Fingers like talons dug into my right arm. I fought them off. I was terrified. And I felt awful. I’d skinned my knees, which meant my stockings were in shreds. My hat, that Derby Day pride and joy, was over my face. Squashed. Ruined. My head throbbed. Worst of all was the increasing pain from those saber fingers.
“Don’t!” I cried.
Another hand, hard as leather, tough, smelling like soap, ripped my hat off and clapped itself over my mouth.
“Be quiet!” The voice could have been male or female. “Stand up!” it ordered.
I mumbled something, got to my feet, and one hand swung back and felt the stuff of a cotton dress. It was a woman. A tall powerful woman. Sarah Mallory? No, the hand was that of a woman who did manual labor. I ducked, tore loose, and faced her. Darker than any darkness, she dived for me, caught my left wrist, and hissed, like a snake.
“Don’t talk. You’ll frighten her. Stay where you are until she goes back to the house.”
“Who?”
Her reply took away any fear but I still had my ruined stockings and that hat.
“Miss Amelia, ma’am.”
“You’re Mrs. Rollo?”
“Shush. She’s coming now.”
Defined by the lights of the cabin Amelia appeared, walked in front of the wisteria-draped porch, and drifted along the flagstone walk toward the house. She carried nothing. She passed close by without seeing us and vanished through the hedge. After an interval a screen door closed and another door made a soft slapping sound, farther away.
“Thank God!” breathed Mrs. Rollo.
“Let me go!” I said angrily. All this pushing and hatruining for no reason at all!
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry I had to grab you like that. But I didn’t want Miss Amelia scared. She might run away in the night and be hurt.”
“You pushed me!”
“Ma’am?” she asked as if surprised.
“You pushed me. You made me fall. I’m black and blue all over. I’ll have bruises on my arm where you clutched it. You’ve ruined my hat.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Excuse me, but I didn’t push you. You must have tripped yourself up in the dark and fell.”
“I was pushed!”
“There was nobody around to push you, ma’am.”
“Don’t argue with me! I was pushed! And I don’t like it. You could have stopped me without knocking me down and ruining the clothes I bought specially for the Derby.”
Mrs. Rollo spoke as if I had said nothing.
“I was on the kitchen porch. I was about to follow Miss Amelia when I saw her going to Mr. Victor’s cabin. She often does but I knew he wasn’t there. She thought he was there, no doubt. Goodness knows at this time of night he ought to be. An old man going on eighty. I heard you go slipping down the outside stairs.”
“I didn’t slip down. I walked.”
I might as well have stayed silent.
“Seeing it was you, a stranger, I followed, ma’am, meaning to warn you not to frighten poor Miss Amelia. She wouldn’t harm a fly, ma’am, unless she gets in one of her tempers, which hardly ever happens any more. She is a sweet thing even though not quite right in her head sometimes.”
“Is there anybody in that house who’s right in the head?”
Mrs. Rollo’s reply was brusque.
“Certainly. There’s Miss Sarah and Mr. Victor and Mr. Bart, who is a cousin. There’s Miss Jane.”
“So you approve of Jane Mallory?”
“Yes, indeed, ma’am. She’s a lovely young lady. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t get on with Mr. Dick. He was enough to torment an angel, which she is, to my mind. Miss Jane did her best. She tried. But he would strike and bite her. I ought not to talk like this but I was listening when the nurse said those horrid things about Miss Jane. Once Mr. Dick threw her downstairs and it was only God’s mercy that she wasn’t crippled or even killed. Excuse me. I must go to Miss Amelia. She has the family temper so I wouldn’t advise you to surprise her, ma’am. Not that she’s mad often. You’d best go through the kitchen, I reckon. I’ll go upstairs by the outside stairs.”
“I’ll go that way, too. I was sent by Lieutenant King to bring Amelia to the parlor.”
“No!”
“Yes, Mrs. Rollo. It’s orders.”
“It’s a shame,” Mrs. Rollo said. “She knows nothing. She will be frightened without her mother or myself in the room. Besides, she won’t go.”
I remembered the hinted-at stories about Amelia.
“Is it true that Mrs. Mallory broke up a love affair of her daughter’s, Mrs. Rollo?”
