Joe plowed on steadily, and I began to wonder if I could control my fury sufficiently to keep from slapping his face. When he finished at last I realized that I had scarcely heard the last few questions as I had been too busy mentally rehearsing a vigorous denial to the others of all the lies he had made me tell about my private life.
I had been the last to be turned inside out, and Joe departed immediately afterwards. The others scattered as soon as his back was well-turned, and I was left alone with a lot of housework staring me in the face. I sat for a while looking moodily at the dust and disorder, and had nearly prodded myself into getting up and at it when Richard came back.
He wore an evil smile, and he said in a hushed voice, "I'm so sorry, Miss Smith. I didn't know. You should have given us a hint."
"Shut up!" I said furiously.
"I'd like to have a shot at mending the broken places," he went on. "In other words, I want to make a date with you."
I looked at him suspiciously. It had been a long time since I'd had a date. "Where do you want to take me—the opera, perhaps?"
He shook his head. "Opera should always be heard but not seen, and in my case, I thought to work up slowly. How about starting off with a ride in my car this afternoon?"
"That would be delightful, Mr. Jones," I murmured. "Perhaps we could be a wee bit dashing and stop in at the village drugstore for a soda."
"Don't give me any of your solid gold sarcasm, Smithy," he said sternly. "And now for the housework. We have half an hour before lunch in which to get all the dust swept under the rugs and the house generally tidy."
"Don't be ridiculous," I protested. "We couldn't possibly—"
"Stop wasting time," said Richard.
The room was done in exactly five minutes, and certainly my help was negligible. I was too weak with laughter to do much.
He simply threw everything in sight into drawers and out of the window. He dusted with one sweep of his arms and ran the mop around whatever pieces of floor were showing. We went to the dining room next, and I began to get into the spirit of the thing, with the result that the entire lower floor was done in fifteen minutes.
We went upstairs then. Richard's room, my room, Berg's room, and the bathroom, all came under the same treatment. We paused, at last, at the door of the sewing room, where John had been. I did not want to go in and was glad when Richard turned away.
"When is the funeral?" he asked.
"Tomorrow," I said soberly.
He looked up and down the hall. "Any more rooms?"
I shook my head. "Just Amy's and Donald Tait's, and I'm not going to do them any more."
"No shirking," he said reprovingly. "Come on."
He went to Amy's door, knocked loudly, and without waiting walked straight in. I heard her give a little shriek and then saw that she was in panties and brassiere.
He took no notice of her beyond brushing her aside while he made the bed with a few vigorous strokes while she began to yell at us to get out.
Her room, as usual, was in a violent mess, with her clothes all over the place. Richard stuffed them all under the bed and turned a deaf ear to her shrieked invectives. He climaxed his performance by throwing her magazines and a box of chocolates out of the window, after which we left as abruptly as we had come.
Amy followed us out into the hall, shrilling abuse.
Unexpectedly we ran into Mrs. Ballinger, and the shock and outrage on her face brought us to a standstill. Amy continued to complain in a high voice and her panties.
"Amy!" said Mrs. Ballinger, in a truly terrible voice. "Go back to your room at once and put on some decent clothing!"
Amy gave her a black look, swung herself about, and slammed the door behind her.
I was dealt with next. "Leigh Smith, you are discharged. Leave at once. All this noise and levity—disgraceful! With John not yet in his grave."
She sailed off, and I looked helplessly at Richard and Berg, who had come up to find out what the rumpus was about. Berg patted my shoulder.
"Never you mind, Smithy. Dick or I will marry you, and you can have a nice easy time cooking and washing for your living."
'Very helpful," I said bitterly. "I'll go and pack, while you toss for me."
I walked off towards my room. I was furious with Mrs. Ballinger, and I wanted to get out of her house as soon as was humanly possible. I felt that it would be a relief not to have to spend another night in the frightening place. Richard came after me and laid a detaining hand on my arm.
"I don't think they'll allow you to go, Leigh. Hadn't you better find out about it, before you pack?"
