Mrs. Ballinger made a vexed sound with her tongue. "You've no call to say that. Leigh is a trifle too thin but she is far from looking starved."
"She's far from being starved, too," said Joe and unexpectedly gave voice to a loud guffaw.
Mrs. Ballinger waited, frowning, for him to subside. When quiet was restored, she looked at her watch and said, "Dinner will be ready in five minutes, and I came here to tell you that we are going to hold a seance, directly after dinner. I will not put up with what has been going on in this house any longer. Luckily, Mrs. Hannahs tells me she is a medium—has those powers anyway—so that we should be able to find out from John and Freda themselves what this is all about. And I know they will tell us that their deaths were accidental. There's no use denying it. We received the warnings, and the accidents followed." She turned to leave. "You may attend the seance, too," she said graciously to Joe and took herself off.
"Thanks for nothin'," said Joe coldly. "I was comin' anyway." He turned to me. "What are you doing with them pins?"
I told him about my discovery meekly enough, and he examined the packet and the pin I had found. After that, we had to march back to Mrs. Ballinger's room while he looked at the needlebook again.
I got it out of the sewing basket, and we counted the pins carefully—only this time there were two missing.
CHAPTER 19
We must have counted those pins six or seven times, but the result was always the same, and at last we gave up and just looked at each other.
"But they were here a few minutes ago," I said helplessly. "I came in and counted them, and there was not one missing. Not more than fifteen minutes ago, I'm sure."
Joe shrugged, and Richard said slowly, "If you are sure they were here at that time, then someone came and took them while you were in the other room. But I'm damned if I know why."
Joe grunted and began to search through the sewing basket to see if the pins had fallen out of the needlebook, but there was no sign of them. He gave up at last and, taking the pin I had found outside, wrapped it up and put it away in his pocket. We went down to dinner, and on the way I asked Richard about the attic.
"We did go up," he said, "but the wind died right away again, so we came down."
"Well, but are you sure the thing works only when there is a wind?"
"No," he admitted. "We can't be sure. It's only a possibility. But we can't sit up there all the time."
Everyone was at the table when we got down, and there was a place laid for Joe. We milled around a bit and got ourselves seated, and I found that I was between Berg and Amy. Amy had put herself beside Donald Tait again, and Mrs. Ballinger either had not noticed or no longer cared. Fighting something out with Amy was a pretty wearing business.
After we had finished the meal, Mrs. Ballinger announced that as soon as Doris had cleared the table we would return for the seance, and she added firmly that she wanted everyone to be present.
Joe heard her through and then took the floor himself to inform us that we would all be expected to attend the inquest on the following day. We shifted to the living room, and Richard, lagging behind with Berg and me, spoke to us in a rapid undertone.
"The autopsy on Freda showed that the blow only stunned her and that she was actually drowned in the bathtub. Her nightgown had a small bloodstain on the neck, and they think she was hit before the gown was removed and that it was stained as it was pulled over her head. Lawyer says Mrs. B. leaves nothing but house and personal effects. Trust fund reverts to you, Berg, Rhynda is out of it, and Mrs. B. inherits if you go."
Berg muttered, "God! They'll arrest me before morning!"
I left them and went to pour coffee, and Mrs. Ballinger immediately came to grips with Richard.
"I understand you ordered coal and logs and intend to pay for them."
Richard looked at her speculatively. "I didn't order them, as it happens, but I know who did, and I'll keep it dark for a consideration. As for the fuel, I'll pay the bill, which ought to be more than adequate for my room and board for the week."
Mrs. Ballinger, who had been ready for a lively battle, colored uncomfortably and seemed a bit at a loss. I could see that she was afraid to tell him that he need not pay for fear he would take her at her word, and on the other hand, she could hardly say, "Thank you" to a guest for offering to pay his board. Her greediness for money often put her into embarrassing situations, and I watched with interest to see how she'd squirm out of it. To my disappointment, she was spared the necessity, for at that moment Rhynda spilled her coffee and it streamed down the front of Berg's suit.