“That’s not for me to say, ma’am.”
“No. But people say it, just the same, and though I have not seen Mrs. Sarah Mallory I’ve heard her talking and I wouldn’t put it past her to do just that. She most certainly did nothing to keep Jane Mallory with Dick.”
“Miss Sarah meant web, ma’am. But she’s a hard woman. Sometimes you have to think to understand her.”
The light now on on the kitchen porch shone on us and I took a downward look at my ruined stockings.
“I’ll give you a pair of Miss Amelia’s. And you can wash upstairs, ma’am.”
As we walked along the upstairs hall Patrick came up the front stairs four at a time.
“Where the hell have you been, Jeanie?”
“I went outside to find Amelia. I got pushed. Mrs. Rollo declares I just stumbled, but I was pushed. Just look at me. This is my husband, Mrs. Rollo.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Rollo. If my wife says she was pushed, she was pushed.”
I gave Pat a fond glance for backing me up, since it doesn’t always happen. He didn’t get it because he was eyeing Mrs. Rollo.
She eyed him back.
She said, “I should have seen it happen, sir.”
“Where were you?”
“On the walk. Not far behind your wife, sir. She stumbled, sir.”
“Was she far enough ahead that the hedge was at least partly between you?”
“Yes, sir. But I would have seen anyone push her.”
“In the dark?”
“And me standing perfectly still?” I asked.
“There was light enough, sir.”
The dark woman had the last word. “I’ll fetch the stockings, ma’am. They may be a little long but perhaps you can manage by folding them down at the top.”
She went into Amelia’s room, leaving the door partly open. We could see Amelia’s blue bows and the flounce. I could not see the bed from where I stood.
“What happened, dear?” Patrick asked.
“Amelia wasn’t in her room. The back door was open. I felt the draught. There’s a big screened porch on this floor and outside stairs. I went out on the porch. In a moment I saw her come from Uncle Victor’s cabin. She was carrying something. She headed around the cabin toward the creek. I’ll bet she’s not as dim as they let on. Mrs. Rollo has her taped, but she hovers over her, watches her. Amelia also has a bad temper, according to Mrs. R. My hat is ruined.”
I turned it in my hands. It was lopsided. It irritated Pat that I’d be concerned about it, at this time.
“Okay. Okay. That hat never was much. What then?”
“I waited beyond the hedge and I was pushed. Either by Mrs. Rollo or somebody else. My money is on Mrs. R. Then she grabbed me and clapped her hand over my mouth. I’m black and blue. I’ve got to get to a bath or at least wash up.”
Mrs. Rollo appeared with stockings.
“The second door on the left is a bath, ma’am.”
I left the bathroom door open so as not to miss anything. It was a rather old-fashioned affair. Big, with the tub encased in mahogany. I wondered if this was the bath in which Jane Mallory had washed up after her encounter with Dick Mallory. Had she bathed her hands here, and put on her gloves to hide her scratches? I remember Seth mentioning a struggle. The bathroom was in perfect shape. No signs of having been used recently. I looked at my watch. It was still early. Only a little past nine.
Outside Patrick said, “Lieutenant King instructed me to find Amelia Mallory and bring her back to the parlor, Mrs. Rollo.”
“She is sleeping, sir.”
“Fast work. Get her up.”
“Please excuse her. She is not well. She can’t stand excitement, sir.”
“Well, if she is able to leave the house and go to the cabin and take something away, perhaps destroy important evidence, she ought to be able to come downstairs. Fetch her.”
“But, sir …”
“You heard me. Get her out here.”
Mrs. Rollo spoke meekly. “Yes, sir. But will you mind if I wait outside the parlor door, in case she needs me?”
“I don’t see why there would be any objection, Mrs. Rollo. Unless you deliberately interrupt the proceedings. I warn you that Lieutenant King is at the end of his patience. And with good reason.”
My new hat was intact. My knees were not badly damaged, after all, and Amelia’s legs, though long, must be slim, because the stockings weren’t bad when folded down at the top and up at the toes. I put on lipstick, felt renovated, as a woman always does when her make-up is repaired, and came out in the hall just as Amelia, dressed as before, came from her room. She must be a fast dresser.