Before I could reply, Rosalie Hannahs came racing down the hall.
"Miss Smith, Miss Smith," she called excitedly. "Come quickly. Rhynda is having hysterics. She keeps crying out that she is going to have a baby."
CHAPTER 10
I forgot about having been fired and hurried after Rosalie downstairs to the living room.
We found Rhynda lying on a couch, crying and laughing and gasping at intervals that she was going to have a baby, and it was not fair. Richard brushed me aside and leaned over her. It took him two minutes to shut her up, and then he lifted her and carried her upstairs to her bedroom.
She clung to him, whimpering a little. "Stay with me, Dick. Don't leave me alone. I don't want to be alone."
He mixed up some sort of a concoction in a glass and made her drink it and then sat down beside her and stroked her hair, or something. I went off feeling inexplicably annoyed. But I could not help being sorry for Rhynda. If it was true that she was pregnant, it was rather hard luck.
The luncheon gong had gone off in the midst of the row, so I went down to the dining room. Rosalie was telling them all about Rhynda, and Amy was complaining to Mrs. Ballinger in a steady stream about the way her room had been cleaned. The noise was pretty bad, and I slid into a chair and attacked my almost empty plate with the idea of getting finished and away again as soon as I decently could. But Mrs. Ballinger had evidently decided on a family council, for she suddenly rapped on the table and demanded quiet.
"There are certain things we must talk over," she announced importantly.
"Then, perhaps, I had better go," I said coldly.
She looked me over. "No. I believe you know as much about this as the rest of us, if not more."
My dignity urged me to walk out on her, but my curiosity was too strong. I froze my face and remained where I was.
'They tell me," she began pompously, "that John was murdered— my poor John! And I won't rest—I cannot rest until the creature who did it is brought to justice."
Nobody said anything. We just sat and waited. Mrs. Ballinger had opened her mouth to proceed when Richard walked into the room and took his place at the table. There was practically no food left by that time, so he took Freda's plate, which seemed hardly to have been touched. He started to eat, and everybody watched him in silence, until he became conscious of it.
He looked up and raised his eyebrows. "Please!" he said with dignity. "I am not on exhibition. Either talk or leave the table."
Mrs. Ballinger frowned at him. "We are waiting for you to finish, young man, so that we can hold a conference." She glanced around the table. "I think we can start now, anyway, if he'll try to eat a little more quietly."
"May I trouble someone for the celery?" said Richard politely.
She stared at him for a moment and said, "Very impertinent. Now! As I see it, Freda accuses Amy of having deliberately murdered John. It that right, Freda?"
Freda and Amy both started up together, but she cut them off short.
"Be quiet, Amy," she said sharply. "We'll hear from you later. Now, Freda—please explain."
Freda was pink with indignation. "I never accused her of murdering John. I did no such thing at any time, and you have no right to put words in my mouth."
Mrs. Ballinger blinked. "But you said you saw Amy cut the rope on that scaffolding, and then glue it together again."
; "I said nothing about seeing her glue it together. I merely saw her cut the rope."
"Where?" said Richard suddenly.
Freda turned her head quickly and looked at him. She appeared to be distinctly uneasy. "What do you mean, 'where'?" she asked defensively.
"Freda," Berg said gently, "tell us where Amy was when you saw her cutting that rope."
"She was in her own room." Amy got her say in, at this point.
"You crazy idiot!" she shouted. "That was the rope off my suitcase. One of the locks broke at the last minute, and I tied the cord around as I was rushing out. I was cutting it off my bag so that I could get the damn thing open."
"Is that true, Freda?" Mrs. Ballinger demanded sternly.
Freda had turned sullen. "All I know is that she was cutting a rope in her room that looked very like the rope on John's scaffolding." She got up and walked off, as she always did when things got too hot for her.
"The nerve of her," Amy said. "Accusing me of a thing like that!"
Donald Tait muttered, "Hush, Amy. Be quiet," and she flared shrilly, "I will not be quiet."
