The Black-Headed Pins

by Constance Little

  "I guess Mrs. Ballinger found it burning after Joe and I left," I said. "She probably has it figured out that the hall light will have to stay dark until enough electricity has been saved to pay for a new bulb."

  He looked down at me and chuckled, but his eyes were tired and strained. "Keep chattering, Smithy. Don't stop, and don't mention this ghastly business. I want to get my mind away from it."

  "I'll talk your ear off," I promised. "Only go on down now and put the kettle on. I want to wash my hands."

  He went off, and after I had washed I went along to my former room, intending to tidy my hair. I did not remember about the change until I had gone in and turned on the light. The bare room reminded me, and I had turned impatiently to go out when something unusual about the bedside table stopped me. It took me a moment to realize that it was a telephone, the old extension that had been in Mrs. Ballinger's bedroom and that she had had disconnected because it cost about fifty cents a month. It had been pushed away into a corner of the shelf in her bedroom closet, and she had said once or twice that she intended putting it away in the attic.

  It stood now, with the severed wires wound neatly around its base, on my bedside table.

  CHAPTER 21

  I stood and looked at that dusty old telephone, and shaking my head slowly, reflected that the place was certainly a madhouse. What possible reason could there be for anyone to bring the thing from Mrs. Ballinger's closet and put it there on the table? It seemed unlikely that Mrs. Ballinger herself would do it, for it was not her way to leave things lying around, not because she was naturally tidy, but because things left lying about might be stolen.

  I gave it up with a shrug and turned to leave the room when I caught sight of Rosalie's leather shopping list, which I had used to write down the peculiar things I had found in the various bedrooms. I picked it up and took it along with me.

  In Rhynda's room I tucked the shopping list under the pillow on my bed and then went to the bureau to brush my hair. Rhynda was sitting up in bed, reading. She marked the place in her book with a wisp of embroidered handkerchief, shivered a little in her shell-pink velvet bedjacket, and asked, "What other lies did that bitch Rosalie tell about me after I left?"

  "She didn't say anything more about you. In fact, she pretty well shut up altogether."

  "She'd better shut up, as far as I'm concerned," Rhynda said ominously. "I'll sue her."

  "So you should," I agreed, intent on my hair. "It's a mean, underhanded sort of way to gossip—Rosalie's method."

  "But it isn't true!" she flared.

  "No, no, of course not," I said hastily. "It was unfortunate, though, because I think Mrs. Ballinger drank it all in as gospel. She's a great believer in the spirits."

  "Mrs. Mabel Stinkpot Ballinger is a stingy, greedy old hag and can go straight to hell as far as I am concerned," Rhynda said firmly.

  I wanted to go and shake her by the hand but decided against it as being too sentimental. However, I told her that I agreed with her wholeheartedly, and after a final pat at my hair, I left the room to go to my supper with Berg.

  The bathroom light was still on and the door open, so that I could see my way to the stairs easily enough. The lower hall was dimly lighted, as usual, and I wended my way through the various doors and back hall until I made the kitchen.

  My mind had been on Rhynda since I had left her bedroom. It seemed to me that her nervous, hysterical condition had changed and that she was suddenly calm and almost unconcerned. I wondered if something had happened, or if it were merely Time, the Great Healer.

  Berg was munching an apple. The kettle was on, but there were no other preparations.

  "Playing the helpless man?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "You ought to see Jonesy in the kitchen."

  "I did what you told me to," he said between bites. "Anyway, I had a nagging suspicion that you were delaying up there so that I'd have it all done. Maybe you can fool that chump Dick, but I'm made of sterner stuff."

  I made up a tasty little supper, and we sat down at the kitchen table to eat it. Berg ate for a while in silence, and then he said suddenly, "You know, I think I'm getting somewhere, at last. I believe, well, I think I'm going to be able to untangle it."

  "What is it?" I asked breathlessly.

  He grinned at me and shook his head. "Nope. Can't tell."

  "Why not?" I demanded. "I think that's mean. I tell you everything as it comes along."

