Patrick had put the top down. We rolled along slowly in the fragrant velvety night. Seth Godwin had gone ahead of us. We were to watch for white gates, which stood open, in a white plank fence which followed the lay of the land and at that point dipped to a creek which half-encircled the house on Lilac Hill.
Seth was to put on the outdoor lights so that we could easily spot the house, a big one, Victorian, painted white, tall chimneys.
I had objected to taking any part in this thing. I said that Sarah Mallory would never allow outsiders like us to listen in on the police inquiry. Seth Godwin said we could try, and Patrick was silent as he poked along in order to give Seth time to arrange for our presence. I was sure that it wouldn’t work. I hoped it wouldn’t.
The scent of lilacs filled the air. There were the white gates. Just ahead was the bridge over the creek. There were the white fences that sloped down on each side of the creek.
Patrick turned in between the open gates and drove up the white crushed-rock drive. The hill on which the house stood was hardly more than a knoll. The creek had cut a steep ravine around one side of the five or six acres fenced as the “yard.” Porch lights defined the side entrance. Seth Godwin waved us down at a spot where an avenue of massive white lilacs joined the lane.
Seth motioned us toward the back yard and followed in his lanky stride. The lane passed through a lilac hedge and turned toward a row of garages. Behind these was a log cabin. Its lights were on. The cabin had a crude front porch which was almost entirely draped in wisteria.
“Pretty,” I said, to Seth Godwin, when we parked and got out.
“Uncle Victor’s hangout,” he said. “The family have assembled in the parlor. I didn’t get a chance to speak to the lieutenant, Rex King, of the highway police, or the deputy sheriff, who are in charge. King doesn’t like having been dragged in on the job. Neither does Sarah Mallory. She keeps insisting that we wait for the sheriff to return—he’s away somewhere. And the State’s Attorney’s gone fishing. I suppose Mrs. Mallory thinks it’s easier to manage the local police. The deputy isn’t too sure of himself. Lieutenant King’s a good man but comes from another part of this district. I guess the best thing for you two is to sit in the hall outside the parlor. If anybody sees you and objects, I’ll take it up with King.”
“I don’t like that,” I said.
Patrick said, “Sounds practical enough. What’s King going to do? Question them in a group and then singly?”
“Yes. But he hopes he won’t have to carry it further than tonight. King wants the sheriff back, too. The deputy can take the talk down in shorthand but that’s all he wants to do. We’ll go in by the side door. It opens into the dining room which is at the back end of the main hall. The parlor’s in front.”
He paused for a moment to tell us again that those in the parlor were Sarah Mallory, Denise Clarke, Bart Wayne, Jane Mallory, Uncle Victor, Amelia Mallory, the nurse Miss James, Mrs. Rollo, who was the cook and housekeeper, and the two maids. The name of the deputy was Earl Hollister. King would probably question the servants first, then the nurse.
We entered the dining room. It was large and handsome, papered in red with high dark wainscoting and furnished with massive mahogany pieces that looked older than the house. In the hall, before you came to the parlor door, were two charming Duncan Phyfe chairs. Seth went on into the parlor. I sat down on one of these chairs. Patrick stood behind me because the other chair was too close to the parlor door.
Never had I felt more uncomfortable. Listening in is a part of the detective business, I guess, but I certainly don’t like it. Inside the parlor occasional coughs sounded, and there were small rustlings as paper was leafed through, or squeaks when any of those present moved in his chair.
Lieutenant Rex King spoke in a firm restrained voice.
“First, I must tell you that you are not obliged to answer any of the questions I ask. But it will be to your advantage and ours if you will co-operate as much as you can. Mr. Hollister here will take notes on anything and everything said. I must warn you that anything you say will go on record and can be used against you if necessary. Dr. Godwin, will you give your report first.”
Seth spoke. His quiet easy voice sounded the way he looked. Easy, but sure of himself.
