Amy never had much finesse. "If you're trying to tell me that I'm hideous—" she began angrily.
"Tell me what you mean about Freda," I interrupted.
She threw her duster away, sank down onto a chair, and pulled out a cigarette. I sat down near her.
"Start at the beginning," I said encouragingly.
"It's been a lot of stupid fuss about nothing. It all began last summer, when Freda and I were invited to a weekend houseparty. I knew Donald slightly at that time, and he was there, too."
"Well, is he really married? And was he married then?" I asked.
"Don't interrupt. Yes, of course. He's been married to Frances for years, but they don't go around together much any more."
I said, "Oh," and hoped I did not look like Rosalie Hannahs would have. Rosalie was determinedly sentimental about marriage.
"Was Frances at the houseparty?" I asked, getting in ahead of Amy, who had opened her mouth to continue.
"No, she wasn't there. For God's sake, let me finish this story, now that I've started it. Freda fell for Donald like a ton of bricks. Everybody noticed it, you couldn't help it. She didn't know he was married. In fact, she never knew. That time when she blurted out that he was married she thought it was to herself.
"The houseparty was pretty dull, the hostess being something like Freda, and we finally got so bored that we arranged a false elopement and marriage, with Freda as the heroine. Donald played up beautifully, and we had heaps of fun. He told Freda he had to leave on a trip immediately, and she swallowed it all.
"We never dreamed that she wouldn't realize sooner or later that it had all been a joke. But a couple of weeks later she saw us together in a restaurant, and she made a bit of a scene. Donald hates to be made conspicuous, and he always takes the easiest way out of a situation, anyhow, so he smoothed her down and told her he'd just got back and had run into me by accident. He said he had been going to phone her, and that it was very unfortunate but he had to leave town right away, again.
"She knew he was eeling, of course, but thought it was because I had stolen him away from her. She saw us together from time to time after that, and I guess she was dead sure by that time that I'd lured him from her.
"About a week before we came here, I told her the whole thing, explained that it was all a joke, and she wouldn't believe me—hardly listened. I told her again after we got here, and she called me a liar and worse.
"After that, she walked into Donald's room in the night, and he came flying into my room and locked the connecting door. She stayed there until early morning, not making a sound, and then went back to her own room."
"And then Donald went back to his own room," I said nastily.
"He'd been sitting on a straight chair all the time," she declared belligerently. "He was frozen stiff."
I felt faintly sick when I thought of Freda. I knew she must have suffered badly through the whole thing, but Amy was the sort who never thought or cared about the suffering of a girl like Freda.
I remembered the night she had slipped into Donald's room and thought uncomfortably of the humiliation she must have felt. Since she had not tried to call to him through the door, she must have decided at once that it was no use. Evidently she had stood at the door waiting for a chance to return to her own room unobserved by the deputy in the hall.
I sighed and glanced at my watch. To my surprise, it read a quarter past four, and I stood up hastily. I considered explaining to Amy that she was a mean pig and realized immediately that it would be worse than useless.
I left her sitting dispiritedly among her brooms and dusters and went along to the small music room. Berg and Richard were already there, and I could hear them talking heatedly. They stopped abruptly when I appeared. I dropped into a chair and looked from one to the other.
"What's the argument?"
Richard smiled at me guilelessly, and Berg's face was innocent surprise and gentle denial. "No argument," he lied.
I looked them over coldly. "Either you spill it, or you won't hear one word of what I was going to tell you."
"Smithy," said Richard reproachfully, "you sound exactly like Joe."
"And you're fifteen minutes late," Berg added. I pulled out a cigarette, and they jumped together and held two lights for it.
I slumped in my chair, puffed unconcernedly, and studied my shoes.
"Stubborn little mule," said Berg resignedly. "I was merely telling Dick that he ought to stay away from Rhynda just now, for a decent interval, anyway."
I had a fleeting regret that I had made them tell me, and I continued to slump in my chair, feeling oddly depressed. I pulled myself together after a minute and said nobly, "Rhynda needs a friend now, and someone a bit more strong than Rosalie Hannahs."
