The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories (Vintage Crime/Black Lizard Original)

by Unknown

  I was dumbfounded.

  “You what?” I cried.

  Jane slapped her hand over my mouth.

  “Sh!” she whispered. Then she drew her chair nearer. “I called at Mr. Carr’s the other night after supper,” she said, leaning way forward and staring at me wild-eyed. “He owed me some money, and I suddenly decided to ask him to pay me. Well, I went to his back door and rang, and after a while he came. He was mad when he saw who it was, and madder still when I told him what I wanted. He started to tell me to go away, but then he changed his mind and said he would pay me if I stayed and washed the kitchen floor.

  “Well, it was late, but I needed the money, so I said I would. He went upstairs, and I took off my coat and put on my apron and got to work.

  “I was about half done when the front door bell rang. I answered it. It was Mr. Burnet. He smiled and said, ‘Hello,’ and asked if Mr. Carr was in. I said he was, and he went upstairs, and I went back to work.

  “Pretty soon I heard a lot of angry talk and shouting over my head. I had about finished my work then, but I wanted my money that night, so I decided to wait until Mr. Burnet left and then ask Mr. Carr for it. I sat down in that old rocking chair in the kitchen.

  “I was pretty tired and I fell asleep. When I woke up, I looked at the clock. It was two-thirty.

  “I thought it was funny Mr. Carr hadn’t waked me up and sent me home, but I decided to creep out and come back next day. But just then I looked out and saw the light from his window reflected on the lawn. So I reckoned he was awake and thought I’d go up and get my money.

  “I went out in the hall. It was dark and quiet. I walked up the carpeted stairs, very quiet, so as not to wake him, if he had fallen asleep.

  “I got to the top of the stairs and saw the light in his room. I crept across the hall and when I got to the door, I peeked in. And there—”

  Jane put her hand over her eyes as if she still saw it. I waited a minute, feeling the stillness of the little cabin creep over me. It made me uneasy.

  “Go on, Jane,” I said in a whisper.

  She took her hand from her eyes and went on, trembling all over.

  “And there I saw Mr. Carr, lying back in his easy chair, a dagger stuck in his heart!

  “I stood staring at him, so scared I couldn’t even scream. And while I stood there, the door to his little alcove opened and there I saw— Ah!”

  I jumped at her cry and looked up. She was staring before her as if she saw Death. I thought she was seeing the murderer in her imagination.

  “Who did you see?” I whispered, on the edge of my chair.

  She didn’t seem to hear me.

  “Who did you see?” I repeated.

  She turned and looked at me as if she noticed me for the first time. Then in a loud, clear voice she cried:

  “Alfred Burnet murdered Mr. Carr!”

  I stared at her a minute. Then I dropped my head in my hands. So it was Al after all! My poor, beloved Al, Irene’s brother!

  I had a funny empty feeling. There wasn’t anything more to do. There wasn’t anything to wonder about. I raised my head slowly.

  “Do you want to go to bed now?” I asked her.

  She nodded. She didn’t seem to have strength to speak. I dragged myself to one of the end beds and made it up with the blankets—there were no sheets. Then I put the screen around it and moved the table up outside of the screen so that she could reach around and lay her clothes there. It was too big to put inside.

  “All right, Jane,” I said, and she got up slowly and went behind the screen. I dropped again in my seat by the stove and started looking glumly at the coals.

  But I reckon Jane got a little scared when she was in the dark back of the screen, for she started talking at a great streak.

  “Do you think this snow is going to keep up all night?” she asked in a little, quavering voice.

  I looked up and saw her pretty little hand reach around the screen and put her gingham dress on the table.

  “I don’t know,” I muttered, “and I don’t care much.”

  “Well, I do! You see, I want to get home as early …” And she went on talking and saying things that didn’t interest me, just then when I was trying to wonder.

  After a while she stopped, and I thought I’d put in a word, just to be polite.

  “Don’t you intend to come back to New Paris again?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Hah, Jane?” I asked again.

  But still she didn’t answer.

