The couple’s eyes met for a second. Then the man’s wavered, rolled downward. His beard pressed against the silk robe, and his fingers moved restlessly again. Miss Evans studied the top of his head speculatively. She drawled, “See you later, sweetheart.” Her voice was flat, without inflection. She moved gracefully around Dr. Livermore. At the hall door she looked back, unsmiling, and was gone. Dr. Livermore sat down behind his desk. He had on nothing under his shiny dressing gown. His face was suddenly tired.
Crane ducked below the window, crawled to the shadow on the other side, and started around the house. From a window halfway down the other side, a band of yellow light made grotesque animals of the shrubs and rosebushes in the garden. Far out in the paleness a man was digging in the grass, moving a small spade with erratic eager movements. It was the religious guard. He was lifting small pieces of earth with the spade, peering into each indentation, and then carefully replacing the sod; bending down to tuck in the edges. He was completing a circle about six feet in diameter, and as he reached the end of the untouched soil, he groaned loudly, and then, appalled at the noise, clapped both hands over his mouth. Without stopping for the fallen spade, he hurried off into the dark.
From the lighted window came a murmur of voices, and Crane moved along to it. Miss Evans was standing in the room leaning against a desk behind which sat Dr. Eastman. His shirt was rolled up to the elbows, and his arms were black with hair. There was a livid bruise on his jaw where William Crane had kicked him. Miss Evans’s eyes were open wide; her face was demure.
“Why, George, you know I went in to talk to Dr. Livermore just because you suggested it,” she said. Her voice had moved up to a more feminine key. “You remember you”
“I remember, all right,” Dr. Eastman said; “but I didn’t ask you to sleep with him.”
“George!” Miss Evans fluttered her blue eyes. “I was in Dr. Livermore’s room that night because I wanted to find out if he knew you had taken the box from him. You said you wished you knew——”
“You didn’t have to go into his bedroom to find that out.”
“I wasn’t in his bedroom until they brought that Crane into the hall. Then I stepped into the bedroom because I thought it wouldn’t be proper to be seen in Dr. Livermore’s office at that hour of the night.”
Dr. Eastman’s face lost part of its ugly scowl. He was willing to be convinced. “How’d that smart guy know so much, then?” he asked.
“He didn’t. Just because he was right about one thing, you assumed that everything else he said was right too.” Tears ruffled the innocent and circular pools that were Miss Evans’s eyes. “George, you must believe me. I haven’t seen him alone since that night. What could I see in him after I had known you?”
For a brief moment Dr. Eastman’s face was almost cheerful. Suddenly he stood up and walked toward the window. Crane dove to the ground and rolled into the shadows.
“Just a minute,” Dr. Eastman said. His voice was a blade of suspicion. “How do you explain my losing the box? Who took it from me?”
“How should I know?”
Crane was back at the window in time to see Miss Evans shrug her shoulders delicately.
Dr. Eastman said, “You were the only one who knew I had the box.”
“How do you know that?”
“I didn’t tell anybody else.”
“If you had kept it in a better hiding place,” said Miss Evans, “it wouldn’t have been stolen. Anybody might look in that desk drawer.”
Dr. Eastman turned upon Miss Evans fiercely, his scowl menacing and immediate. “You didn’t double-cross me with that old goat, did you?”
“You’re crazy. He’s a married man.”
“You probably had a change of heart and took the box back to him.”
“No, I tell you he hasn’t got it back. He said he has given up worrying about where it is.”
“I thought you said you hadn’t seen him since that night.”
“Not alone. He told me that when we were all at the guest house.”
“I don’t think you’re telling the truth.”
It was cold outside the window; the night was damp, and William Crane’s hands and feet were smarting. He wished the conversation would end. Miss Evans looked as though she were getting angry.
“You’re a fool,” she said. “Anybody could have taken that box from you. It might have been Crane, or that Joe who is always hanging around Dr. Livermore. They both look capable of anything.”
“I was sure at first that Crane must have taken the box, but I’m not so certain now. He’s too crazy to find a thing like that on the day of his arrival.”