"I'll take care of Rhynda," Berg declared impatiently.
"Nearest male relative," I murmured and tried not to smile. But I wondered a little if all this trouble were not toning Berg down a bit and perhaps making a man of him.
I remembered my intention of getting in touch with Rhynda's people and thought that it was quite possible Berg was not the nearest male relative. I made up my mind to see to it directly our conference was over. I told them Amy's story, and they both made ungentle-manly comments about Amy and Donald Tait.
"I suppose it isn't possible that Tait disposed of Freda because she was becoming too much of a nuisance?" Richard suggested, without conviction.
Berg shook his head. "He'd hardly resort to anything as desperate as that. And what about John?"
Richard shrugged. "Unless Freda had confided in John, and John had threatened Tait."
"No," said Berg, with finality. "It must be someone who knows this house well, and Tait has never been here before. How could he fix up that contraption in the attic?"
"What contraption?" Richard asked.
Berg sighed. "I wish we knew. I've searched the attic until there can't be a square inch left, and I can't find anything. But there must be a contraption somewhere—there has to be— and I want to be in the attic when it performs again.
"I think you may be right, Dick, about a high wind being necessary before it can be worked, and I'd like you to come to the attic with me the next time we have any wind. I have a hunch that I'm supposed to go next—the only Ballinger left, and all that—but I intend to put up a fight. They may get me, but they're not going to get me easily." He seemed quite fierce about it.
"I think you're barking up the wrong tree," Richard said easily. "What could anyone gain by killing the three of you? My guess is that they were after John, and that Freda saw something, as she said, and was killed for that reason."
"Perhaps," Berg said vaguely. He turned to me. "Didn't you get anything out of her last night?"
"Nothing. I think she knew I was trying to pump her, and she simply closed up."
We were all silent for a space, and then Berg asked, "What is Joe doing, in his blundering way?"
"Joe," said Richard firmly, "has fewer hayseeds on him than you might suppose."
"Sarcasm?" Berg suggested.
"Simple truth. I've worked with Joe, and it's a pleasure. He never misses a trick."
Berg glanced at me, and we both smiled skeptically.
"He intends to have this thing cleared up by tomorrow noon at the latest," Richard continued, "because, according to him, some interfering lice are coming to assist him if he doesn't."
"I should think he'd be glad to have assistance," I said.
"Well, he has his pride," Richard explained, "and, of course, he has me, too."
"If that's all he has," said Berg loftily, "it's high time he got some help from the lice."
I found myself buttoning my sweater up to the chin and realized that I was getting chilly. I glanced around at the window and saw that it was rattling a bit and that the curtains were swaying gently.
"Wind!" I exclaimed and looked at the other two expectantly.
Richard got up and looked out into the twilight. "There is a bit of wind
. If it really blows up, Berg, we'll spend the evening in the attic." He turned to me. "No one is to know we're there. Will you see to it, Leigh?"
"I'll do my best," I promised.
"Don't bother about your best, Smithy," said Berg. "Just make certain that nobody knows."
I gave him a scornful glance and pulled out a cigarette. He followed suit, and Richard produced a pipe, which he managed to light after using six matches on it.
We sat and smoked in silence for some time. I had almost finished my cigarette when the closet door beside me suddenly burst open. We all jumped and stared—and as we looked, Joe emerged. He did not so much as glance at us but stalked out of the room in grim silence.
CHAPTER 18
WE LOOKED AT each other in consternation, and then Richard began to laugh. "He waited for us to leave, until he couldn't stand it any longer."
"Hiding out to hear our confidences," Berg said, "but how did he know that we were going to meet here?"
"I told you that he never misses a trick," Richard reminded us. "Joe is a born snoop and that's how he holds his job. He always knows who people are and what they're doing."
"If you're going to the attic you'd better go now," I told them. "You'll certainly have Joe in amongst you. He's probably waiting for you."