  “She’s gone to sleep, poor kid,” I said to myself, and I took a little stick and started raking the coals to make the room a bit warmer.

  Just then I heard her open the window.

  “That’s funny,” I said to myself. “She’s awake after all! … And she might have waited until I went to bed. It’s as cold as blazes outside.… I suppose she’s all upset.…” And I settled back, trying to figure out things.

  I had seen Al leaving Carr’s house after the murder. And that sure was his knife. And now Jane said he was the one that did it. But for all that, I couldn’t believe it! I couldn’t! … But if he didn’t, who did?

  I was sitting back in my chair until it almost tipped over, with my feet resting against the side of the stove. The lamp was burning lower, and the light was sort of contracting away from the corners of the room. The big, dark screen was spread out and made a regular wall, a few feet in front of me. The reflection of the light on that was getting dimmer and I could just see the edge of the blackness that was around Jane’s bed.

  Well, suddenly, while I was sitting there wondering, I saw Jane’s hand reach out and feel around the edge of the table that touched the end of the screen.

  That was funny. There she was quiet all the time, and yet she hadn’t been asleep! I was just going to pipe up and ask her if I could get something for her, when I stopped, my heart in my mouth.

  The hand that was feeling around was not Jane’s hand!

  The light was pretty low by now and everything was blurred, but I could see the hand feeling around and feeling around. I leaned way forward, as quiet as I could, and looked.

  It was a man’s hand! And on the finger you point with, there was a ring with a long, funny-shaped bloodstone in it.

  I could hear my heart pumping. I sat way over and kept just as still, straining my eyes!

  But now it was so dark I could just make out the quiet, moving hand. Finally it touched Jane’s underskirt. Its fingers closed on it and pulled it quietly off of the table. Then it disappeared.

  I was scared stiff. I know sixteen’s pretty old to be scared, but I admit it just the same. I watched that screen and listened. But the screen slowly disappeared in the darkness and all I heard was Jane moving over in bed.

  That made me a little more comfortable.

  “You’re a big coward,” I told myself. “That was just Jane’s hand and you’re such a scarecrow that anything’ll get your goat.”

  But all the time something told me it wasn’t and I knew I ought to get up and look.

  I sat there, trying to get up nerve. I just sat tilted back, while everything got darker and darker and the open door of the stove made a light on the ceiling that grew brighter and brighter. And I heard a movement behind the screen as if Jane was restless: and then everything was still.

  Finally I sat up with a plop.

  “You go and look,” I told myself, “or I won’t ever speak to you again!”

  So I got up.

  The lamp was as good as out, but there was a candle in the cupboard. I got it and lighted it.

  It didn’t make the room any brighter. Just one little spot around me. However, I’d be able to see Jane.

  I crossed the room on tiptoes, so as not to wake her. When I got to the screen, I hesitated. Then I stood off and peeked.

  Jane was lying on her side, her back to me, and sleeping as peaceful as I could ask.

  Gorry, you don’t know how relieved I felt! I could
have danced a jig! But instead of that I just tiptoed back to the bed in the center of the room and set the candle down and undressed. Then I got in bed and blew out the light and in two minutes I was fast asleep.

  I sat up in bed with a bounce. I had been dreaming that Al Burnet had murdered me and they’d accused Old Man Carr of it and they wanted me to testify and I refused, feeling I’d had about enough to do with the affair. I was sitting up, because Judge Forest had pulled me that far out of my grave, and I wanted to get back in again.

  Well, I sat there, looking at a lot of darkness, and trying to convince myself I was in bed and not in my coffin.

  “You dumbbell!” I said to myself, “a corpse can’t argue, and you’re arguing as fast as your two-for-a-cent brain can work!”

  Well, that sort of settled matters about the graveyard.… But still I wasn’t quite satisfied. There was something wrong and I couldn’t just think what it was.

  I looked around, but I might just as well have kept my head still. It was as dark as a grave, and a lot more quiet … excepting I saw a bit of a bare, black tree trunk, and a piece of night sky on both sides of it.