  "Keep your hair on, Smithy. I'll tell you just as soon as I'm sure I'm right. I can't now, because there's always the possibility that I'm wrong. I'll know soon, though, and then I'll tell you."

  I sighed impatiently and picked up my fork again.

  "Mad?" he asked, putting on his most charming smile.

  I said, "Yes," and jammed some herring into my mouth.

  "Are you going to leave the old lady when this is all over?" he asked presently.

  "I guess so. I haven't really saved enough money, but somehow, I can't stand her or the house much longer."

  "Don't blame you. Listen, Smithy, will you go out with me when we get back to New York?"

  "Oh, I guess so, if you want."

  "Overwhelming enthusiasm," he murmured.

  I put on a wide grin. "I'll be so happy to go out with you when we get back to New York, Bergie."

  He laughed and said, "That'll be enough lip from you, you undersized little runt."

  I poured fresh coffee for us, and for a while we ate in silence. Then Berg said, with apparent irrelevance, "I've got to do something to take my mind off the thing."

  "Even like taking me out in New York?"

  "Not as uncomplimentary as it sounds," he said, without smiling. "It takes a good deal to divert me just now."

  We finished our supper shortly after that and turned all the lights out and went upstairs. By this time, as I had expected, the bathroom light was off again, and after we had switched off the dim light in the lower hall, we could not have seen our hands before our faces.

  We groped our way along, laughing a little, until we came to Berg's door. He dropped a light kiss on my face, which happened to land on my nose, and whispered, "I'm going straight to bed—I'm all in. Haven't slept for two nights, and if I don't get some real rest I'll be too groggy to do anything. I don't think that damned noise will start up as long as someone is up there."

  "Well, but is anyone up there?" I asked doubtfully.

  "Dick and Joe may still be there. I know Dick's going to bed eventually, but Joe hasn't confided his plans to me. I don't think it will help him much if he does stay, because he always goes to sleep when his bedtime comes, even if he's standing on his feet."

  I giggled. "How do you know?"

  "Doris told me, but she went on to admit, grudgingly, that he was so good in the daytime that he always got his man, anyway."

  I laughed as silently as I could and started to feel my way along to the bathroom. I found the switch after a certain amount of fumbling, and as light flooded the room I jumped and gasped audibly. Joe was sitting on a chair in the middle of the floor. He blinked and looked at me with profound disgust.

  "Do you intend to spend the night here?" I asked mildly. "Because it's going to be a bit inconvenient."

  "I thought you was all in bed," he said, getting up. "I forgot how you always have to go down and feed your face when you oughta be sleepin'." He seemed thoroughly put out.

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Berg was still in the hall. I could see his grin in the light that shone from the bathroom.

  "I'm sorry," I said feebly. "I suppose you were waiting to pounce on someone, and we spoiled it all."

  "Oh hell," said Joe. "Everybody's got their own troubles, and you're mine. I'm goin' down and get something to eat, supposin' you've left anything."

  He went away, and Berg stepped into the light, still grinning. "It's a trap. I don't believe he's gone downstairs at all. He's probably going to sit in one of the rooms and wait for us to get on with our dirty work so that he c
an catch us at it."

  We laughed together, and I thought briefly that Berg was beginning to be more like his old self. We started down the hall to our rooms, but when we got abreast of Richard's door it was suddenly flung open, and he stood on the threshold in a dressing robe of royal purple.

  He looked us up and down. "Oh," he said, "it's youse. Well, I'm going to complain to the management. Incessant whispering and laughing and carrying on all night. A guy can't sleep. And then, mind you, it turns out to be my best friend, cavorting with my best girl. Bad cess to the two of you."

  "You shouldn't have left your post in the attic," I pointed out. "I expect you could have slept there undisturbed."

  He drew himself up. "Madam," he began, and at that moment Mrs. Ballinger's door started to open. "Cheese it," he ended urgently.

  Berg and I pushed him back into his room and piled in after him. We listened, with our ears against the door, and heard Mrs. Ballinger come out into the hall.

  "Who is there, please?" she called.

  We remained quiet, and after a moment she repeated her question. Then she started to walk away, but instead of going back into her room, she went straight downstairs.

