Window on the Square

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  I tried to sound natural and bright. “It’s bedtime, my dears. Let me see how quickly you can get into your night things.”

  “We heard Kate drop her tray of dishes,” Jeremy said guardedly. “She sounded awfully upset about it.”

  I offered him my silent approval and agreed that was exactly what had happened.

  Selina went to bed with a minimum of delay, and, when I had tucked her in, I hurried back to Jeremy. He was in his bedroom, the gaslight on, waiting for me.

  “Something bad has happened, hasn’t it?” he asked at once.

  I would not dissemble to the extent that I had done with Selina, but I could not tell him the truth.

  “It’s your mother, Jeremy. There’s been an—an accident.”

  The gravity of his look dismissed my words as an evasion. Jeremy was all too sensitive to the climate of disaster.

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?” he said, and then went on calmly. “I knew by the way Kate screamed. She’s a silly girl sometimes, but the screaming was real.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, “the screaming was real. You were good about Selina—keeping her from being frightened. Will you help me now, Jeremy? Will you stay here quietly. I’ll have to go downstairs and I don’t want to worry about you.”

  All I wanted just then was to escape his grave, questioning gaze. There had not yet been time for me to face the full horror of what had happened. I was still too dazed to think clearly. Fear stood at my elbow, waiting, and my heart beat so thickly it was hard to breathe. Strangely enough, it was Jeremy who had a calming effect upon me as he went quietly on.

  “When I was little I loved her as much as I loved my father. But she never liked me. She didn’t really like my father, either. The way she acted about him was only pretending. Because I looked so much like him, she couldn’t love me. Once she even told me so when she was angry. When I grew older I didn’t mind very much. That’s why I don’t feel now the same way I did after—after my father …” He broke off, his young face expressionless.

  “I understand,” I assured him, loving him all the more for this attempt to be honest with me.

  He was not through. “I can remember when I was little. I used to like the way she smelled of violets. I could have loved her very much, if only she had liked me.”

  His words accomplished at last what my single-minded concern for Brandon had prevented until this moment. The full realization that Leslie Reid was dead, that her cool beauty was forever destroyed and all that was evil in her as well. I could almost catch the scent of violets as Jeremy spoke and I knew I would dread that odor for the rest of my life.

  The boy was in bed now, and I drew the covers gently over him and moved toward the light. But before I could turn it out, he asked another question.

  “Miss Megan, did someone shoot her? The way my father was shot?”

  “I don’t think she was shot,” I said. “We’ll know more about it tomorrow. A doctor will be coming soon. And—other people who will know what to do. Shall I leave a candle burning when I go downstairs, Jeremy? I can look in and blow it out after you’re asleep.”

  “Not a candle,” he said. “Nor the gas either. Gas is cold-looking, and sometimes it whispers. And a candle makes the shadows jump. Would you lend me the rosebud lamp from your room just for tonight, Miss Megan?”

  “I’ll fetch it right away,” I promised and went quickly to my room.

  How deceptively quiet and untouched by tragedy the small room seemed—as though no one had told it of death.

  When the lamp was alight on Jeremy’s bureau, I kissed him on the cheek and went downstairs.

  Outside Leslie’s room Kate was on her hands and knees, cleaning up the mess from the spilled tray, working as if by her very industry she would keep from flying into hysteria. Andrew paced the hall as I had done upstairs—up and down, not pausing when I appeared, though he spoke to me as he paced.

  “The doctor’s in there now. And Garth’s with him.”

  “Have the police come yet?” I asked.

  “Listen!” Andrew said and leaned upon the hall rail above the stairwell.

  Below Henry was opening the front door and I heard a voice that seemed familiar. A moment later Captain Mathews mounted the stairs in Henry’s wake, a police sergeant trailing behind him. I remembered him as the man who had met us at the Home that time we had gone in pursuit of Jeremy. He nodded gravely to Andrew and me.