Berg jumped and exclaimed, and the cup crashed to the floor. "Hadn't you heard that I'm out of a job?" he asked humorously. "This suit was supposed to last five or ten years."
Rhynda was usually quick with her tongue, and we were all surprised when, instead of answering him in kind, she began quietly to cry. Rosalie hurried over to pat her hand and murmur soothingly to her, and Berg tilted up her face and mopped at her wet eyes with his handkerchief.
"You weren't supposed to cry," he said reprovingly. "I was trying to be funny."
She smiled faintly then, and Berg went upstairs to change. We finished our coffee, and then Richard gave me a sign, and I slipped out and upstairs. Richard followed me, and we went along to Berg's room. Berg opened the door and ushered us in.
"What about the attic?" Richard asked, without preamble. "We can't sit up there and be among those present at the seance too."
Berg said slowly, "I'm sure that noise is worked by hand, Dick, and since everyone will be in the dining room, I don't expect it to start up."
"You don't think the wind has anything to do with it, then?" Berg shook his head. "I've come to the conclusion that it's just coincidence."
"You may be right," Richard said, without conviction, "but if there is anything in the wind theory, we shouldn't miss out on it tonight. Listen to it."
I had not particularly noticed it before, but when Berg and I stopped to listen, I realized uneasily that the wind was howling and shrieking around the house. I looked at them with widened eyes, and Berg took a restless turn about the room. "It's a honey," he said, after a minute. "I suppose we shouldn't pass it up."
We went out into the hall and stood uncertainly at the foot of the attic stairs.
"Well, let's go down and start the seance," Berg suggested, "and after they've put the lights out, we can creep up quietly. Aunt Mabel keeps the lights out for at least two hours during these affairs. Leigh can stay and let us know what goes on. When the thing is nearly over, she can sneak out and tell us, and we can sneak back to our places."
"Too much sneaking," I protested. "Somebody's going to get caught. Besides, how on earth am I to know when the thing is nearly over?"
"Easy," said Berg. "Aunt Mabel always runs the proceedings, no matter who acts as medium, and when it's over, she insists that the sitters remain in silence with all lights out for at least fifteen minutes, so that the spirits can depart with all dignity."
"All right," I said reluctantly, "but I really don't see the sense of you two sitting up there, when everyone else is down in the dining room."
"It's a good chance to tear the attic apart," Richard said, "without someone meddling in. And if it is something that depends upon the wind alone, we ought to be able to find it."
We went down to the dining room. Mrs. Ballinger was very impatient to begin, and the lights were put out immediately. We fumbled our way to seats around the dining table and were told to hold hands. It was difficult to reach each other, and I felt sure that someone would comment on it and the absence of Berg and Richard would be noticed. However, we managed it finally and settled down. I had Rosalie on one side of me and Joe on the other.
I have found that the trouble with seances is that it takes so long for anything to happen, and this one was no exception. It took Rosalie, our medium, about ten minutes to work herself into the state of imagination where she could believe that the spirits were talki
ng through her. I moved my stiff body cautiously and thought that at least we would get Rosalie's version of the affair. The time seemed interminable, and I had just got to the point where I was considering giving Joe's hand a loving little squeeze when Mrs. Ballinger spoke.
"I want to speak to my beloved nephew, John," she said solemnly.
Rosalie started to tremble and then called, in a high, squeaky voice, "John! John! Where are you, John?"
I was tempted to answer, "Here," in deep bass, but Rosalie got in first and answered herself.
"I am here," she said, several octaves lower.
"Darling John," Mrs. Ballinger said, evidently in tears. "We miss you so. It's been such a shock. So dreadful. But we must know how you died, what sort of accident, how it happened. Please tell us." She faltered and ended up in a burst of sentimentality, "For the sake of your little, unborn son."
There was a moment of dead silence, and then the low voice said distinctly, "The unborn child is not mine."
CHAPTER 20
There was a commotion, and I heard a chair pushed back and someone get up, while Amy's strident laughter rang out. Light flooded the room, and after a preliminary blinking, I saw that Rhynda was standing by the door, flushed and trembling.