  "Poor Joe," said Berg sadly. "He's down there eating her food."

  "I'll back Joe," I said promptly, "if you want to make any bets."

  Richard stepped between us. "Don't think you can continue your nonsense in here, because you can't. Just kiss me good night and go."

  "Go on, Berg," I said. "He wants to be kissed."

  Berg shuffled his feet and murmured bashfully, "Aw, shucks! I think he means you."

  "Then he's out of luck. I'm engaged to Joe. We're only waiting for the divorce."

  "For God's sake, Smithy," said Richard pitifully, "go to bed just this once, to see how it feels, and let me get some sleep."

  I opened the door and peered out, and as far as I could see, the hall was empty. I said, "Good night" over my shoulder and slipped out.

  As I passed the stairs, I heard Mrs. Ballinger coming up again, and she was muttering to herself. I laughed silently as I thought of Joe's enormous appetite, and I wondered if she was considering sending a bill to the township for his food after it was all over. That is, if it ever was all over. I got into Rhynda's room without her seeing me and found that Rhynda had fallen asleep with the light on and one hand still resting on her open book.

  The wind was still high and blowing gustily around the house, and I shivered and started to undress quickly. I wanted to curl up in bed, with my head under the covers, and get warm. I tried to be quiet, in order not to disturb Rhynda, but she woke up just as I was putting on my dressing gown.

  "Hullo," she said, yawning prettily. "I thought you were never coming. What on earth do you find to do around this moldy old tomb at all hours of the night?"

  I glanced at the clock and saw that it was twenty minutes to one. I yawned myself, then. "God only knows," I said. "I don't."

  She gave me an odd look from under her long curling lashes. "Maybe you've been trailing around after the boys."

  "Well, yes," I said, "that does keep me pretty busy. There are several boys, and the trails are apt to cross and recross. It keeps me on the jump. Anyway, I'm going to the bathroom now. Maybe I'll meet one of them on the way. Be back in a minute." I walked out into the hall, leaving the door open as the bathroom light was off again.

  I had got about halfway down the hall before it started, and then it began to drag its slow way across the attic floor. I stopped dead, my teeth biting into the back of my hand, as Rhynda's low wailing cry came from the bedroom behind me.

  CHAPTER 22

  Somehow it was not the dragging noise that horrified me so much this time; it was more Rhynda's desperate cry.

  As I stood there uncertainly with my teeth knocking together, I heard Joe's feet thudding on the stairs. He passed me in the hall at a loping run and disappeared up the stairs to the attic. At the same time, a couple of bedroom doors were flung open, and I turned and went back into Rhynda's room.

  She was lying with her head thrown back and her face pallid while her body was trembling visibly. I did not know what to do for her, but I went over and pulled the bedclothes up around her neck and told her to be quiet, although she wasn't making any noise. It seemed like pretty feeble first aid, but at any rate she presently stopped shaking, and the greenish tinge disappeared from her face.

  I arranged her pillow more comfortably, and after a moment she asked, "What are they doing out there?"

  There were plenty of people in the hall by now. I could hear them milling around. I shrugged. "I don't know—nothing much, I guess. I think Joe must have made the attic just too late."

  She moaned and moved her head from side to side. "Oh, God! It's Berg—"

  "No," said Berg's voice from the doorway, "it isn't. And they're going to have to go some to get me. As a matter of fact, I hope they try, because then we'll know—"

  "You'd better be careful, though," I said uneasily. "It's so easy to sneak up behind a person—"

  "Don't worry," he said grimly. "I'm going to have eyes in the back of my head. But I came in to see if you were all right. Didn't one of you scream?"

  "I did," Rhynda said faintly and pressed her hand against her head, as though it were aching.

  "You mustn't worry, you'll be all right. I'm glad you're sleeping together here. Just lock the door and don't open it to anyone."

  He went off, and Rhynda said scornfully, "How does he know it isn't one of us?"

  "He recognizes the perfect lady when he sees her," I explained.