“I was called here shortly after five o’clock. I happened to be on my way and arrived within about ten minutes of the patient’s death. There was a faint odor of cyanide about the deceased’s mouth. He had the look of still being alive that one finds in the faces of people poisoned with cyanide. It acts so fast that the victim looks asleep, not dead.”
“Had you any suspicion that the patient might meet with such a death?”
“Never. I couldn’t understand why it happened. I requested an autopsy. It was performed in the hospital morgue by the pathologist there and our county coroner. The report confirmed my diagnosis. You have it there, Lieutenant.”
“Yes.” King rustled a paper. He hesitated a moment and when he spoke he sounded somewhat embarrassed. We had no view of the proceedings, and had to draw our conclusions from the sounds of voices and what was said.
“Had you any suspicion of suicide, Doctor?”
“How would the patient have gotten the poison?”
A blunt voice signified Sarah Mallory.
“Nonsense!” she erupted. “My son would not kill himself.”
Seth Godwin said, “The patient had been bedridden for several weeks. I doubt if he would have secreted the poison all that time.”
“But you don’t rule out the possibility of suicide, Doctor?”
“No.”
“Well, I do!” Sarah Mallory stormed. “He was murdered. And only one person could have done it.”
No reply.
“Go ahead with the maids, Officer,” she ordered then. “They know nothing and should be about their work.”
King obeyed, for the sake of peace, probably. He took the names of the maids, asked a few questions which they answered in meek voices, and let them go with the request that they stay in the house until they had police permission to leave. They passed us in the hall without any sign of curiosity. Glad to be out of it, probably.
“Mrs. Ada Rollo.”
“Here, sir.” That voice was firm and cool.
“Just what is your job here, Mrs. Rollo?”
“I’m housekeeper. Since the war I’ve also been cook because it has been hard to get colored houseworkers any more.”
“You’ve been here long?”
“Forty years.”
“That’s quite a record, Mrs. Rollo. You must know this house and the family very well.”
There was no answer. King tried another approach.
“Who prepared the food for the late Richard Mallory?”
“I did, sir.”
“All of it?”
“Every smidge. That nurse yonder used to fool around with the tray and interfere in any way she could, but I never let her do any cooking. She had to take what I fixed. I guess I knew Mr. Dick’s tastes better than she did. She was always snooping around my kitchen and stuffing herself, but I never let her take a hand with the cooking.”
“Well, I never!” Miss James’s callow voice announced her.
“Mrs. Rollo, what went up to Mr. Mallory on the supper tray this evening?”
“Scrambled eggs with button mushrooms. Buttered toast. A fruit salad, a glass of milk, and for dessert burnt almond sponge.”
“Burnt almond sponge?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“How is it made, Mrs. Rollo?”
“Made?”
“I mean, do you remember the recipe?”
“I ought to, sir. It’s a favorite dessert in this house and I make it pretty often.”
“Suppose you tell us what’s in it?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll tell you what goes in it but I’m not giving away my recipe. Gelatine. Cold water to dissolve it. Caramelized sugar. Almonds, which have to be slivered, and some hot water, almond flavoring, whipped heavy cream. The real trick as with everything is how it’s put together and chilled. That’s a secret, sir.”
“You made it entirely by yourself?”
Mrs. Rollo snorted. “Why not? What’s so hard about making burnt almond sponge? Except to get it just right.”
“What tommyrot!” Mrs. Sarah Mallory snapped out. “Why not get on with the important facts, Officer, or whatever they call you?”
Rex King apparently ignored her.
“You put this almond sponge in the icebox?”
“Burnt almond sponge, sir. Yes, I did. You have to.”
“How long was it in the icebox?”
“Several hours. I made it right after dinner, which we have at noon here, sir.”
“Did anybody go to the icebox during the afternoon?”
“Anybody that wanted to, I guess. Specially that nurse. She was always dipping into this or that to satisfy her oversized appetite.”
“Do I have to put up with this?” the nurse muttered.
