12

“A NASTY BLOW on the head,” Dr. McSmith said briskly, “but he’ll live. Anyone know how it happened?”

Nobody spoke for a moment. Kenneth and Elizabeth looked at each other and then at Malone.

“How soon will he be able to talk?” Malone asked.

Dr. McSmith gave him a look that said very plainly, “It’s you again!”

“Because,” Malone said, “he may be able to tell us what hit him.”

“You mean who hit him,” snapped Dr. McSmith. “That blow was no accident—as I shall report to the police.”

“Now wait a minute,” Malone said hastily. “Let’s talk this over. Uncle Ernie—Mr. Fairfaxx—had been drinking heavily. He went out for a walk to clear his head, slipped on the icy pavement and bumped his head against the wall.”

Kenneth and Elizabeth said, almost in unison, “That’s what must have happened.”

“That injury,” Dr. McSmith said, “was not made by a wall. I say Mr. Fairfaxx was hit on the head with a blunt instrument.”

“And I say,” Malone roared, “that Mr. Fairfaxx was hit on the head with a wall.”

Dr. McSmith said, “You’ve no witnesses and you can’t prove it.”

“There are always witnesses,” Malone said, “to everything.” He added, “Even the eyes have walls.” He paused for a moment and said, “The ears have eyes.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Dr. McSmith said, “and I suspect very much that you’re drunk, and I’m going to call the police.” He reached for the phone.

“I may be drunk,” Malone said indignantly, “and I think it’s a good idea, too, but I still say there’s no reason to call the police. All they can do is ask us a lot of silly questions and keep us up awake all night.”

He noticed Violet nudging the again tearful Bridie as he spoke. Bridie stepped forward and said, “I’m sure Mr. Malone is right, doctor. No one would have wanted to hurt nice Mr. Fairfaxx.”

Elizabeth Fairfaxx said, “Besides, we were all here in the house at the time, and there’s no way a prowler could have gotten into the grounds.”

“This man was not in the house at the time,” Dr. McSmith said pointedly.

“This man,” Malone growled, “is not in the habit of hitting the relatives of his clients on the back of the head.” Especially, he reminded himself, when he had not yet collected that retainer. Just the same, he thought it over. No amount of argument was going to impress Dr. McSmith. Besides, arrangements had already been made to take Uncle Ernie to the hospital for X-rays in the morning, and the hospital would raise the same embarrassing questions. He said, “But if that’s the way you feel about it, I’ll call the police myself.” He picked up the phone before Dr. McSmith could reach it and called von Flanagan.

Elizabeth Fairfaxx said, “Oh!” in a small voice and sat down in the nearest chair.

Malone smiled at her reassuringly and said, “Now don’t worry.” Then into the phone, “I wasn’t talking to you, von Flanagan. Yes, I am talking to you now. There’s been an attempted murder at the Fairfaxx house. Mr. Ernest Fairfaxx. No, I don’t know who, but a very suspicious character lives across the alley.… Mr. Fairfaxx was inside the wall, but this character could have reached over the top of it with a club.… No, I won’t be here when you get here. I’m already late for a very important engagement.… Yes, I know it’s the middle of the night, but it’s still a very important engagement.” He listened for a moment and said, “That remark was very, very rude, von Flanagan,” and hung up.

Dr. McSmith said, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m going home.”

“Go, if you must,” Malone said cheerfully, unwrapping a cigar, “but you can’t elude the police forever. It may take years, and they may have to cover every inch of the globe, but sooner or later they’ll catch up with you, McSmith.”

Dr. McSmith picked up his bag, strode to the door, paused long enough to glare at Malone and yell angrily, “You’re drunk!” and went out, slamming the door.

Elizabeth Fairfaxx looked up helplessly and said, “Oh, Mr. Malone, what shall we do now?”

“Now, we mix me a drink,” Malone said. “The doctor, alas, was mistaken in his diagnosis.”

He looked down at Uncle Ernie’s white face for a moment. Elizabeth Fairfaxx apparently understood what was in his mind. She said, “Violet is an excellent nurse, and the doctor said he probably wouldn’t stir for hours. Let’s go downstairs.”

Down in the living room, he sank into a comfortable chair and thankfully accepted the drink Kenneth put into his hand.

“Mr. Malone,” Elizabeth Fairfaxx said again, desperately, “what are we going to do? When the police come, I mean.”

“That fool of a doctor,” Kenneth said explosively, “anybody could see this was an accident.”

“Anybody could see that it was not an accident,” Malone said in a tired voice. “The only thing to do in a case like this is to tell the truth.” He drank half the contents of his glass and closed his eyes for a moment. It had, he realized, been a very long time since he’d slept and a lot had been happening. He wanted nothing in the world but to go home. He remembered that the Australian beer hound was trustfully waiting for him.

“Which truth?” Kenneth Fairfaxx asked.

The little lawyer opened his eyes again and relit his cigar. “The real truth. I had been with Mrs. Abby Lacy, questioning her in the interests of my client. Returning. I stumbled on Mr. Ernest Fairfaxx lying unconscious by the garden wall, apparently the victim of an accident. I called for assistance. We moved Mr. Fairfaxx into the house and sent for Dr. McSmith.” He paused to finish his drink. “Dr. McSmith, being a muddle-headed, opinionated old fool, and probably wanting to get some free publicity, maintained that the unfortunate man had been the victim of an attempted murder.”

