32

“The first three postmen were killed because Annie Kendall was alive,” Malone said. “This one is in danger of being killed because Annie Kendall is dead.” He puffed at his cigar and said, “Damn it, Helene, won’t this car go any faster?”

“Why?” Helene demanded.

“Because I’m in a hurry, that’s why,” Malone told her.

“That isn’t what I meant,” Helene said indignantly. “I’m talking about the postmen. And Annie Kendall. And your phone call from Mona.”

“It’s because of the Annie Kendall Memorial Foundation,” Malone said. “And watch out for that truck!”

Helene glanced at him briefly. Malone’s face was pale with fatigue, and shadowed with unhappiness. She’d seen that look on his face before, and she recognized what it meant. Malone knew something that he wished he didn’t know.

Several blocks later she said gently, “I know nobody wants to go to jail, Malone. But the postmen didn’t want to be murdered, either.”

He flashed her a grateful look.

Just as she turned off Lake Shore Drive, Malone said, “I knew Mona McClane was in London. It was Mona who found out that Annie Kendall was alive, plus a few more interesting details of her life. Then when Annie suddenly up and died, Mona called to let me know.”

Jake said plaintively, “I wish I knew what this is all about.”

“You will,” Helene said.

The squad car, without sirens, passed them at that moment. Helene said indignantly, “They can’t do that!” The next moment, they had passed the squad car.

The street in front of the three houses was deserted, gray with melting snow. Helene slid expertly to a stop in front of the iron gates. The squad car stopped just behind her.

A plump little postman, whistling cheerfully, was just about to turn the corner into the alley.

Malone got out of the car fast. He saw von Flanagan running up the sidewalk towards him, Kluchetsky at his heels. He had a vague feeling that Helene, Jake, and the mutt were behind him, but he couldn’t be sure.

The snow was beginning to fall again, thick, wet snow.

The little postman was going up the alley, still whistling. But by now the snow was like a veil.

Suddenly Malone saw the weapon, poised over the wall. He opened his mouth to cry a warning. But before he could utter a sound, something tripped him and he fell forward into the snow. As he fell, he heard the sound of furious barking, saw the little postman wheel around just in time for the weapon to graze the side of his head. He saw the weapon drop into the alley.

Three seconds later he was up on his feet again. Von Flanagan was bending over the little postman. The mutt was still barking.

A familiar, red, and angry face looked over the wall.

Dr. McSmith roared, “What’s all this—” He saw Jake, paused and said, “Why aren’t you home in bed?”, saw the postman, and vaulted over the wall.

The mutt growled at him.

“Shut up,” Dr. McSmith said to the mutt. He knelt down and examined the little postman. “No damage done. He’ll come to in a minute. A bit of plaster on his ear, and he’ll be able to go along on his route.”

Helene said breathlessly, “If the little dog hadn’t barked—”

“He’d have been dead,” Malone said.

“Dogs don’t like postmen, and postmen don’t like dogs,” Dr. McSmith said. “And personally, I don’t like either. Shall I patch him up?”

“Do that,” von Flanagan said. “Hang on to him. I want to talk to him later.” He glared at Malone. “Another minute, and we’d have seen who was on the other side of the wall. Now, the party has had time to get back in the house.”

“You have another murder weapon,” Helene said consolingly. “Or do I mean, another attempted murder weapon.”

Von Flanagan had wrapped the weapon carefully in a scarf and handed it to Kluchetsky. Now he turned his glare on Helene. “A big place like this must have a lot of hammers.”

“We’d better go inside the gates,” Malone said. “And we weren’t too late, von Flanagan. You’d better get ready to make an arrest.”

They trudged back to the iron gates, where Malone pushed the bell.

It took only a few minutes to assemble the members of the Fairfaxx household and the Lacy household in the warm and pleasant living room of the Fairfaxx house. Von Flanagan glared impartially at all of them, and said, “I want to know where every one of you was for the last half hour.”

Old Rodney Fairfaxx said, with mild surprise, “Why, I was in my library, cataloguing some new stamps—my collection has been rather neglected for the last few days—”

“I don’t know who cares,” Uncle Ernie said, “but I was taking a bath. Hospitals are wonderful institutions, but why they don’t have decent soap, I will never know.”

Kenneth had been in his room, writing a letter.

Bridie put in tearfully that she’d been making a pot of coffee for Mr. Ernie, and that Violet had been checking the laundry.

Violet nodded assent.

“We were—talking about something,” Elizabeth Fairfaxx said. She smiled at Bob Allen. “Bob dropped in to—talk about it with me.” The stars in her voice made a pleasant contrast to the atmosphere in the room.

Gay Lacy said she’d been in her room, reading a book.

Mrs. Abby Lacy said indignantly, “I consider this highly irregular procedure, and I am under no obligation to tell anyone where I have been, or what I have been doing. And I also consider this entire situation in the worst possible taste.”

Huntleigh said he had been polishing the silver.

“Not a usable alibi among the bunch of you,” von Flanagan growled.

Malone rose to his feet. He ached in every bone, and he suspected that about a quart of snow had packed itself around each of his ankles.

“I hate to ask you to go out in weather like this,” he said wearily, “but I think we can settle this much better outdoors.”

During the little flurry of getting coats, scarves and galoshes, von Flanagan hissed at him, “I certainly hope you know what you’re doing.”

Malone muttered, “So do I.”

The falling snow had obscured any footprints that might have been left in the little square of yard near the alley. The mutt romped cheerfully over the snow and barked insultingly at the wall, as though he suspected that Dr. McSmith might be on the other side of it.

“Some of you might as well go back in the house,” Malone said, “unless you want to hear. Mr. Allen, you weren’t here at the time the first three postmen were killed, so you might as well go away. Mrs, Lacy, Kenneth, Mr. Rodney Fairfaxx, Bridie—”

Elizabeth Fairfaxx broke in suddenly. “Mr. Malone, what are you getting at?”

The little lawyer sighed. “After the murder of the third postman, I examined the ground very carefully. Footprints would have meant nothing. But, the marks of a ladder, or an upturned box, or even an ordinary kitchen chair would have meant that the killer was not tall enough both to see and reach over the wall.”

Von Flanagan said excitedly. “Sure, Malone. That’s why I knew Mr. Rodney Fairfaxx couldn’t of done it even if he’d of tried, which I don’t think he would of.”

“Thanks,” Malone said. He brushed a snowflake off his nose. “Of the five remaining suspects, three were in one house, and two in the other. The big mistake we made was in assuming the killer was in the wrong house—”

He saw a sudden movement in the snow.

Gay Lacy cried out, “Mr. Malone!” and ran toward him.

There was another sudden movement, followed by the sharp crack of a pistol.

She fell almost at his feet, a crumpled heap. Her face looked up at him. Blood began to stain the snow.

“Mr. Malone—I knew—”

Von Flanagan was shouting, “Don’t let him get away!”

Malone closed his eyes for a moment. He hadn’t wanted it to happen this way. He was dimly aware of voices. It was just as he opened his eyes again that he heard one of them say:

“Don’t worry. I haven’t the slightest intention of trying to get away. And I trust Mr. Malone will defend me.”