Rex King said, “Did the nurse eat any of your almond sponge?”
“Listen, if she ever took any of anything before I myself served it for the family she got a piece of my tongue, sir. I don’t stand for anybody not in the family piecing out of my cooking before any has been served.”
“Be specific, please, Mrs. Rollo. Did anybody take any of this particular dessert before you sent it upstairs? Anybody in the family?”
“No. The burnt almond sponge wasn’t touched till I dished up some for Mr. Dick’s tray.”
“Lieutenant King, please,” Seth Godwin put in.
“Yes, Dr. Godwin?”
“The patient died before he had eaten anything from his supper tray. If you remember, when you went over the bedroom just now the tray was still covered and its contents were intact.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Mrs. Rollo, was the tray taken directly from the kitchen to the patient’s room?”
“No, it wasn’t. That tray took its own time getting upstairs. The nurse stopped in the dining room to help herself to some of the hors d’oeuvres I’d put on the sideboard for the family to have with their bourbon highballs. I heard her talking to Miss Denise. I thought myself that Mr. Dick would be getting his eggs cold, as usual, even though the plate was hot and the eggs covered with a hot silver cover, sir.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Rollo. We’ll have a little talk later. Don’t go away.”
“Go away? Where would I go, sir?”
King thanked her politely again and as she was leaving the room Miss James said indignantly, “I’ve got plenty to say, too. That old hag thinks she owns this house. Sure, I set the tray down for a split second in the dining room. So what?”
“Tut! Tut!” Sarah Mallory barked. “Don’t hold up this affair, Miss James.”
Ada Rollo came into the hall. She was tall and amazingly thin. Her face was dark and grim. Eyes, skin, hair, all were dark, and the darkness was pronounced by the contrast with her white cap, a sort of modified chef’s cap. She wore a black uniform and a big white apron. Her eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses sharpened on seeing us but she merely nodded stiffly and walked on toward what must be the kitchen wing.
“Miss Mildred James, please,” Rex King said.
“I’m her,” Miss James said in that flat voice. “I’m glad to have my chance to say my say, too. That woman has treated me something awful ever since I’ve been in this house, and her nothing but a cook.”
“That will do, Miss James!” Sarah Mallory said.
“I ought to have some say myself, Mrs. Mallory.”
“Certainly. But no one can get the last word with Mrs. Rollo. You should know that by now.”
Rex King said, “Never mind that sort of thing now, Miss James. You were Mr. Mallory’s nurse?”
“Yes. I was one of them. I was the only one who lived in and for that reason the others tried to put everything they could on me. I did half of their work. I didn’t mind, of course. I love nursing, Officer.”
“When exactly did you go on duty today?”
“At three P.M. Right on time. The night nurse was supposed to show at eleven P.M., but like as not she would be late. She usually was, and she never made it up, either.”
“Please confine your answers to my questions, Miss James. You went on duty at three, then. How was the patient at that time?”
“He was a lot better. He was sleeping. But I had the job of changing the bed because the lazy day nurse hadn’t …”
“Very well. You’re sure the patient was better?”
“Why, yes. He looked better.”
“How did you make sure?”
“The usual. Took his temperature, which was normal.”
“He was awake then?”
“Sure. He woke up right after the day nurse left. I guess he knew it. He liked me to take care of him as much as possible. I counted his pulse and took his temperature and changed the linen. There was oceans of linen but you’d be surprised how many nurses try to get out of changing the bed. Not that I ever mind.”
“Did you leave his room between three o’clock and the time you went down for his supper?”
“Why, no.”
“Goodness, no. We kept everything for his bed in a chest in his room. That is, unless somebody was too lazy to …”
“I see. Did you give him any medicine at this time?”
“No. He fell asleep again and Dr. Godwin always said when a patient was sleeping to leave him be.”
“Did anybody come in his room?”
“No. That is, nobody but Jane Mallory.”