They agreed to go at once and decided to come downstairs for dinner so that no one would ask about their activities. My job was to make sure that their absence was not particularly noticed. We parted company, and I went upstairs to tidy myself for dinner.
I was fixing up my face when I heard a banging and clattering outside the house. I went to the window, raised it, looked out, and was appalled to discover that the fuel company from the village was delivering coal and logs. I knew that we were not supposed to order coal until January the eleventh, exactly, and the logs were pure, superfluous luxury.
After my first gasp, I remembered that I had not yet been rehired and began to giggle. I threw on a wrap and went down to show the men where to stack the logs, and which cellar window to use for the coal chute. I indicated the spot for the logs first and then went outside while they inserted the chute in the window.
I realized uneasily that I was standing at just about the place where John had fallen. My eyes sought the ground involuntarily, and in the square of light from one of the ground floor windows, I noticed a faint glitter. I stooped and stretched my hand for it. It was a plain pin, with a black head. I turned it uncertainly in my fingers for a moment and then stuck it in my dress and went quickly into the house.
I met Rosalie Hannahs in the hall. "Who ordered the coal?" I asked.
She said, "Miss Perrin," as though the name brought on a bad taste in her mouth.
"How on earth did she get them to deliver it on Sunday?"
"I believe she told them that we were quite out of fuel, and that there was someone suffering from pneumonia in the house. Lies seem to come easily to her." She compressed her lips and gave the impression that the bad taste was getting worse.
Mrs. Ballinger sailed into the hall, and I tried to get away, but Rosalie caught me firmly by the arm. "Miss Smith and I were discussing Miss Perrin's propensity for lies," she said sweetly.
Mrs. Ballinger glanced at me through narrowed lids. She was always quite free with criticism for her relatives herself, but I knew she resented it coming from anyone else. "I can't see that Amy tells more lies than the average young woman," she said coldly.
I tried to slip away again at this point to avoid the row, but Rosalie hung onto me and headed straight into it.
"Well!" she said stiffly. "She just told a most appalling lie to the coal company."
Mrs. Ballinger reared like a startled horse. Coal company meant "Bill,"and it was not yet January the eleventh. "What was Amy saying to them?" she asked excitedly. "We had no reason to communicate with them."
"Why, she was ordering coal and logs, of course," Rosalie said innocently.
"How dare she do such a thing!" Mrs. Ballinger thundered, her face a dark mottled red. She had barely got the words out of her mouth when the culprit walked out of the parlor, dragging a mop behind her. Mrs. Ballinger pounced and roared.
"Amy! What do you mean by ordering coal and logs for this house? You shall pay for it out of your own pocket, make no mistake about that."
Amy gave her an evil look, and after a moment's hesitation, said aggressively, "You needn't try and blame me for all the things that were bought yesterday. Richard Jones is responsible for every last one of them, and I understood him to say he was paying for them, too." She disappeared hastily in the direction of the kitchen.
Mrs. Ballinger stared after her as long as she was visible and then turned to stare at Rosalie and me. "What does she mean? What is she talking about? What was bought yesterday? I will not have people buying things without asking me about it."
"I guess she means all the groceries that were delivered yesterday." Rosalie said soothingly.
"Groceries!"
"And liquors. Several cases, I believe. I thought it was so considerate of you when you don't drink yourself."
Mrs. Ballinger turned on me, and in a voice of death demanded that I get Richard Jones at once and deliver him to her.
I said, "Certainly" and made for the stairs. I had no intention of seeking out Richard, but I wanted to escape from the fuss.
I went to Mrs. Ballinger's room first and matched the pin I had picked up with those in her needlebook. They were the same, and there was none missing. I went back to my old room and counted the pins in the packet which I had left in the bureau drawer when I moved my things. None was missing there, either, so that now I had them all. And one had been found on the floor of the bathroom closet after Freda had died, and one on the ground where John had fallen. I stood and stared at them, wondering what they meant.
There was a smart rap on the door, and before I had time to say anything it was flung open, and Richard walked in.
