Seth was on one knee beside the nurse. Her color for the first time had a rosy tinge. She had that look of being naturally asleep which comes from cyanide poisoning. Her body was still warm from the last swift unnatural surge of red blood. We stood in a shocked speechless group near the door from the breakfast room. Jane Mallory. Uncle Victor. Bart Wayne. Mrs. Rollo. Patrick. Me.
King strode in and pushed us aside as Seth Godwin stood up. His face was stiff with horror.
The lieutenant stopped short, looked at the dead woman and the dish of almond sponge on the table.
“Me and my big mouth!” he grunted. He whirled on us. “Who did this?”
Silence was tremendous. Nobody took a breath even.
King spoke respectfully to Seth Godwin.
“Is she gone, Doc?”
“Yes.”
King stooped to examine her himself. He straightened up and said, in the quiet professional voice he had used in the beginning of the inquiry, “Leave the room, all of you. Stay together in the sitting room. Stay out of that parlor.” His face was solemn but gentle. His sneering period was over.
We filed out, all but Patrick and Bart Wayne, and in a moment they stopped by the living room door.
“King has given us permission to put the parlor in order,” Patrick said. “Jean, will you step outside and find Deputy Hollister, please? Lieutenant King needs him in the kitchen.”
I didn’t much care to step outside alone. Yet I knew that I was in no real danger. I left the house by the dining room exit. I stood for a moment on the porch and then walked under the arching white lilacs. The night was rich with their scent and heavy with the stillness of midnight. I couldn’t hear or see anything of Deputy Hollister. I walked out onto the drive of crushed white stone. The stars wheeled above, brilliant in the night, and out of the silence the whippoorwill again sounded his strange lonely refrain. Whippoorwill. Whippoorwill. Whippoorwill.
I shivered and walked a little way along the drive, hating to speak aloud and have my voice shatter the stillness, which was exaggerated when the bird called high in the darkness.
The house stood there, with its lights on, not outside now but inside, only showing here and there because of the heavily curtained windows. The long rectangle of light in the north bay of the parlor vanished as the fallen curtain was replaced. I could picture Bart Wayne and Patrick moving about, putting the room back into its precise order. Bart always brought a semblance of order whenever he turned up in this fretted household. It was a strange place. Jane Mallory was orderly, too. Yet pliant. The mess in the parlor, the fighting men, had stirred her sense of humor. Patrick had felt the same way. The lieutenant had asked for that fight. In Seth’s place Patrick would have landed on him because he was a man who had grossly insulted him, never bothering to think that he was a law enforcement officer on a job. I felt a new admiration for Seth. But Seth would get it now. King had regained his self-control but he wouldn’t let Seth go free now, regardless.
The nurse? What was it she knew that she wanted to tell King? Why her sudden uncertainty, her talk of ethics? So the capsule was the last in the bottle. Did that mean anything in particular? I walked a little further. I looked around walking. No Deputy Hollister was in sight. I stood still. I wasn’t by any means walking as far as the gates, or into the back part of the grounds, either. Somebody might be lurking beside that hedge. Next time it would be more than a push.
Whippoorwill. Whippoorwill. Whippoorwill. Far away. Lonely.
The creek hummed a tune. I was standing near the point where it curved closest to the lawn. I could see the front of the house.
The front door opened and Denise Clarke came out. She closed it silently. She disappeared down the slope toward the creek.
Denise Clarke. That blue strand of wool. It was the same shade of blue as her suit. It had the texture. Denise had been behind the hedge. She had pushed me! Was she after me now?
Denise. Why should she be in this thing? What had she to gain? Where did Denise, the eternally young, the forever silly, fit into the picture?
That blue wool. What had happened to that one scanty clue?
I turned and ran back to the house. As I entered the side door and reached the dining room end of the hall Denise came in by the front door. Deputy Hollister had her firmly by one arm and had propelled her inside and was pushing her along the hall.
“Mr. Hollister,” I cried. “I was looking for you. The lieutenant wants you in the kitchen.”
“Okay, Miss. Come along, you!” Hollister said to Denise Clarke. “Where I go you go, see!”
“No, no, no!” she shrieked. “Aunt Sarah! Help me!”