  “Is it the boy again?” he asked.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  This was one contingency I had not thought of, and I answered a little wildly.

  “Oh, no! Not the boy, Captain. Jeremy has been upstairs all day long.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said kindly. “We’re only here to find out exactly what has happened.”

  Miss Garth heard our voices and came to the door. Her tremendous control had not forsaken her, though her color by now was ghastly. She looked first at Kate, still working on her knees.

  “Go downstairs,” she said curtly, and once more Kate fled with all dispatch. “In here,” she told the captain, and he and the sergeant went into Leslie’s room.

  Andrew stopped his pacing and sat down at the foot of the stairs, resting his head in his hands. I felt sorry for him, but there was nothing I could do or say.

  The doctor and Captain Mathews came out of the bedroom together, and a few moments later the doctor took his leave. Miss Garth crossed the hall to Brandon’s library and motioned to Captain Mathews.

  “You may use this room, if you like,” she said.

  He thanked her and glanced at Andrew, still sitting at the foot of the stairs. “I understand you found her, Mr. Beach. Will you come in and tell me about it, please?”

  Andrew went into the library and Garth followed them, not waiting to be asked. No one closed the door, and I could hear the voices within quite clearly. The questions were routine, and Andrew was explaining dully what his own role had been. I could not relax enough to sit on the stairs as Andrew had done. Alternately I walked the hall, or leaned upon the rail, listening for any sound from upstairs or down.

  Thus I saw Henry as he started up from the floor below. The butler still carried himself with dignity, but I caught the concern in his eyes as he looked up and beckoned to me with a secretive gesture. I asked no questions, but ran down to meet him on the stairs.

  “Please, miss,” he said. “In the kitchen. If you’ll come right away.”

  I did not hesitate, but ran down to the basement at once. Brandon waited for me in the big warm kitchen. He nodded his thanks to Henry, who went away at once, leaving us alone.

  I said the first thing that came into my head. “Why did you come back? They’ll be looking for you now. If they find you here, you’ll be in dreadful danger.”

  He put his hands upon my arms, steadying me, stilling my outburst. “I came because Fuller had the good sense to try the club, looking for me, and found me there. Tell me exactly what has happened, Megan.”

  Impatient though I was over the delay, I told him of how I had come downstairs and heard Kate screaming, and of how Andrew had come out of Leslie’s room.

  “He was in love with her,” I said. “He has admitted as much.”

  Brandon brushed the information aside. “Of course. She could never rest unless she subdued any young man who came her way. She had to play at love-making constantly, since there was so little love in her. What of Garth?”

  I told him of how she had come downstairs and gone into Leslie’s room. Of her iron self-control that sometimes cracked a little around the edges.

  “They both mean to accuse you,” I said. “Please, please get away while you can. Leave the city before Captain Mathews knows you are here.”

  “My loyal Megan,” he said. “I think you would stand by and sacrifice yourself to help me, even in the face of murder.”

  I was growing frantic. “Don’t stay; don’t talk! There’s no time!”

  “There is the rest of my life,” he said quietly. “
However long, or however short that may be. I am not going to run away, Megan. Come, we’ll go upstairs together. Don’t look so frightened. They have no-evidence against me. Let them look to Thora Garth. Or to Andrew—the jealous lover who found her! I’m not the only one the police will think of.”

  For all the mildness of his tone, I knew that granite lay beneath his resolve. There was nothing to do but go upstairs with him.

  We could hear Miss Garth before we reached the library, and it seemed that her control was failing as her vituperation mounted.

  “Let them both pay for this terrible crime! It’s the girl’s fault as much as it is his. But he is the one who did the act. You can’t sit here and let him get away while you ask us foolish questions.”

  Brandon stepped through the doorway, and the captain looked up calmly, noting his presence without comment. Miss Garth rose from her chair, her face working, but Brandon spoke before she did.

  “I left the house earlier and didn’t know what had happened until Fuller came to the club to tell me. I’m at your service, Captain, to help you in any way I can.”