“I see. At what time did Mrs. Jane Mallory come in?”
“At half past five exactly. Good nurses always watch the time. Exactly.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes, sir.”
A nice deep voice said, “I beg your pardon.”
King said, “Just one moment, Mr. Wayne. Miss James, I understand from the doctor’s report which I had before this meeting that you always left a certain medicine on the bedside table so that the patient could take it himself if he needed it.”
“Yes, sir. It was a harmless pill. For the nerves.”
“You put the capsule out as usual?”
“Yes, sir. I never forget anything that the doctor says, Officer;”
“You took this capsule from a bottle of the identical capsules?”
“Why, sure. Doctor always said …”
“You’re very sure?”
“Of course I am. My goodness. Why?”
“The patient died of cyanide poisoning, Miss James. Was there any possibility of the cyanide being given in a capsule so like the other capsules that you yourself would not have recognized the difference?”
“Listen here, Officer!” Miss James sounded angry. “She was alone with him, wasn’t she? She wanted to get rid of him, didn’t she?”
“Please, Lieutenant King,” Bart Wayne said. “I went into Dick Mallory’s room with Jane Mallory.”
“You did?” chirped Miss James. “Why I never even saw you there, Mr. Wayne. I think you’re mistaken. I can’t believe it.”
“Miss James’s back was turned,” Bart Wayne continued. “I think she may not have noticed me. She was writing …”
“I was bringing my chart up to date. I never write letters when on duty like some nurses do. I devote all my time to the patient.”
Bart Wayne said in that same steady voice, “I was there only a few seconds, Lieutenant. I wanted to make sure that Dick was asleep or at least in his right mind before leaving Jane there.”
“Why, Mr. Wayne?”
“Well, sometimes he got a little rough …”
“I’m ashamed of you being in the family, Barton Wayne!” Sarah Mallory croaked.
“I’m sorry, Cousin Sarah. You know yourself that Dick …”
“There is such a thing as family loyalty. I beg you to keep that in mind, Barton.”
Rex King cleared his throat. “You found Dick Mallory asleep, Mr. Wayne?”
“He seemed to be, Lieutenant.”
Miss James announced, “He was asleep. You’ll find it in my chart. Then that woman …”
“What woman, please?” King asked mildly.
“Jane Mallory. She woke him …”
“You were still in the room when she woke him?”
“No, I was not. And I never even saw Mr. Wayne in the room. When I do a thing I’m entirely thorough and that was when I was entering things in my chart. My mind was entirely on my chart. I ought to have stayed in the room because I was downright suspicious of that woman, for good reason, but Doctor had said she was to be left alone with him and I always do what Doctor says. So I left the room and she killed him.”
There was a flutter of small human sounds.
“You’re positive of that, Miss James?” King asked.
“Nobody else could have done it. Nobody. He hated her. He told me so. There was her lipstick on his face and mind you, not an hour later, she was kissing Mr. Wayne. I saw them. It’s disgusting and awful, but I don’t blame Mr. Wayne, sir.”
Somebody giggled. A high-pitched giggle. Denise Clarke.
“Thank you, Miss James. You may go now,” Rex King said.
“But I’ve got a lot more to say. Mr. Mallory told me absolutely everything. Jane Mallory went outdoors and I saw her destroying more of the same stuff. I saw her with my own eyes. You should have seen her face when she knew that I’d seen her.”
“We can have a talk later, Miss James.”
“Why don’t you let her talk now?” Sarah Mallory demanded.
“You may go now, Miss James. Thank you.”
Rex King’s tone was much quieter but no less strong than Sarah Mallory’s.
The nurse bounced out of the room. She was angry. She was a sallow horse-faced woman somewhere around forty with colorless hair and pale eyes behind glasses with blue plastic frames. Her body was flat and angular and slight and her feet in their white canvas shoes looked big and ugly as she mounted the stairs. She didn’t notice us in her anger. She wore no lipstick.