  Then I remembered I wasn’t alone and I felt relieved; Jane was with me and—

  —and I had seen a hand reach out from behind the screen, that wasn’t Jane’s hand!

  I remembered that, and I got cold all over.… But I had seen Jane sleeping peacefully afterward.… And you could tell she was sleeping peaceful now … peaceful and quiet.

  … A little too quiet.

  I laid the blankets carefully back, so as not to make a noise. Then I crawled to the end of my bed that was pointed toward the screen.

  I waited there, on my hands and knees, looking to where the screen ought to be. And I listened.

  There wasn’t a sound. I waited and listened, feeling something funny creep up from my stomach.

  “Why, you nut!” I told myself. “Of course you can’t hear her! You can’t even hear your own breath!”

  But then I decided that wasn’t odd, because, after investigating, I discovered I hadn’t been doing any breathing for some little time. So I grabbed the edge of the cot and leaned over until I almost fell into the darkness. Then I listened again.

  But there wasn’t any sound.

  “Jane!” I called, softly.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Jane!” I called again, louder; much too loud for a dark, empty cabin—for there was something empty about it. You can tell, somehow or other.

  I got out of bed and felt around for my candle. Then I got a match and lighted it.

  It was funny. Before I lighted it, the only light place was the patch behind the tree trunk. Then, suddenly, that was all swallowed up by the black windowpane, and now the room was lighted—not much lighted—just a flickering, shadowy light that hardly reached the corners and made the screen seem like a great, gloomy wall.

  Then I walked up close (not too close), and peeked.

  Well, it seemed all right. Jane was lying there, just as I left her.… She hadn’t moved an inch … not an inch.

  And then I saw something I hadn’t noticed before: something white that was bunched near her mouth. (Her head was turned away, you see.) I took a step forward.

  The bedclothes were off her, and she was lying right below the window, where the cold, icy wind blew in. I tip-toed over to cover her up. And then that feeling in my stomach jumped right up into my mouth.

  I saw blood!

  It covered her nightgown, right above her heart, and the sheet below was just soaked with it!

  Well, I squeezed that candle until I almost squashed it, and I made myself go and look. I crept up between the screen and the bed and leaned over.

  She was dead!

  I touched her arm. It was cold and stiff. I pulled it gently and she fell over on her back. And as her head fell over, her white underskirt came with it, for it was stuffed in her mouth!

  She had been dead for hours. Somebody had climbed in the window and scared her into keeping still. Then he had stuffed her petticoat into her mouth while she lay there frightened stiff. And then, suddenly, he had stabbed her. Right in the heart.

  And it was the hand of the murderer I had seen feeling around in front of the screen!

  I figured this out quick, while I stood before the bed, shivering from cold and fear. And then I turned and almost knocked over the screen and ran back to my own side of the room.

  I got into my clothes as quick as I could. I didn’t know who had murdered Jane, but I knew who could have stopped it if he hadn’t been such a damn coward! That was the only thought I had in my brain as I got dressed—that, and the thought of getting out of the cabin as quick as I could. I’d notify the police in New Paris, or something, but anyhow, I’d get out!

  I didn’t know what time it was when I locked the door and climbed out of the center window, but when I dragged myself up the deserted street at the edge of town a couple of hours later, the sun hadn’t risen.

  I didn’t have any thoughts in my head; just a funny jumble. So I went home and threw myself on my bed to wonder about it all. And then, before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

  It was in the middle of the afternoon when I waked up. I lay wondering for about ten seconds. Then I jumped off my bed and ran out the door. I was going to tell the police about the murder of Jane.

  I went down Main Street, wondering about poor Jane, until I had to stop doing that to wonder why I wasn’t bumping into anybody like I generally do when I’m wondering on Main Street. I looked up and then I saw why: there wasn’t anybody to bump into. Main Street was as deserted as it had been at dawn; and it was twice as dismal.

  But I didn’t have much time to wonder about that. I wanted to report Jane’s death as quick as I could, and then gather some news about Al. So I headed for the Court House. And there I saw why Main Street was deserted.