  The captain bowed courteously. “Please sit down, Mr. Reid. You too, Miss Kincaid. Some serious accusations have been made here this evening and—”

  “He always wanted to kill her, and now he has!” Miss Garth cried in rising hysteria. “You have the proof in your hands—What more do you want?”

  The captain frowned at her. “Will you please wait in the hall until I send for you. You too, Mr. Beach.”

  Andrew took the governess gently by the arm, and, after an angry moment in which I thought she would shake him off, she gave in and let him lead her from the room.

  Captain Mathews nodded to me. “You may remain, Miss Kincaid. The accusations concern you as well. Possible motives have been claimed. Perhaps you may have information that will help us.”

  Brandon seemed alert now and caught up in a tide of excitement, as though he scented battle and was willing to meet it halfway.

  “There are plenty of motives,” he said. “I can give you any number myself. But I didn’t touch her and you’ll find no evidence that I did. Rather than waste time on me, why not explore the motives of others who may be involved.”

  “I’ll do that in good time,” the captain said with the air of a man who knew his business and did not intend to be deflected. “For the moment we will consider something which has just come to light. A search of your room has been made, Mr. Reid. Have you any explanation for this?”

  He reached into a drawer beside him and drew out something which he spread upon the desk. I leaned forward, anxiously. The object was a white shirt of the type Brandon always wore, and, as the captain opened it before us, I saw the bright red stains upon it.

  Captain Mathews’ tone was even. “This shirt was found wrapped inside a clean one in a drawer in your room. There was also pinkish water in the slop jar, where it must have been poured after you washed your hands.”

  I stared in growing alarm at the thing upon his desk. Brandon was no murderer, but someone wanted desperately to make us think he was.

  Brandon spoke my thought aloud. “The murderer is very anxious that I should be blamed, but I know nothing of how those stains come to be on my shirt. Do you think I would be so foolish as to hide such evidence in my room and leave it behind if I were really guilty?”

  “Rational and coolheaded behavior is seldom achieved at such a time,” the captain said gravely. “This is a serious situation, Mr. Reid. A claim has been made by Mr. Beach that there was a second pistol at the time of Mr. Dwight’s death, and that the boy did not fire the shot that killed your brother. That, indeed, the fatal shot was fired by you.”

  Brandon snapped out his answer, but I saw his color change and knew he realized the growing danger of his position.

  “That is a story Leslie developed recently,” he said. “I’ve heard nothing about it before. She undoubtedly took Beach in with her rantings. There was no second pistol. After all, you solved the case to your own satisfaction at the time, Captain.”

  Captain Mathews studied him thoughtfully for a moment. “I remember that the boy made some seemingly wild claim concerning a second pistol. Perhaps we’d better talk to him. Miss Kincaid, will you bring Jeremy downstairs for a moment?”

  I had no choice but to do as Captain Mathews requested.

  In the hall a chair had been found for Miss Garth, and she sat bolt upright against its straight back, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Andrew still sat at the foot of the stairs and he raised his head from his hands as I came out of the room.

  At the sight of those two, anger flowed through me. “What are you trying to do? What have you to hide that you are trying to incriminate Brandon?”

  Andrew looked up at me sadly. “Poor Megan. Don’t you know by now that he killed her? If you let him, he will do to you all the harm he did to Leslie.”

  I left him and ran upstairs to Jeremy’s room. The boy slipped into his clothes reluctantly. His memory of encounters with Captain Mathews were far from happy, and he was not anxious to see him again.

  By the time we went down, the coroner had arrived and Captain Mathews was in the hall, talking to him. The captain greeted Jeremy kindly and returned to the library with us.

  “There’s nothing to be frightened about,” he assured the boy. “I’d like you to tell me in your own way what you know about that second pistol you mentioned at the time of your father’s death.”

  Jeremy stood up so straight and tall that I was proud of his courage. His voice did not falter as he spoke.

