WHEN THE MORNING LIGHT slid around the window blind, I was already awake. I’d been dreaming I was stand-ing outside the office. I could hear the telephone inside was ringing, but I couldn’t find my key to the door. It wasn’t in my purse, where it should have been, where I always keep it. Where had I left it? I felt desperate. As I came to consciousness, I realized that a telephone was indeed ringing — it was our house phone. I sat up quickly. My bedside clock showed ten past seven. Who the heck would be calling at that hour? I grabbed my dressing gown and ran downstairs.
“Hello. Main 7425.”
“Miss Frayne. Mr. Gilmore here.”
My heart was thumping.
“Yes, sir.” In my state of alarm, I fell back to my former way of addressing him.
“I do apologize for calling you at this hour; however, I could not wait.”
I thought he was going to tell me that his wife had died. Thank goodness he didn’t.
“Ida is still in critical condition. It is clear that the police are gearing up to charge me with her assault. Detective Arcady was present when she screamed the way she did, and I fear that confirmed any suspicions that I am responsible.” He paused. “I tell you, Miss Frayne, if she dies, I will be accused of murder.”
“Surely not, Mr. Gilmore.”
“I am the only likely suspect.” He paused to take in a long, slow breath. “I did not attack my wife. I wish to find out who did. It is not something I can do easily. I have not left her side since yesterday. I do not want to. More importantly, I doubt it’s something the police would agree to. I must ask you, Miss Frayne, to tackle this case. You will be doing this by yourself. Please do what you can to find out who attacked my wife.”
“Of course I will, Mr. Gilmore. I have already spoken to most of the people on your street. Vince Alexander says he heard a shout. Might have been about seven o’clock, but he couldn’t be definite about that.”
There was silence at the other end of the line.
“Mr. Gilmore? I presume you didn’t hear anything?”
“No. I would have said. When I left, Ida was asleep. I was awake about six-thirty.”
“Mr. Alexander was vague about the time. It might have been later.”
“It must have been. If he heard a shout, I’m sure I would have also. Our windows were open.”
“He says it was a woman’s voice, but it might have been the Hodge baby. He’s been restless in this heat. Same with the Pouluke twins. Could have been one of them, maybe.”
I was giving him an out.
“That baby does cry a lot, it’s true, but surely Vince could tell the difference. The twins are rather quiet on the whole. Nobody else heard anything?”
“Not the people I spoke to. Mrs. Ano, Mrs. Parker, the Kubays, mother and daughter. Mrs. Hodge and Mrs. Pou-luke. The Kaufmanns. They each said they heard nothing at any time that morning.” I paused for a minute. I wanted to be tactful, but I had to be direct as well if I was going to be truly helpful. “Vince Alexander did say that Mrs. Gilmore might have offended some of your neighbours.”
I heard Mr. Gilmore sigh. “She’s a woman of decided opinions, my Ida. Not necessarily orthodox opinions. Let me guess, Vince Alexander didn’t understand it, Arthur Kauf-mann was nasty, Mrs. and Miss Kubay probably served you tea and cakes and slipped in some poison about everybody else.”
“Lemonade, no cakes. Lots of poison. Most of those I spoke to seem to admire your wife.”
“Quite so. One thing I have considered, Miss Frayne, is the timing of the attack. The police cannot pinpoint the time with any accuracy. Obviously, I was absent. Was that chance or deliberate? There was no forced entry. If the culprit was a tramp, Ida would have dealt with him kindly. She always did. She may have been turning away to go to the kitchen. We have a jar there with some small coins, which she hands out to people who come to the door in need.”
This information was followed by another long silence. I waited.
“On the other hand, we keep the telephone in the kitchen. She may have been running to it.”
There was another possibility, of course. Ida was not aware of being in danger and was simply heading back to the kitchen to finish her breakfast. And the man she did not consider dangerous was her husband. But why? Everything so far indicated a crime of impulse. I simply could not believe Mr. Gilmore was the culprit.
“Thank you, Miss Frayne. At the moment I have begged the use of the hospital telephone. It might be difficult for you to reach me here. I will call you later this afternoon.”
He was obviously about to hang up.
“Mr. Gilmore, before you go, I do have a question.”
“Yes?”
“I was at the Paradise Café yesterday —”
He interrupted me. “What were you doing there?”
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet. Hilliard Taylor, one of the owners, came to the office shortly before you rang about your wife —”
He interrupted me again, a discourtesy uncommon to him.
“What did he want?”
“He is worried that somebody is stealing from them. He wanted our firm to investigate. It looks as if the culprit might be one of the partners.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I rather doubt that. They’ve gone through a lot together. Did he tell you? They were all prisoners of war.”
“Yes, he told me. I agreed to take on the case, and I am now undercover, working for them as one of the waitresses at the café. That’s why I was there, in the Paradise, when Detective Murdoch came in.”