Mrs. Ballinger rose from the table. "Leigh, I want you in the den. We must make arrangements about tomorrow. There's a lot to do."
"You fired Leigh," Richard reminded her. "She has time only to pack and make her train. You'll have to get Amy to help you."
He took my arm and marched me quickly out of the room while Mrs. Ballinger snorted angrily and Amy refused, point-blank, to have anything to do with any arrangements.
"Get your bonnet and dolman," said Richard, "and meet me out in the front. I'll bring the car around. And hurry—before she rehires you."
I ran upstairs and marveled that I should be fairly glowing at the prospect of an automobile ride on a cold day when I had always regarded a car solely as a means of transportation. I ran into Rhynda in the upper hall and tried to get by with a brief smile.
"Leigh! Wait a minute! For heaven's sake. Where is everybody?" she demanded crossly.
"Just finished lunch," I said, and added politely, "How are you feeling?"
She brushed it aside impatiently. "Oh, I'm all right. Where's Richard?"
I hesitated and then said reluctantly, "He's—he's outside."
"Where? What is he doing?"
"He's getting his car out," I explained, still reluctant. "He's taking me for a ride."
She looked me over coldly and decided suddenly, "I'll go too. I need the air."
There didn't seem to be anything to say to that, so I went to my room. I powdered up a bit, got my coat and hat, and hurried downstairs. Rhynda had beaten me to it, though. When I walked out onto the veranda, I saw that she was already established in the front seat of Richard's car. I thought his manner was a bit cool and formal as he handed me into the back seat, and I began to feel like an intruder. I suddenly wished to God that I had stayed at home.
I might just as well have, for the ride was a complete washout. Rhynda had the heater on in the front seat, but I was cold in the back. Not one of us seemed to have anything to say, and I began to wonder why we were driving around aimlessly in the midst of winter.
We had not been on the way more than fifteen minutes when Rhynda turned to me and asked if I would mind if they dropped me at the drugstore for a soda, as she wanted to talk to Richard alone.
"I don't care for sodas," I said coldly, "but if you'll just drop me back at the house, I shall be pleased to get out and let you go on with your drive."
Neither of them said anything, but Richard turned the car around with vicious jerks of the wheel and raced back to the house with unnecessary speed. He stopped at the door, got out, and opened up for me.
"Thanks for the date," I said stiffly.
He bowed and murmured, "Pleasure," after which he got back into the car, slammed the door, and drove off furiously.
I went into the house and came upon Mrs. Ballinger in the hall.
"Where is Rhynda?" she demanded excitedly. "How could you do such a senseless thing as to take her out into the cold, when she has been so ill?"
"I am not Rhynda's nursemaid, Mrs. Ballinger," I pointed out and passed her by.
"Whatever in the world has come over you, Leigh?" she wailed after me. "You used to be such a nice obliging girl. I can't make you out."
I left her to wrestle with the problem and went to my own room. I closed the door firmly, stretched out on the bed, and lit a cigarette. I was angry at Rhynda for having spoiled my outing, and I was angry at Richard for letting her.
"I suppose she'll marry him now that John's gone," I thought, and was suddenly in a cold fury that I could not account for. It was not, I told myself haughtily, that I cared anything for Richard Jones. Oh no, oh no, no, no.
There was a tap on the door, which was followed by Berg. He came in and seated himself on the small rocker and stared out of the window without seeming to have much to say. I was not in a chatty mood, myself, so I lay quietly and studied his profile. I came to the conclusion that it was pretty good. His chin was strong and showed no signs, as yet, of repeating itself—straight nose, humorous mouth. His hair had started to recede at the temples, but it was only the beginning and merely made him look more intellectual.
He spoke suddenly. "Leigh—they're a bunch of crazy fools in this house, and I think it's up to you and me to get to the bottom of it all. Joe's all right, I suppose, but he's only a hick cop. He'll never dig up anything but the skeletons in our closets."