  “I tried to tell you, sir. I never fired the pistol they found. The pistol I took had ivory set into the grip. If you want to see it, it’s hidden now in the brass candlestick in my mother’s room. Maybe you’ve noticed that candlestick, sir?”

  I shivered, remembering that Jeremy did not know how his mother had died.

  The captain nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen the candlestick.”

  “There’s a big hollow in the base,” the boy told him. “The pistol is hidden there.”

  Captain Mathews spoke to the officer in the hall. I stole a look at Brandon and saw that he was frowning at Jeremy.

  The police officer returned carrying the huge candlestick in both hands. It had been partially wrapped in a cloth and there was no candle in its socket now.

  While we watched, the captain unscrewed the upper section from the lower. It turned, as Jeremy had said it would, though the threads squealed faintly in protest until it came free, exposing a deep, shadowy cavity in the base of the stick. He set the top section on Brandon’s desk and turned the base over. Nothing fell out. When he reached a searching hand into the hollow, he drew out some cloth padding that might have wrapped the pistol and kept it from rattling around. If anything had once been hidden there, it was gone now.

  Jeremy told the captain the same story he had told me—of how he had gone to his father’s room after Selina had confided her secret, and of how Miss Garth had come in and he had hidden under the bed. From beneath the counterpane he had seen her carry the candlestick into his mother’s boudoir.

  “Miss Garth will know about it,” Jeremy finished. “She is the one who took the candlestick away.”

  But when the captain summoned Miss Garth to explain, she said she knew nothing of any pistol.

  “Miss Leslie sent me for the candlestick. She had put it away in that room for some reason. I remember she put it there two days before Christmas.”

  Two days before Christmas, I thought, and remembered the touch of hands that groped in the dark, recalled the whiff of violet scent that had so frightened me. So it had been Leslie that evening in Dwight’s darkened room.

  “She sent you for the candlestick this afternoon?” the captain prompted.

  “Yes, she asked me to bring it to her. So I carried it into her room and set it in its usual place beside the hearth.”

  “Did she tell you why she wanted it?”

  Miss Garth began
to sway a little. She put her hands to her temples in a distraught gesture. “No! I always sensed something queer about that candlestick, but I never knew what it was. She told me nothing. When I’d set it down, she asked me to go away and leave her alone. I—I never touched it again.”

  “The boy says there was a pistol hidden in its base. His sister claims to have seen Mrs. Reid take it out of the hiding place and put it back again some weeks ago.”

  “This is children’s nonsense,” Miss Garth said, shaking her head.

  “I agree,” said Brandon quietly.

  Jeremy would have spoken, but there was an interruption from the door Miss Garth had left open. Andrew had roused himself and come into the library. The skin of his face looked yellow and drawn, and the dazed look had not left his eyes. He spoke with an effort.

  “I’ve heard you mention a pistol hidden in the base of the candlestick. It wasn’t in the candlestick today. It hasn’t been there for some time. Mrs. Reid took it out several days ago and gave it to me to get rid of. She still had some notion of destroying evidence that might involve her husband in his brother’s murder.”

  Jeremy’s outraged cry made itself heard. “Uncle Brandon didn’t kill my father. Of course he didn’t!”

  “Wait, Jeremy,” the captain said. And to Andrew, “Where is the pistol now?”

  “I have it,” said Andrew. “I have it here.”

  He drew from the pocket of his coat a small pistol with an ivory-set handle and laid it on the desk before Captain Mathews.

  TWENTY-NINE

  “There’s your evidence,” Andrew said. “That was the unloaded pistol Jeremy brought upstairs that day.”

  It was Jeremy who moved first. He slipped from my side and ran to the desk. Captain Mathews made no move to stop him as he picked up the small, deadly instrument and balanced it knowingly in his hand.

  “This is the one!” he cried. “It’s the pistol I took from the collection and carried upstairs that night. And it wasn’t loaded, it wasn’t fired. I know that now.”