“It was quite a coincidence, though, wasn’t it?” Miss Evans’s lovely mouth curled sardonically. “The day he arrives the box disappears. And maybe he isn’t so crazy.”
“I’d find out if I could get him alone. I’d beat the truth out of him if I had to kill him.” Dr. Eastman’s knuckles were white against his dark skin.
Miss Evans said, “You’ll have a hard time getting at him now.”
“Maybe the sheriff will beat it out of him. We finally got him to believe Crane did the murders.”
“Maybe he did. Don’t you think somebody is trying to kill Miss Van Kamp?”
“I’ll bet it’s Livermore. He’s liable to do anything to get that other key.” Dr. Eastman’s shaggy brows nearly hid his eyes. “If I still had the first key, I might kill her myself.”
Miss Evans moved nearer to Dr. Eastman and touched his arm. “Don’t you believe me, George? I am just trying to help you. I wouldn’t have helped you take the box from Dr. Livermore in the first place if I weren’t, would I?”
Dr. Eastman wouldn’t look at her. “I don’t know what to believe. All I know is that somebody got the box from me.”
“If you can’t believe me, I might as well take my pin back.” Miss Evans struggled to unfasten the gold arrow on his shirt. Her eyes were bright and moist. Dr. Eastman took her hands in his. “No,” he said. “No. Give me time to think myself out of this.”
“You must trust me, George,” Miss Evans said. “You must.” She patted his arm. Dr. Eastman caught her in his arms and kissed her passionately and then thrust her from him.
He said, “You’ll drive me insane.”
Miss Evans’s face was mystical and wise. “That will be nice, as long as you are insane about me,” she said. She smiled wistfully, bit her lower lip with her teeth, and left the room.
Crane found he was still able to walk, and he hurried around to the front door of the building. He waited in the shadows until Miss Evans came out. She was humming the chorus of “The Last Round-Up,” and he picked up a piece of wood and pursued her down the path and thrust the wood into the small of her back. “I’ve got you covered, babe,” he said in a guttural voice, “and if you yell I’ll blow your stomach out.”
Miss Evans stopped humming, but she did not yell. “What do you want?” she asked. She was not frightened.
William Crane said, “Keep on walking. Into the garage.”
Lights from the servants’ house filled the garage with conflicting shadows. The ambulance was still there, and he forced Miss Evans to climb into the front seat, He sat down beside her. Her face was dimly illuminated by the reflected beams.
“So it’s you,” said Miss Evans. “I thought they had you locked up?”
“They have,” he said. He looked at her in silence.
“What do you want?” Miss Evans was defiant.
“Just your company. I’ve long admired you from afar.”
“This is a funny way to show your admiration.”
“You have so many friends. This seemed the only way to talk to you alone.”
Miss Evans was definitely hostile, but she was willing to fence. “I’d rather you’d ask for a date next time. This is so sudden.”
“But, you see, I didn’t know how you felt. You might have turned me down.”
“Oh no, I admire you too.”
&
nbsp; William Crane said, “May I say that you also have a funny way of showing it?”
“What do you mean?”
He held out his wrist. “That black spot is where you stepped on me with your heel. You remember? The night you and Dr. Eastman beat me up? I seized you on the leg like this.” He reached down and held Miss Evans’s ankle. It was a nice ankle, and it was covered with silk. Miss Evans let his hand rest there for a moment, and then she moved the ankle away.
She asked, “What would you do if somebody had hold of your leg?”
“The same thing. I don’t hold any grudge.”
“But how did you find out that it was my heel?”
“Did you notice the other nurses all had on white shoes with rubber heels that night? They wouldn’t be apt to change their shoes to commit a little assault and battery, and then change back again.”
“How do you know Dr. Eastman was with me?”
“That was a fortunate guess.”
“What makes you so interested in these things, anyway? Who are you?”