"Sold again!" he said, looking disappointed.
"Anything wrong?" I asked quickly.
"Well, I had hoped to catch you in your undies."
"Nobody," I said grimly, "is going to catch me in the undies I am forced to wear in this house."
He laughed, stretched himself out on the bed, and lighted a cigarette. "Then you got me in here under false pretenses."
"Mrs. Ballinger is looking for you," I said warningly. "Amy blamed you for all the stuff she ordered Saturday and is probably going to blame you for the coal and logs that came today. Mrs. B. wants your head on a platter."
"She'll have to wait her turn," he said idly. "I'm very careful to divide my time equally among my lady friends."
"It makes us all very happy," I said graciously. "It's just those little things that mean so much to a woman."
He transferred his gaze from the ceiling to the packet of pins that I still held in my hand. "It isn't always easy, you know, to give the full quota. For instance now, knowing that you stand there with red flannels under your dress—" He folded his arm under his head and continued to look at the packet. "Have you, perhaps, found the final pin?"
I nodded. "I'm going to hand it over to Joe and tell him all. I'm afraid of Joe."
He sat up abruptly and disposed of his cigarette. "Where did you find it?"
"Perhaps I'd better tell you some other time. Your duty to the other ladies, you know?"
"I'll square it with them this evening. Go on, Smithy, and remember all details."
I told him all about it, and he listened with deep attention. He took the pin I had found and looked at it, and it flashed in his hand as he held it up to the light.
"A nice bright new pin," he murmured obscurely.
There was a rustle at the door, and it swung open to reveal Mrs. Ballinger. She looked at Richard, still seated on the bed, and then at me, resting my elbows on the footboard. I think she had expected the situation to be more compromising but felt that a rebuke was in order anyway. "Leigh! I thought better of you—really! This is yo
ur bedroom."
"Not any more," I said. "I'm sleeping in with Rhynda from now on."
"With Rhynda?" she repeated vaguely. Her eyes slipped about the room and came to rest on Richard. "You're old enough to know better, young man. If you want to talk to one of the girls, there are plenty of public rooms."
"Still," said Richard, in a mildly argumentative tone, "one must be chivalrous, and Smithy prefers privacy when she proposes marriage to me. I prefer it myself, too, because I haven't made up my mind about accepting her yet. I want to be sure, you know, such a serious step—"
Mrs. Ballinger's mouth fell open, and she looked at me rather helplessly.
"Silly liar," I said. "He's dying to accept, but he can't get his mother's consent, and he's afraid to go ahead without."
Mrs. Ballinger began to scent banter and closed her mouth with a snap. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Leigh, talking like that when you have a fine man like Berg."
"I have Berg?" I said in amazement.
"You don't have to pretend with me," she said crossly. "I know all about it. He wanted that diamond ring, the old one that belonged to my husband's mother, but I told him that no bride would care for an old ring. It's better to buy a new one, even if it has to be very small."
Richard stood up abruptly. "Are you telling me that Berg wants to marry Leigh?" he demanded.
"Yes, certainly."
"Well, he forgot to tell me," I said. "And he'd have to show me a bit more attention before I'd believe it, anyway."
"How could he pay you attention at a time like this?" Mrs. Ballinger snorted. "With all he's been through!"
I sighed and shook my head. "Even so, I'm afraid I can't believe it. If Berg is in love with me, then Joe is, too."
"Me?" said Joe's horrified voice, and he stepped in behind Mrs. Ballinger.
"Well, aren't you?" I asked, putting on one of Amy's provocative pouts.
"No," said Joe shortly. "I told you once, I'm a married man."
"She has her points, though," Richard suggested. "Pretty, don't you think?"
"No," Joe said simply. "I like a woman to have dark hair and light eyes, and she oughta be properly upholstered. This one has light hair and dark eyes." He glanced at me and went on with a certain amount of emotion, "And Jeep! What a figure! Looks as if she hadn't bad a square meal in a month." He half closed his eyes and added reminiscently, "Although I know different."
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