"He'll furnish you with a skeleton if you don't happen to have one," I said bitterly. "Anyway, what can we do? We don't know any more about it than Joe does, and he's paid to try and dig out the truth. Maybe we wouldn't like the truth if we found it. Perhaps it would be better if it never came to light."
He set his jaw and said stubbornly, "Someone is going to pay for what happened to John."
I closed my eyes and let it go at that, because I did not want to talk about it. He sat on for a while, staring out of the window, a then he stood up abruptly.
"Do you know where Richard is?"
"Yes," I said acidly. "He's taking Rhynda for a ride in his car.'
"Taking Rhynda for a ride?" he repeated vaguely and wandered out. I turned over and made myself comfortable for the nap I f coming on.
I slept for some time, and when I woke up again it was almost dark, and the wind was howling dismally outside. I shivered, and thought gloomily of swaying portieres, creaking doors, and banging shutters. I hated the house at any time, but in a high wind it seem to become a place of horror.
I forced myself to get up, and I hastily tidied my appearance went out into the hall and found that no one had turned on the light and it was almost totally dark. I took a step toward the light switch— and stopped short, with a sick feeling at the pit of my stomach.
The old man was dragging himself across the attic floor again.
CHAPTER 11
I stood quite still in the gloom, dimly conscious that I was very cold and that I was trembling. I was trying to gather sufficient courage to get to the light switch when I was enveloped in a fresh wave terror. There was a figure, standing dark and still, at the other end of the hall.
I remember putting my hand over my mouth and trying to whisper something, and suddenly the silence was broken with scream after shrill scream, which echoed and reechoed through the house. I gasped and flew across to the light switch and had to claw desperately for a moment before I could get it on.
I looked then and saw that it was Freda. It was impossible to tell whether the dragging was still going on, for her shrieks drowned out every other sound. By the time I got down to her, she had a ring of people around her, all trying to quiet her at once.
She stopped screaming—I think she must certainly have been too exhausted to go on—and began to babble hysterically.
"It means another Ballinger. One of us must go—it's either Berg or me. Aunt Mabel and Rhynda don't count—they haven't any Ballinger blood. You'd better say your prayers, Berg, it's you
or me.
Only it doesn't matter, because we're all going to be wiped out, all the Ballingers."
Several people spoke to her and tried to soothe her, and I glanced over my shoulder and noticed that Joe was on the fringe of the group. He was leaning against the wall and chewing on a toothpick. I nudged Berg, and he looked around.
"What's all the excitement?"Joe asked lazily. I don't know whether Freda heard him or not, but she began to talk wildly about the dragging noise, and he interested himself sufficiently to question her. It took him five minutes to extract a fairly coherent recital of what she had heard, and when he had got it at last, he departed immediately to investigate the attic.
I was calm enough by then to notice that Rhynda and Richard were in the group and to feel a sense of satisfaction about it. I had thought that they might stay out for dinner, and I was definitely annoyed that Rhynda, who should be in mourning, would calmly appropriate the only date and outing that I had had for many months. I was chewing it over in my mind when Berg took me firmly by the arm and led me to the stairs.
"Come on down, Leigh, I want to talk to you," he said quietly. We descended to one of the small rooms, of which there were no less than four, that opened off the main hall. This particular one was sort of music room, I suppose, for it had an ancient upright piano one corner and an empty music rack in another. I sat down and looked at Berg inquiringly, but he shook his head and explained briefly, "I'm waiting for Dick."
Richard appeared after a short delay.
"I thought I was lost," he said. "I've wandered through three her rooms exactly like this one looking for you, and I didn't think I ever get back to civilization again. You could be lost for weeks in this museum—you ought to provide guests with a permanent equipment of hardtack and water, just in case."
Berg said nervously, "Shut up, Dick. What's that fellow Joe doing?"
"He has a chair up in the attic, and he says he's going to sit there and wait until the noise starts up again."
"It may be days," I murmured thoughtfully. "In fact, I hope it is."
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