"If you meant that as a joke, Rosalie Hannahs," she said furiously, "it's in very poor taste."
Rosalie, trying owlishly to focus her eyes in the sudden light, looked both astonished and uneasy. "Why, Rhynda," she said unhappily, "it had nothing to do with me, dear. You know I could never say such a thing."
"Don't be a damned fool!" Rhynda snapped. "Do you think we're a bunch of children? I've a good mind to sue you for libel!" She left the room, and we could hear her running up stairs.
Rosalie shook her head and looked around at us with a hurt expression.
"Are you sure it was John speaking?" Mrs. Ballinger asked uncomfortably.
"Absolutely. It was John," Rosalie declared firmly.
"But you actually said the words?" I asked.
"Yes. But, of course, I'm only the medium. The spirits speak through me and use my voice."
"We must go on," said Mrs. Ballinger. "We must find out more, and I shall ask John if it is really true about the baby. I can't believe it."
We sat down again, and Joe changed his place and sat on Rosalie's other side, which left me sitting between Rosalie and Donald Tait. With Rhynda out, we had to stretch our arms so that we were holding onto each other by the tips of our fingers. We sat in silence for a while, and then Mrs. Ballinger asked for John again.
Rosalie didn't waste any time. She answered at once, "I'm here," in the same low voice.
'John," said Mrs Ballinger agitatedly, "tell me truly, is Rhynda's child not yours?"
"Not mine," said the voice promptly.
Mrs. Ballinger sighed heavily, hesitated, and then asked how he had died.
"I cannot say."
She became a bit impatient with spirit John at this point. "But can't you tell us? You must say something, give us some hint?"
There was a pause, and then, "Look inside the old piano."
The sitters stirred, and there was a sort of wordless wave of satisfaction. We seemed to be getting somewhere.
"Give us more hints, John," Mrs. Ballinger said eagerly.
There was a much longer pause, and I felt sure Rosalie had told all she knew. Finally she sighed and said, "I cannot tell you any more."
"But, John, please!" Mrs. Ballinger said tensely. "Give us one more message, just one."
Dead silence, this time, and it lasted so long that I could not hold myself in any longer. I imitated Rosalie's low voice and said, "Please give Leigh Smith a thousand dollars."
Rosalie jumped up at once, and Mrs. Ballinger must have done so, too, because when the light went on she was standing by the switch. She looked thunder at me, and I gazed back at her in round-eyed astonishment.
Rosalie remarked that it was a pity we had so much levity to contend with and that she did not think John would return again tonight. Undoubtedly he was offended.
"Then that last bit was not John speaking?" Mrs. Ballinger asked, wanting to make sure of it.
"Oh no, no. John was quite silent."
"On the contrary," I said, "he spoke through me. My powers as a medium—"
"Rubbish, Leigh!" said Mrs. Ballinger shortly. "You're not a medium." She turned away from me and began to make arrangements with Rosalie for another seance the following night with only the right people present. In the midst of it she noticed the absence of Berg and Richard, and at the same moment I realized that Joe was no longer with us. I slipped out of the door and dashed across to the little music room.
Joe was standing by the piano, holding a small hammer with his pocket handkerchief wrapped around it. I recognized it as one we had kept in one of the bathroom cupboards for small repair jobs upstairs. He glanced up at me and said, "I been waiting for youse."
"How did you know I was coming?"
"You ain't called Nosey Smith for nothin'," he explained matter-of-factly.
"Who called me Nosey Smith?" I demanded, incensed.
"I did," he said calmly. "Now, I want to know about this here hammer. Does it belong in the house, and where was it kept?"
"It belongs to the house, and it was kept in the bathroom. Where did you find it? In the piano?"
"What do you think?" he asked disgustedly.
The lid of the piano was open, and I peeped in and saw that there was a space large enough for the hammer, but it looked as though it would have to rest against the harp, so that if anyone were playing there would be a sour note every now and then. I figured that Rosalie was the type to tinkle out ditties on the piano and noticed the sour notes, and so discovered the hammer.