“I am really C. Auguste Dupin, the great detective,” said William Crane. “I am a Doctor of Deduction. I am interested in everything. And even if I were not C. Auguste Dupin, I would be interested in finding out to whom I owe these bruises.”
Miss Evans made an abrupt movement with her right hand. “You can drop that stuff with me.” Her face was angry. “Talk plain English.”
“All right,” said Crane. “But I would like to know why you and the doc tried to beat me up.”
“He didn’t like the kick in the jaw you gave him. And I didn’t like your talk about what I was doing in Dr. Livermore’s office.”
“He must have thought I kicked him with a box. Do you remember he expressed curiosity about a box just before he choked me?”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“No?” He poked her in the ribs with the stick. “Well, Doc Eastman isn’t so sure about that. I just heard him say that he thinks you and your vegetarian Romeo, old Doc Livermore, stole the box back from him.”
“So!” Miss Evans’s eyes were contemptuous. “You’re just a Peeping Tom?”
“You might call it that, but I prefer to think of myself as Watchful William.”
“Well, you didn’t hear anything from Dr. Eastman? and me that would hurt you.”
“I heard plenty. But I’m not interested in your personal affairs except where they have to do with me.”
“What’s that box got to do with you?”
“I’m trying to find it.”
“I haven’t got it.”
“No, but you helped Eastman steal it from Liver more after Livermore had told you of stealing it from, Miss Van Kamp.”
“Any girl would do as much for the man she loved.” Miss Evans’s voice was righteous. “When I told him Dr. Livermore had it, he was afraid the doctor intended to steal it. So I helped him get it.”
“Why didn’t Dr. Eastman take it back to Miss Van Kamp?”
“You see, Miss Van Kamp has a weak heart. She might die any time. So George decided it would be best to keep the box in a safe place, where we would be sure nobody would steal it in case she died.”
“Is a desk drawer a safe place?”
“You didn’t miss much.”
“I never do.” Crane grinned at Miss Evans’s sullen face. “And now you want Dr. Eastman to think I took it from him.”
Miss Evans was silent.
“Well, I haven’t got the box. All I’ve got is a terrible thirst.” Crane climbed out of the seat. “You sit still, because I’m ‘Dead-Eye’ with a pistol.” He walked over to the box in the corner, lifted out the jug of whisky, and returned. Holding the jug in his two palms, he took a long drink. After a second the liquor exploded in his stomach, sending warm, golden rays into his brain. “That’s good!” He smacked his lips and turned to Miss Evans. “Have a shot?” She refused coldly. “Mind if I have another?” She did not seem to mind, so he drank again. He put the jug on the floor and said, “I want to ask you a few questions.”
“I don’t know what you have been doing for the last fifteen minutes,” said Miss Evans.
“Do you know who killed Pittsfield and Miss Paxton?”
“I think you probably did.”
“I think not. Are you sure it wasn’t Dr. Eastman?”
“He couldn’t have done it. He’s not really as bad as he looks. He has a kind heart.”
“That would go over big with a jury.”
“I’m sure he didn’t kill them. He’d have no reason to.”
“They might have found out he had the box for a while.”
Miss Evans was silent. The pale light barely touched her face, so that it was all in shadow except the white lines of her chin, her cheek bones and the aristocratic curve of her nose. She was lovely. William Crane jabbed the stick in her ribs again.
“You’re sure you don’t know who did the murders?”
“Yes.”
“What do you know about Miss Van Kamp? Has she any enemies?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What doctor handles her case?”
“Dr. Buelow.”
“Who gives her the steam bath she has three times a week?”
“I do.”
“Doesn’t she ever tell you anything? That she is afraid of somebody?”
“I think the only person she is afraid of is that poor Mr. L’Adam. Whenever he has one of his spells, she hardly sleeps at all.”
“I don’t blame her.” Crane took another drink from the bottle. “That fellow scares me to death.”
Miss Evans asked, “Is that your whisky?” Crane shook his head. He felt fine. “Somebody is going to be pretty darn sore at you,” Miss Evans said.