“Please,” Elizabeth Fairfaxx said, “was he?”

“Obviously,” Malone said.

“Then why,” she demanded, “did you say what you did to Dr. McSmith?”

“Because.” The little lawyer closed his eyes for just one more moment. He didn’t want to say what was in his mind; he didn’t even want to think about it. “Because, I don’t want—” He paused again. He couldn’t say that he didn’t want to see these two nice people, Kenneth and Elizabeth Fairfaxx, deeper in this case than they already were. “Because Dr. McSmith throws rocks at dogs.”

“This isn’t a laughing matter,” Kenneth Fairfaxx said sharply.

“Neither is throwing rocks at dogs,” Malone told him. “Neither is being arrested for attempted murder.” With an effort he sat upright and asked, “You have keys to the front gates—to the garages gates—both of you?”

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes puzzled. Kenneth said, “Why yes, of course. Why?”

“The man who hit Uncle Ernie on the head,” Malone said, “was standing on the other side of the wall. Anyone able to get out of this enclosure and back again—is a suspect.”

The two young Fairfaxxes thought that over for a moment. Then Elizabeth said, “But in that case—it could have been someone from—from outside.”

“It could have been,” Malone agreed, “but it wasn’t.” He rose, put down his glass. “It would be pleasant to think that this—series of events—came from outside, happened because of things outside. We might as well face the fact that it isn’t true. The police are bound to figure out that either of you two could have gone into the alley, lain in wait for Uncle Ernie—knowing that he had made an appointment with me to divulge something of, as he put it, great importance—conked him, and come back inside without anyone being the wiser.”

Elizabeth Fairfaxx sat up very straight. “We were here together,” she said, as though she was a self-conscious little girl reciting the Preamble to the Constitution, “my cousin Kenneth and myself. Violet was making us some coffee. We heard you call for help.” She paused.

“We found Uncle Ernie by the wall,” Kenneth picked it up. “I helped carry him into the house. The nearest doctor was Doctor McSmith, an opinionated old fool who saw an opportunity to get some cheap publicity by calling it murder. Anybody could see that poor Uncle Ernie, who wasn’t too steady on his pins, slipped on the ice and cracked his head against the wall.”

“You’re both doing fine,” Malone said, “and stick together and don’t let them shake that story.”

He paused at the door. “In case either of you did sock Uncle Ernie, it might save a lot of time and trouble if you told me about it now. Just so I can cover up for you with the police.”

Elizabeth Fairfaxx turned pale and gasped.

Kenneth Fairfaxx turned pink and said, “Sir!”

“Don’t mind me,” Malone said, “I’m only trying to help.”

Bridie opened the front door for him and said, “Goodnight, Mr. Malone,” in a voice as lugubrious as though she never expected to see him again until the night of his wake. She added, in the same voice, “Shall I unlock the gate for you, Mr. Malone?”

He shook his head and told her, “No, thanks. I’ll bite it open.”

She gave a frightened little yelp and banged the front door shut.

Malone stood on the steps for a moment, shivering. Snow, soft, light, wind-swirled snow, was beginning to fall now.

He still hadn’t collected that retainer. He swallowed a sentenceful of profanity, and turned back towards the house. No, too late to ring the doorbell now. Von Flanagan would be here any minute.

Tomorrow, he would come back and collect the check. Meantime, he could grab a cab at Division Street, ride down to Joe the Angel’s City Hall Bar and borrow more cash money from Joe—enough to attend to the cab and his various other important needs.

But there was still another problem. Sergeant Gadenski was still waiting outside the gate where Captain von Flanagan would be coming in, any minute now. Sgt. Gadenski was a man of great determination, and right at this time, Malone didn’t want to become involved with the police department. Not until he’d talked with a number of people—the nearest cab driver and the nearest bartender being his first choice. It occurred to him that he could leave the premises without being seen by Sergeant Gadenski. A few words of explanation to Mrs. Abby Lacy, and she’d doubtless have the gates on her side of the double lot opened for him. He turned and began to make his way through the desolate gardens.

The space—only the width of a shallow city block—between the Fairfaxx gate and the front of the Lacy house, suddenly seemed like a great, an incredible distance. The little lawyer found himself remembering old stories of prospectors lost in the northern snows, fighting off sleep and fears, and finally freezing in some lonely snowdrift. He plowed on doggedly.

Every bush, every tree seen through the pale, wind-driven snow, was a threatening monster. Every shadow was a giant-sized enemy.

He heard footsteps behind him, whispering in the snow.

Malone stopped dead in his tracks, convinced himself that he’d been deceived by some trick of the wind, and went on.

It was not a trick of the wind. Malone paused. The footsteps paused. Then he ran like a rabbit.

The falling snow blinded him. He had an idea and a hope that he was running in the direction of the Lacy house, but he couldn’t be sure.

He tripped and fell; as he hastily pulled himself to his feet, he saw something behind him. Something pale and tall and glistening. Malone had a mad idea that it was transparent, and moving at least a foot above the ground.

He managed to go on running. Then something struck him on the back of the head.

The last words that ran through his mind as he fell forward were, “… hit on the head with a brick wall.…”