Mrs. Rollo held her arm all the way down the stairs. I followed. Patrick followed me, and Bart Wayne, on spying Amelia, came to the parlor door and took her over from Mrs. Rollo. He handed her as gently as if she were made of fine crystal to a place on one of the sofas. Uncle Victor assumed charge. After rising and bowing and sitting down beside her he held one of Amelia’s hands.
Why? The woman was practically a giant, with her height. Why all the care and concern? Besides, she at once freed her hand and took out the baby jacket and started knitting.
Jane Mallory sat alone in a wing chair. She was apart from the others in every sense. She was calm, unworried apparently, and she listened intently as King continued.
“Mr. Barton Wayne?”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
“How did you happen to enter the deceased’s room with Mrs. Jane Mallory?”
“I had met her at the airport. She seemed upset, so when we got to the house I went upstairs with her and entered the bedroom in advance of her because Dick Mallory was … unpredictable.”
“In what way?”
Bart didn’t quibble.
“He’s always been cruel. I might say sadistic.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go as far as that, dear boy,” Uncle Victor chimed in and his voice was honey and molasses.
“Well, I’m afraid I would, Uncle Victor.”
“What did you think he might do?” King asked.
“What he did do often, Lieutenant,” Bart Wayne said. “In this case he scratched her wrists and sank his teeth into one hand. The doctor had to dress her hand, you know.”
“Is that true, Mrs. Mallory?”
“Yes,” Jane said. “But the damage was superficial. I don’t know why it has to be brought up again.”
“You struggled?”
“Yes. But, please …”
“Jane, dear, tell the truth. Think of yourself for once. You can’t help Dick now by denying that he mistreated you,” Bart said.
“I’m not denying it. I simply don’t want it discussed, Bart.”
“It’s definitely in bad taste,” Uncle Victor said to Bart. “I mean, after all, the poor boy is dead.”
Amelia knitted. She didn’t seem even to listen. Her eyes remained on her work, though, dollars to doughnuts, if she knitted as much as they said, she could do it blindfolded, and therefore look at each speaker in turn, as normal people would do.
“What happened when you left the bedroom, Mr. Wayne?”
“I came directly downstairs and stood waiting with Mrs. Mallory and Miss Clarke.”
“You stood?”
“There are only two chairs in the hall, Lieutenant. I didn’t expect Mrs. Jane Mallory to stay upstairs long, with Dick asleep.”
“You’re certain that he was asleep?”
“No. But if he was feigning sleep he was doing an excellent job.”
“He didn’t speak to you?”
“He didn’t even open an eye. He just slept. Snoring a little, but not loud enough to be heard across the room. His breathing was steady and … well, he definitely seemed to be asleep.”
“Did you know about any hard feeling between Mallory and his wife?”
“Only by hearsay.”
“Did you know she wanted a divorce?”
“Again, hearsay.” Suddenly Wayne kindled. “And why not? No woman with any spirit or character could have lived in the same house as Cousin Sarah Mallory, if I do say so. Not even if Dick had been pure angel, which he most certainly was anything but. I hope Dr. Godwin will agree.”
“I definitely do,” Seth Godwin said.
I saw signs of rage in Amelia Mallory. With her knitting poised in front of her and her eyes blazing, she said angrily, “You’re talking about my mother and my brother. You should be ashamed.”
“There, there, dear.” Uncle Victor patted her arm.
“But Bart is kin. He shouldn’t.”
“Forgive me, Amelia,” Bart said. “Lieutenant, if we can talk again, in private …”
“Private!” Amelia snapped out. “You mean, when I’m not there, don’t you? Well, I can talk, too. I know things. I can talk in private too.”
“Take it easy, Amelia,” Seth Godwin said. “That’s a beautiful thing you’re making now, dear.”
“Thank you, Seth,” Amelia said sunnily, and went on knitting, placid as could be.
King, after giving her a puzzled glance, looked down at a list and said, “Mr. Victor Mallory.”
“At your service, sir.”
“I understand you are a member of the family? I mean, living in this house?”
Uncle Victor’s strange eyes denied the second question.