“I don’t care. Do you mind if I don’t care?” Crane held the bottle up. “Won’t you have one?” Miss Evans nodded. She said, “Just one.” She took the bottle in her hands.
“Listen,” said William Crane. “If you try to bean me with that jug, I’ll blow you to hell.”
“Why, Mr. Crane! You don’t think I’d do anything like that? I like you. I think you’re such an intelligent man.” She took a good drink from the bottle. “I could go for an intelligent man.” She handed back the bottle, and he had a drink. As he placed the bottle on the floor, someone came into the garage.
“Oh, my God!” whispered Miss Evans. She seemed really frightened now, and he wondered why.
With a cautious shuffling step the figure had sidled toward the ambulance. Crane got a firm hold on the neck of the bottle. He wished he had a pistol. “Who’s there?” he asked. He discovered his voice was hoarse.
The shadow bulked large against the wall, swaying slightly. A voice said, “I know you not, yet my gaze is upon you.” It was the religious guard again, and Crane put the bottle back on the floor of the car. “Who are you and what do you do?” asked the old man.
“I am the Archangel Gabriel,” said Crane. “I am waiting for them to come. I wait while you search.”
The shadow on the wall seemed smaller. “You know I been searchin’?”
“No grain of sand on the beaches of the sea, no forest acorn, no tick on a sheep’s back can move without His knowledge,” said Crane. “Have no fear of Us, but ask thyself: ‘Am I faithful to my trust?’”
The old man chanted, “I have cast out all evil: I am pure and faithful.”
“Have you been told for what you search?”
“I have seen it. It is a steel casket. I saw him take it to his room in the dead of night, but it is no longer there. He must have buried it somewhere, according to the Word.”
“Who was it?”
“It was the bearded one.”
“What is in the casket?”
“You should know.”
“I do know. The Archangel Gabriel knows everything,” William Crane hissed. “But I am testing you.”
“It holds the missing scriptures. I have been chosen to find them.”
Miss Evans moved her feet, and one heel struck the gear-shift lever.
The old man demanded, “Who is there with your”
“Mary,” said William Crane simply.
“What is She doing?”
“She is waiting for them, too.”
“Then I’d better go about my search,” said the old man.
William Crane waited until he had nearly gone. “Should we need thy help, we will call Jordan. That will be the signal.”
When the old man had departed, Miss Evans sighed. “I’m afraid of him. He’s crazier than any of the patients. He watches me all the time.”
“I don’t blame him,” said William Crane gallantly. He offered Miss Evans another drink. She accepted.
“You certainly know how to handle him,” she said.
“I’m crazy too,” said William Crane. “That’s why we get along.”
“You must have been talking with him before.”
“I have, but this is the first time I have let him in on the fact that I am the Archangel Gabriel.”
“I imagine that would astonish a lot of your other friends, too. I know mine would be surprised to know that I am Mary.”
“You mean the Virgin Mary?”
“You don’t have to be nasty.”
William Crane said, “No, I want to be fair. I don’t have to be nasty.”
“No?” said Miss Evans.
“No,” said Crane. “I can be nice or I can be nasty.”
“Then why don’t you be nice?” Miss Evans pressed a slender leg against Crane. “I like nice men.”
“All right; I’ll be nice.” Crane was quite drunk. “I’ll be very nice. I won’t tell anybody what I saw in Dr. Livermore’s window.”
Miss Evans’s leg moved away. There was a moment of tight silence, breathless and dramatic. The diffused light shone softly on Miss Evans’s expressionless face, giving it a sort of internal glow independent of the external world. Her eyes were partially closed.
“Don’t get excited,” said William Crane apprehensively. “I won’t tell. Not if you don’t say anything about seeing me here.”
Miss Evans laughed mechanically. Her voice had moved down the scale a note or two. It sounded as though she had tuberculosis. “You’re a perfect gentleman, aren’t you?” she said. It seemed to him that she was angry, very angry; but not at him. “I’ll look under my bed at night before I turn out the lights.”
Murder in the Madhouse Page 13