"But why did she keep quiet about it?" I said aloud. "Why didn't she go around asking why there should be a hammer in the piano?"
"She probably hauled it out and found it was bloodstained, and then, I figger, she dropped it back in a hurry," Joe observed.
I turned sharply and looked at the hammer. The head was darkly stained, and I shuddered.
"What is it?" I whispered.
"Well," said Joe easily, "puttin' two and two together, I would say it was the weapon used on the Freda dame." I closed my eyes and turned my head away. "I'm goin' to get the fingerprints on it," he added confidently.
"They'll be Rosalie's, mostly."
"I'll have to take that into account," he admitted. "Now I'm gain' up to the attic and see how them two G-men are makin' out."
I had forgotten Richard and Berg for the moment. "How did you know they were in the attic?" I asked curiously.
"By puttin' two and two together," he said, and walked out of the room.
I ran after him and followed him to the kitchen, where he handed the hammer over to Doris, with instructions to deliver it to one of his deputies who was due to arrive in half an hour. He went on up the back stairs, and I trailed close behind him. When we got to the second floor, we found the hall in total darkness. We fumbled our way to the switch, but when we turned it on there was still no light.
"Bulb's broke," said Joe's voice. "I'll get another. Where do you keep them?"
I laughed shortly. "You'll have to take one out of another socket. There are no extras in this house."
He swore softly and made his way to the bathroom, where he turned on the light and left the door open so that we could see our way to the attic stairs. He led the way up, and I followed him.
Richard and Berg were playing vingt-et-un by the light of a candle.
"Any luck?"Joe asked.
"Right out," said Richard bitterly. "I've lost three dollars."
Joe said, "Hell! Do you want me to burst out cryin'? I mean any luck with that draggin' noise?"
Berg yawned and scooped up the cards. "Nothing at all. How did the seance go?"
Joe lowered himself onto a wooden packing box, and pulling a battered cigarette from his pocket, lighted it at the candle.
/> "We been informed that Mrs. John Ballinger is goin' to have a baby that don't, rightly speaking, belong to her late husband."
Berg stood up, and the line of his jaw grew rigid. "That's going beyond a joke. Whoever said it will retract and apologize."
Joe inhaled nearly half his cigarette and let it out slowly. "That ain't going to be so easy, son. It was the spook of the late Mr. John Ballinger that spilled the dirt."
"Never mind that rubbish," Berg said impatiently. "Who actually said it?"
"Mrs. Hannahs was the one who give it voice." I had an idea that Joe was amused.
"That one!" Berg muttered through his teeth.
I remembered again about Rhynda's relatives and that I had twice intended to try and get in touch with some of them and had entirely forgotten it each time. I spared a moment of regret for my faulty memory; it wasn't very nice for Rhynda to have things like this going around.
"Youse guys gonna stay up here all night? "Joe asked.
"Not me," Richard said definitely. "I'm going to bed."
"I suppose I'd only fall asleep if I stayed," Berg said reluctantly.
"How about Smithy and Joe doing a stretch?" Richard suggested. "They seem to be keeping steady company."
Joe colored angrily. "Listen," he shouted, "you got no call to start any scandal about me. My wife wouldn't like it, and it ain't my fault if this spindle-legged kid follows me around."
"No, it ain't," said Richard.
Berg laughed and tucked my hand through his arm. "Come on, Smithy, we'll go and have some light refreshments. I didn't have much dinner and I'm hungry. I'm one man you don't have to tag after to get."
"That's my fiancee you're walking off with," Richard called.
"No, I ain't," I said.
"This will mean pistols, Ballinger," Richard shouted, raising his voice as we descended the stairs. "And you, Smithy—you have a care."
We got down to the second-floor hall and found that it was in total darkness again. I explained to Berg that the bulb must be broken, and we groped our way to the bathroom and turned the light on there.
The Black-Headed Pins Page 12