I did not continue, leaving Mr. Gilmore an opportunity to speak.
“Yes?”
“Detective Murdoch wanted to verify your statement, which he said you amended later, that you were at the café in the morning … you first said you went straight home.”
“I was confused from the shock.”
I had to persist. “I do understand that, Mr. Gilmore, except the odd thing is nobody could remember whether you had been at the café or not.”
“Is that what they said?”
“Yes. I was present when they answered Murdoch’s questions.”
“Hmm. Well, it was busy. They must not have noticed me.”
“Am I to understand, then, that you left the office to go home, but you went to have a coffee before proceeding to your house?”
“That is correct.”
“And from the café, you went down to the lake to get some cool breeze?”
“Miss Frayne. I feel as if I am being interrogated all over again.”
His voice was sharp with anger.
I’d been about to bring up the question of his being Jewish. Good thing I hadn’t. This was the first time he’d ever spoken to me like that.
“I’m sorry to sound that way, Mr. Gilmore, but I need firm ground to stand on.”
“Of course. Of course. It is I who should apologize. My nerves are somewhat frayed. But yes, I did exactly as you have related.”
“Nothing else? No shopping? You know you like to shop sometimes.”
I tried to make my tone jocular; from his response, I don’t think I succeeded. Although I would have sworn that Mr. Gilmore was a completely uxorious and faithful man, his evolving story was all beginning to sound not only vague but untrue, and to my ears he was sounding guilty. Perhaps my view was coloured by my encounter with Gramps and Mrs. Johnson. I was quite conversant with how powerful cherchez la femme can be. The divorce cases we dealt with were all based on it. Did this apply to Mr. Gilmore?
“Miss Frayne. I ask you both as your employer and, as I hope, your friend to give your attention to finding out who has perpetrated this murderous attack. You must drop the café case. It will simply sap your energies and take up too much of your attention, which would be better employed. Nothing will be gained by your further investigations on behalf of Mr. Taylor. I’m sure there is a simple explanation for the missing money.”
At that moment, I heard somebody calling his name in the background.
“I must go. It’s one of the nurses. I’ll ring back later.”
He hung up.
I stood by the telephone. Frankly, I was all churned up. I had no desire to drop the café case. I was already commit-ted to it. Almost two years ago, Mr. Gilmore had hired me to work at the agency. I’d begun as general dogsbody and secretary, but with his encouragement I’d soon qualified for my investigator’s licence. From the beginning, we got along famously, and in short time he made me an associate. Surely now he didn’t have the right to tell me what cases I could or could not pursue? Besides which, no matter how much he insisted he was telling the truth, I heard prevarication.
On impulse I picked up the telephone and dialled the general operator. I didn’t want to go behind his back.
“Operator, will you put me through to the General Hospital.”
“Certainly, madam. Please hold.”
After only two rings the phone was answered. I used my nicest voice.
“Good morning. A Mr. Gilmore just rang me from your telephone. Would it be possible to speak to him? We didn’t finish our conversation, as he was called away.”
Not giving the receptionist a chance to act I rushed on.
“I’m a friend of the family. It was utterly shocking what happened to Mrs. Gilmore. I do hope she is all right.”
It was still early in the morning, and perhaps the woman on the other end of the line was hungry for a bit of chat. Perhaps it was what Mr. Gilmore said. I had a way with people. Or perhaps it was prurient curiosity.
Whatever the reason, she said breathlessly, “I’m afraid her condition isn’t much changed. She’s still listed as grave.”
I pushed a little.
“He sounded so tired just now. It would have been a long night for him having to sit in a chair by the bed and all that.”
“Absolutely. Such a devoted husband. I hope if and when I get married, and if I ever get ill, my husband will be as doting.” I heard her sigh. “But that’s hoping for a lot, isn’t it?”
I murmured something unintelligible.
“Do you want me to have him fetched to the telephone?” the nurse asked.
“No, don’t bother. I’ll speak to him later. Thank you so much. Try to stay cool.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible. If this heat wave doesn’t break soon, we’ll all be six feet under.”
We hung up. At least I’d nailed down one indisputable fact. It would be nice if I could winkle out a few others.
There was no sign of movement from Gramps’s room, so I went into the kitchen, made myself a cup of tea, and buttered a slice of bread. I didn’t like to leave without seeing him and making amends. I scribbled him a note on a scrap of paper.
Gramps. Sorry, but I have a big case I have to deal with. I will ring you, so answer the phone. We’ll have a proper talk when I get home.
I wanted to say, Don’t have anything to do with that Mrs. Johnson, but I restrained myself.
I went back upstairs, got dressed, skipping the ubiquitous girdle and selecting a cooler (but still demure) blouse, and tiptoed softly out.