“You’d better go to bed, Pat,” Miss Devon said.
Pat was still in the corner of the couch. Johnny had risen.
“I … I can’t sleep, Aunt Celia. It’s almost morning. We’ll get some breakfast soon. I want to talk.”
“Even if you can’t sleep you should rest. In a few hours this mess will really begin.”
“It’s better to talk to Johnny, Aunt Celia, than just to stew by myself.”
“I think,” Miss Devon said, “we would be wiser not to stew at all. That’s Mr. Bradley’s job.”
“Aunt Celia! Surely you don’t believe …”
“I don’t believe that Mr. Bradley is any sort of a fool, Pat. However, you must form your own opinions.” She turned and walked down the passage to her room. Johnny settled himself beside Pat. They heard Miss Devon’s door close and then a faint click.
Pat looked at Johnny, her eyes widening. “Johnny,” she whispered, “Aunt Celia locked her door!”
“So what?”
“Johnny, she’s never done that in her life! Ever since we were kids she’s left her door unlocked — sometimes open — so we could go to her or she’d hear us if we called.”
“Maybe she thinks I might go barging into the wrong room,” grinned Johnny. “Don’t be jumpy, darling.”
Pat held onto his hand. “She’s afraid, Johnny. She agrees with Bradley. Oh, Johnny, it’s wrong. It has to be wrong! If I believed it … well, I wouldn’t want to go on living.”
“Hey, you can’t start figuring without me, angel. I’ve got a stake in your future, you know.”
“If we could only prove he was wrong,” Pat said.
Johnny shook his head. “Inside me, Pat, I’m like you. It’s ridiculous. No one had any reason to ... to kill Gloria. But … His voice dropped, doubtfully.
“But what?”
“Well, damn it, Pat, somebody did kill Gloria. He did keep her body concealed until tonight. He did think up a very clever way to get rid of it. He must have pulled some hocus-pocus with that letter. Why should Gloria leave a flock of blank paper with Linda? No one would open the letter if nothing happened to her!”
“And if someone did switch letters?”
“Well, then you come down to three facts you just can’t get around, Pat. The murderer has been at the Garden, at Linda’s office, and here. And that last one is the knockout punch, sweet. Almost anyone might fit the first two situations, but there’re damn few of us who could have gotten into Gloria’s room long enough to make that dummy letter.”
“But why, Johnny … why?”
Johnny shifted uncomfortably. “You didn’t see Guy tonight, or hear what he said.”
“Guy was drunk,” Pat said. “He wasn’t going to be ordered to bed. As soon as you left him, he went out again. Getting away from the man who was following him was probably luck. I’ll bet he’s at some bar now, really doing a job on himself.”
“I wasn’t thinking about his skipping.”
“What, then?”
“Pat, it’ll come out, so you might as well know. Linda and Bradley were there too. First, Guy knew about that letter, and he thought he knew what was in it. As soon as I told him Gloria was dead, he had to get to Linda. He must have been certain the first thing she’d do would be to turn it over to the police. He wanted to stop that.”
“But why shouldn’t he know what was in it?” Pat objected. “He and Gloria were engaged! Wouldn’t she tell him?”
“And wouldn’t he go pound the ears off whoever it was she was afraid of? Anyhow, baby, you haven’t heard it all. Guy said a lot. A hell of a lot! He told Bradley that when I brought him the news he was relieved. He said he didn’t love Gloria and that Gloria didn’t love him. He said she was marrying him because she liked yachts!”
“Johnny!”
“He said she had a nasty mind … that she was a bitch! He said their situation had got complicated and that it was easier to go through with it and figure out some kind of a life afterward!”
“Oh, Johnny, he couldn’t have!”
“He did. You see now why Bradley had him watched.”
“He was drunk!” Pat insisted, with a kind of desperation. “You and I know Guy. He wouldn’t kill anyone, Johnny. He’s one of the kindest, most generous … Look what he’s done for George and for me, for all of us. You mustn’t even think that he could have …”
“Baby, I can’t help thinking,” Johnny said. “It’s just the way I said. Inside everything revolts against the idea of its being Guy or any of us. But the facts … those damned facts!”
Pat leaned forward, her nose wrinkled in concentration. “Johnny, if we could prove that it was possible for an outsider to get at Gloria’s stationery, wouldn’t that punch Mr. Bradley’s case full of holes?”
“It wouldn’t do it any good.”
“Listen. Last weekend Guy took Gloria down to Delaware to some sort of a shooting lodge. Duck hunting.”
“Good God! Gloria in a duck blind!”
“Exactly!” said Pat.
“Come again, sweet.”
“Gloria wouldn’t get herself cold and messy for any ducks. But she went on that weekend all the same. Now what would she do while the others were out? She’d sleep late, maybe have breakfast in bed, and dawdle around till teatime. She might listen to the radio … or read … or write letters!”
“Sounds reasonable. But …”
“Johnny, Gloria never wrote letters on anything but her own private letter paper, fastened with those three purple seals. If she knew she was going to have time on her hands, wouldn’t she have taken her stationery with her?”
“Pat! By all that’s holy! Did she?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we can find someone to whom she wrote from there. But, Johnny, can Mr. Bradley prove she didn’t? And if he can’t, wouldn’t that show that other people could have stolen some paper? There were forty or fifty people at that lodge.”
“Of course they could,” Johnny said. “And of those forty or fifty people, friends of Guy’s, there must be several who were at the last night of the Horse Show.”
“And several who were customers of Linda’s.”
“Baby, you’re a magician. The letter paper is what nailed Bradley’s case down! If she had some at that lodge … boy!”
“We can find out from Guy in the morning who was there. Then we can eliminate those who weren’t at the Garden and who couldn’t have been at Linda’s. When Mr. Bradley sees our list …”
“Mr. Bradley is going to be in a hell of a jam.”
“You do believe it may be the answer, don’t you, Johnny? You do believe that it may be the thing Mr. Bradley missed. That he … Johnny!”
Her words had been ended by the sound of a smash on the floor behind them—glass or china. Johnny was on his feet, his fists clenched.
“What the hell!”
Douglas Prayne stood just inside the living-room doorway in the shadows. He was gazing down at a shattered vase.
“Father!”
“I’m sorry I startled you, Patricia,” he said. “I … I bumped into that table. I …”
“But, Father, you’re still dressed I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“Didn’t feel like sleep,” muttered Prayne. “I … my stomach. I thought perhaps some ginger ale …”
Johnny’s fists relaxed. But the kitchen was the other way down the hall.
“Guess I’ll forage in the icebox.” Prayne’s smile was wan. His footsteps were clearly audible now. Johnny and Pat listened, staring at each other. They heard the icebox door open and shut. Then Pat was suddenly clinging to Johnny.
“Don’t go away, Johnny!” she pleaded. “I’m scared. Don’t leave me!”