  The Court House was just chock-full of men and women, with little kids dripping out of all the windows. My heart started jazzing up, for I had a pretty good idea what the party was all about. I saw Jim Harley on the Court House steps and I wandered up to him.

  “What’s up?” I asked, sort of careless-like.

  Jim stared at me, as if I was some new species off of Mars.

  “What brook did you drown yourself in,” he asked, “and you don’t know they’re trying Al Burnet?”

  “I’ve been out to my country estate,” I told him. “What are they trying him now for, two days after the murder?”

  “They’ve got to. The crowd’s been trying to get at him to lynch him all morning long, so Mr. Sparton’s made them get a quick trial to save his life and hang him proper.”

  Well, I just felt myself turn white all over. Lynch Al Burnet! And this crowd of bums he’d always been so decent with, too! I had a lot of thoughts on the subject, and I expressed them in a loud voice to Jim and anyone else who might be around.

  Jim listened, interested-like, until I got through. Then he turned and looked across the street.

  “Do you think the branch of that there tree is very strong?” he asked me.

  But I didn’t answer him. Somebody had just got down from the window next to the steps, and I ran over to it and pulled myself up and looked inside.

  The first thing I saw was old Judge Wharton who lives in Berlin, sitting up on the bench and looking important and frowning all over. Then I saw Horace Sparton, who is the district attorney, leaning over the table and glaring at somebody. I looked to see who he was glaring at.

  It was Irene Burnet. She was standing in the witness box. I could just see the tip of her nice little nose beyond her curly, yellow hair, and a bit of her cheek. But even that bit, I could see, was as white as marble, and her lips, that were quivering, were as pale as anything. She was holding on to the rail as tight as she could.

  “What time did you say he got in?” I heard Sparton shout.

  Irene’s lips moved, but I couldn’t hear anything.

  “Louder, please, Mis
s Burnet!”

  And then I heard, soft and awful weak:

  “One o’clock.”

  Sparton smiled and then nodded to her. Irene left the stand, holding her head up, but looking like she was going to die.

  “One more witness,” Sparton said, “and then our case is finished.”

  And he turned and spoke to the clerk.

  I was hunting for Al now, and I found him, sitting at the table. His face was almost as white as Irene’s, but he was looking proud and handsome. He watched his sister sit down, looking as if he was awfully sorry for her. And then he turned toward where the people sat who were watching the show. And I saw who he was looking at.

  It was Miriam Sparton, Horace’s daughter. She looked terrible. You could see she believed Al was innocent and she was sore at her father for prosecuting him. And there was love in her eyes and she didn’t care who knew it.

  But she was the only one who had love in her eyes. The crowd around her were looking at Al as hard as she was, but there wasn’t any love in their faces. All the hard-boiled guys in town were in front, and they were looking at Al just the way a cat looks into a mouse-trap if there’s a mouse there. I couldn’t have sat before them looking as indifferent as he did!

  I saw this awfully quick, because soon I was thinking of other things. For after Sparton spoke to the clerk, the clerk turned and shouted:

  “John Darrow!”

  Well, I don’t know whether it was quick thinking on my part, or whether I just fell off the window in surprise. Anyhow, in just about one jiffy, I was hiking down the pike as fast as I could go. I wasn’t going to do any testifying against Al Burnet!

  I beat it down the street and kept on going until the first thing I knew I was sitting on the fence next to the Burnets’ place. It’s so comfortable there and I can wonder easy. And I wondered along until suddenly I brought up with a bang.

  “Well, you big, fat-headed fool!” I said to myself, among other things.

  For I had just remembered the paper Jane had been writing on and hid in the ashes!

  I’d been sure right along that the fellow who murdered Jane was the same one who murdered Old Man Carr, because, somehow or other, there was something fishy about the way Jane laid the blame on Al. I’d intended to tell the police all about it and what I suspicioned, but now I didn’t dare to; they’d hold me for a witness against Al.