, and I tried to think of a reason why Betty was in the drawer and Homer in the bin, but nothing came to me, so I gave it up.
Ken must have been thinking of the bin, too, because after a while he asked, "What is that bin doing in Mary's kitchen anyway?"
"She had it made for her beloved cottage. She'd seen one advertised and liked the idea, but she's so fussy that hers was made to order—a different size and shape, and with removable partitions and—I guess those partitions must have been removed. Anyway, she found it worked very well—vegetables and fruit and chicken—things like that but when gas rationing came she couldn't get up to the country so much to get the stuff, so she had it moved to the apartment, and she says it's been wonderful. Declared that every fruit and vegetable she and Homer ate last winter was out of season."
"That must have been exciting as all hell," Ken said. "But I don't see how Egbert could have missed Homer in there, even if he was strewn with radishes."
"Ahh—Egbert couldn't find the hole in a doughnut." But Ken shook his head and said, "No. There's something wrong with it."
Back at the hotel, Ken wanted to sit around for a while and talk, but I was tired, and I went straight up to my room. It was heavenly, that hotel room. It was small and hot, and the furniture was nondescript, but I could close the door and be alone and undisturbed and at peace. I went to bed and turned out the light and knew nothing whatever until I woke up to find the sun streaming in at the window.
I took a long, leisurely bath and removed Ken's bandage and happily threw it away. I could not see my wound, but it felt all right—a rough surface and a little tender to the touch.
I longed for fresh clothes as I dressed, and then realized, with real horror, that I had no makeup at all with me. I stood looking into the mirror at my bare, clean face, wondering how I could possibly show myself in public, but in the end I had to go down to the lobby that way, because there was nothing else to do.
I found Ken comfortably established in an armchair with a newspaper, and he looked up and then gave me an astonished stare. "What is it? What have you done to yourself?"
I gave a short, bitter laugh. "This is the real me. Now maybe you'll give me a few coppers while I run to the nearest drugstore and get some of the essentials."
'"Oh." He looked a bit disconcerted but recovered himself manfully. "Certainly not. You look quite nice that way."
"Please!" I begged. "Just give me a quarter. I can get some sort of a lipstick for a quarter."
He folded his paper and tucked it under his arm. "Not so much as a nickel, sister, but I'll buy you breakfast if you want to come along."
He started toward the dining room, and I tagged after him, whining, "Surely you don't want to be seen in a public restaurant with me looking like this."
He selected a table and held a chair for me, and I sank into it with my cheeks burning. I presently stole a glance around to see how many people were staring at me and was relieved to find that no one was paying me the slightest attention.
"Where's your pretty yellow ribbon?" Ken asked chattily.
I put a hand on my hair, which I had had to comb with my fingers, and gave him an ugly look. "I don't care for yellow bows—or any other color either. Lucy can have them."
He was suddenly stricken with memory, and he bleated agitatedly, "The bandage—what have you done with that bandage?"
"I threw it away. Head's cured."
"You had no right to touch it—you should have let me do it—and I'll have to put a fresh bandage on."
He wanted to examine the wound then and there, but I hissed him back into his seat.
"You leave it alone," I whispered furiously.
"I'll let you put on a bandage and the yellow ribbon, too, after breakfast, if you'll buy me some cosmetics and a comb."
"You're forgetting that you made a bargain with me last night. I was to change the dressing after we got back from that fantastic trip, only I forgot. But you're going to pay up this morning."
I poured coffee, and ate and drank in silence, hoping that he would forget again, but of course he didn't. As soon as the meal was over he went to a drugstore and bought a few supplies. In the end he broke down under my anguished entreaties and allowed me to select a small compact of powder, a lipstick, and a pocket comb.
On our return to the hotel we found that we had barely time to catch a train, and Ken hastily paid the bills for both our rooms, while I stood by trying to look like his sister. We flew out, caught a taxi, and raced to the station—and then found that the train was late. We went into the waiting room and sat down, and I eagerly hauled out the compact and lipstick and went to work. I had already used the comb while we were swaying around in the taxi. When I had finished I gave a sigh of the most exquisite relief and stowed the precious articles in the pocket of my dress, along with the yellow ribbon.
I turned to say something to Ken and froze with horror. He had a small box of ointment open on one knee and was gravely cutting a length of bandage with a penknife.
"Oh, God!" I whispered. "Not here. Please!"
"If you can brazenly paint your face in a public waiting room," he said severely, "I can certainly put a necessary bandage on your head."
I could see that argument was useless, and already several people were looking at us curiously, so I shut my eyes, gritted my teeth, and allowed him to go to work. When at last he had ceased to fumble with my head I opened my eyes again and saw that he was admiring his handiwork, quite oblivious to the little ring of people who had gathered around us. I quickly pulled out the yellow ribbon and tied it on, despite his protest that the bandage was so neat this time that there was really no necessity for covering it.
I turned my head away in stony silence and fixed my eyes on the doorway, ignoring Ken and also the people who had been entertained at my humiliating expense.
The Black Dream_Rue Morgue Vintage Mysteries Page 18