  I started out for the bathroom again then. The hall was deserted, but I could hear Joe and several extra pairs of strong hands tearing the attic apart. There was a murmur of female voices in Mrs. Ballinger's room, but I passed it by quickly.

  When I came out of the bathroom, I left the light on and the door open and went straight back to Rhynda's room. I locked the door and said, "There. Now if anyone tries to get in, we'll hear them, and if you happen to be 'they,' it's just my hard luck."

  She laughed a little and pulled the bedclothes up around her neck as I opened the window. I got into bed with the firm intention of going straight to sleep, but the muffled thuds and hangings from the attic kept me alert in spite of myself. Rhynda seemed restless, too. I heard her turn twice, and after a while there was the snap and flare of a match as she lighted a cigarette.

  "I might as well tell you," she said from the darkness, "that there isn't going to be any baby after all."

  I raised my head sharply. "You mean you've had a miscarriage?"

  "I guess so," she said cheerfully.

  "But—but shouldn't you have a doctor, or something? How far on were you?"

  She said gravely, "Nearly two weeks."

  I lay back and laughed helplessly, and I heard her giggle with me.

  "Talk about jumping to conclusions " I said, shaking my head.

  "Well—but I was desperately afraid."

  "I don't quite see why," I said slowly. "A baby isn't as bad as all that."

  She was silent for a space, and then she said harshly, "Since I have to be a widow, I'm in a much better position if I'm free."

  I was silent, and she must have sensed the fact that I found her a bit callous, for she said, "Don't you sneer, Leigh Smith. You're not married. Wait till your tin anniversary rolls around. You won't be so sentimental."

  "Maybe not," I said, and let it go at that.

  We fell silent, and I realized that the noises in the attic had stopped. The next minute I heard them all pour down into the hall, sounding like a herd of elephants, as men usually do when they're trying to be quiet.

  I raised my head to listen and said eagerly, "I wonder if they found anything?"

  "I don't know, and I don't care," Rhynda replied shortly. She had put out her cigarette, and she now settled down with her back to me, in a way that suggested that she did not want to talk any more.

  Out in the hall they had star
ted a discussion in piercing whispers and after I had listened to it for a few minutes, I couldn't stand it any more. I got up quietly, put on a dressing gown, and went to the door. Rhynda made no move, and I slipped out and closed it behind me.

  Donald Tait, Richard, Berg, Joe and one of Joe's deputies were in a group not far from the door, and as the latch clicked they all turned and looked at me.

  Joe sighed. "It's Nosey," he said resignedly. "I knew somebody was missin'."

  They all laughed quietly, and I felt my face grow hot. "Did you find it?" I asked. "The noise, I mean?"

  "Yeah," said Joe.

  "What is it? Tell me," I said eagerly.

  "Suppose we put her to bed?" Richard suggested. "And make her wait until morning."

  They all laughed again, and Joe said cheerfully, "Aw revoyer, Nosey."

  "What's aw revoyer?" I asked coldly.

  Joe explained kindly, "That's 'good-by' in French."

  It reminded me of an old joke, so I said, "Oh. Well, guillotine."

  "What?" said Joe suspiciously.

  "That's good-by in French, too," I said, and found myself laughing alone. I swallowed it and turned back towards my door. "If you're going to hold out on me," I said furiously, "you can wait until the morning to hear what I was coming to tell you."

  As I had hoped, five pairs of hands pulled me back, and they asked, practically in chorus, "What is it?"

  "You'll tell me what I want to know first. I don't trust any one of you, and you can take it or leave it."

  They took it, of course, and Richard and Berg did the explaining. They led me up to the attic and showed me that one of the wide floorboards had been ripped up all across the floor to the back of the house. A brick tied up in a piece of cloth lay on the plaster between the beams. It was tied around the middle with a piece of rope which ran along the plaster and out the end of the house through a hole that had been drilled especially for it.

  After I had shaken my head over this contrivance, they took me downstairs again and along to the little sewing room that had the defective shutter. They pushed my head out the window, and I saw that the rope from the attic hung down behind the shutter and dangled some distance below it. An old flatiron was tied onto the end of it.