“Not quite, really. I occupy a cabin somewhat back of the house. A charming cabin once occupied by colored servants.”
“Why don’t you live in the house?”
“That’s a private matter, Lieutenant.”
“There’s nothing private during a police inquiry. Anything might throw some light, you know. Why do you live in a cabin?”
“But it throws no light whatever, as you say. I live in a cabin because of my collection, Lieutenant.”
“Oh, yes. Those spiders.”
“They’re fascinating, Lieutenant. The place is fairy-land. I never disturb their webs, you know. They are charming in the windows, for instance. Naturally, my dear sister-in-law and also Mrs. Rollo do not want them in the house. They do not feel as I do. So I’ve established them in my cabin.”
“You mean, you actually live with them?”
“To some extent. The mounted ones are …”
King was relieved.
“Oh, you mean they’re dead.”
“Spiders are mortal. Like all living creatures they die. Those I mount. Sometimes, since my ambition is to have one of every species, to give sometime to a museum—well, sometimes I kill one painlessly and mount it. The others go about freely.”
“Even when they’re poisonous?”
“My dear Lieutenant, there is only one really poisonous spider in this part of the country. The well-known black widow. I should say the maligned black widow, because she won’t bite you unless you accidentally frighten her. She is very prolific and though I hate to destroy her offspring I do, since her poison is so dangerous to man. I keep a certain number for observation, which means keeping some of the handsome little creatures and their drab husbands.”
King didn’t repress a shudder.
“I understand that they eat the husbands.”
Uncle Victor smiled. “I must say, since he’s such a mild plain little fellow, by comparison to his wife, that one doesn’t much care. Maybe she has to eat him. Maybe that’s one of the requisites of Nature herself. Maybe he enjoys being eaten. Who knows? I fancy now and then that I detect an ecstasy in a male when being devoured. If I may say so at this point, I’d like very much for you to stop in and take a look at an extremely fine specimen of the genus pachylomerus audouini …”
“What’s that?”
“A trapdoor spider. Very uncommon in these parts. I was fabulously lucky to find one. Not only her but her tunnel.”
“Her what?”
“Her home. She makes a deep tunnel in the earth, weaves a hinged lid, and when a fly, say, walks near, she knows it from the vibrations above her, lifts the lid and springs. It happens faster than the eye can record. And the golden, very beautiful, garden spider …”
King snatched himself out of a mesmerized attention.
“I suppose, if you wanted to do murder, Mr. Mallory, you would simply park a flock of black widows in somebody’s bed.”
Uncle Victor raised his doll-like hands.
“Oh, no. No indeed.”
“Why not?”
“It would be much too uncertain. Most of them would run for their own lives. Some would be killed.”
King grinned sardonically.
“I see. I daresay you have cyanide in your … what do you call it, laboratory?”
“Yes. A little. I call it my spider room.”
“Oh. You don’t have spiders in all your rooms? How many have you?”
“Only two. I don’t keep spiders in my bedroom because, frankly, I’ve all my life been accustomed to service and the maids refuse to do my bedroom if any of my little friends are there.”
“Very sensible,” King said. Uncle Victor seemed to miss the sarcasm. “To get back to our inquiry, which is not an investigation of the life and good times of spiders, where were you when Dick Mallory was murdered?”
Uncle Victor sighed.
“I still can’t think of it as murder. I …”
“It was murder. Please answer the questions, Mr. Mallory.”
The little hands went up and came down.
“I think I was in my spider room, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t you know?”
“I do know, of course. I was there from four o’clock on, until I heard about what had happened to my dear nephew.”
“Who got the word to you?”
“My niece, Amelia. She’s quite out of the world. I mean it literally. It’s most extraordinary. She must have extra-sensory perception. She knew about it almost before any one else, Lieutenant.”
Amelia went on knitting.
King looked from one to the other. His face had a completely puzzled expression and he pulled himself out of his thoughts bodily as he asked, “Did you live here when Mrs. Jane Mallory was living in this house?”
Uncle Victor smiled a warm smile at Jane. His tiny knot of chin whiskers quivered.
“I did indeed. And what a charming and delightful addition she was to our family, Lieutenant.”