Sarah Mallory did not come to Denise’s aid this time. I hurried along the hall to the parlor. It looked as it had before the fight. There had been no serious breakage other than the glass top of one curio cabinet. There was no blood on the lovely carpet. There was the Victorian room, intact, exquisite and dainty, the symbol of another time, when men and women were gentlemen and ladies, we hope.
“Quick work, boys,” I said, proud of them.
Bart said, “What was Denise carrying on about, Jean?”
“She tried to sneak out. The deputy caught her and brought her back. He marched her back to Lieutenant King.”
Bart started toward the hall.
“God! She’ll see that body. There’s no need.”
“Well, you’re too late now,” I said, callously. “Pat, did you find that strand of blue wool?”
“What blue wool?” Bart asked, pausing inside the door.
I said, “I got pushed to the ground tonight. Beside the lilac hedge. The only clue to the pusher we could find was a strand of blue wool from Denise Clarke’s blue suit. Why should she hang around outside and push me?”
“Denise?” Bart asked. “I don’t get it. Sounds like something planned, and I can’t imagine her planning anything.”
“Maybe somebody else planned it.”
“Who?”
“Oh, Cousin Sarah, or Uncle Victor. Any one of the deep thinkers in the family. Is there a path from this house across the field to the Clarkes’, Bart?”
“Yes, and two stiles, and stepping stones across the creek. It’s no distance, not a quarter of a mile even.”
“She drove home, left her car, walked back, and lurked in the dark and pushed me,” I said. Patrick was arranging things on the whatnot. His eye is so precise that I knew everything would be exactly in its own place. I longed to see Mrs. Mallory’s face when she found her room perfectly restored. “But why? Why did she push me?”
“Why does she do anything?” Bart said, dryly. “How does she tick? You tell me. I’ve wanted to know for some time.”
“She may be very clever, Bart.”
“In any case, she’s lawless. A little bout with the officers won’t hurt her, I guess. I hope it doesn’t get to Cousin Sarah.”
Bart frowned.
“Seth said Cousin Sarah was heading for a crackup. I think the fight and her seeing this room in a mess was the pay-off. I must see how she is and ask Seth to take a look at her.”
“The lieutenant won’t let him, I bet.”
Bart looked at me.
“What happened to the nurse?”
“She got murdered,” I said.
“Sure. But why?”
“Well, Lieutenant King prodded people about that burnt almond sponge, Bart. If nobody had had the idea before they would have got it from him. That’s why he said me and my big mouth’ and got so meek all of a sudden. He felt guilty. He should have, for giving the murderer the idea.”
“But anyone could have helped herself to that sponge dish. Why would a plant for the nurse be something which might have killed you or anyone?”
“We all knew that the nurse was always piecing from the icebox. Mrs. Rollo held forth on that. Between King and Mrs. Rollo he knew exactly what to do.”
“He? You think the murderer is a man?”
“She or he, what difference? They say poison is a woman’s weapon, don’t they, Pat?”
Patrick was eyeing the glass top of another curio case.
“I once knew a retired English general who had a collection of treasures in a table like this. One of them was a bunch of hair from a goat presented by Queen Victoria to the general’s Indian regiment.”
“What-t?” Bart asked.
“You two are yakking too much,” Patrick said. “And getting nowhere. Bart, do you want to check up on Mrs. Mallory before we go to join the others in the living room?”
“Yes, I shall.”
Bart went into the hall and I said, “What did we say that was so important?”
“All and nothing, maybe. Bart is a member of the family. In a showdown he’ll stick with them.”
“I don’t believe it. He has stood by Jane against Sarah all along.”
“He’s in love with Jane. Not with you, darling.”
“Okay. Just what were you afraid I would say?”
“I thought you might mention the encounter with the nurse which came before the fight. Her implications and all.”
“They were against Seth.”
“Not necessarily, chum.”
“But that talk of ethics?”
“That could mean about anything, with her muddled mind.”
“I suppose so. But it looks bad for Seth, dear. What with all the money, the opportunity, and all. Do you think Denise is as childish as she acts?”
Pat’s face took on a funny expression.
“Denise is older than Eve and has the same technique. Here comes Bart. How is she?”
“All right, apparently. Ada Rollo is with her.” Nobody, obviously, was obeying the lieutenant. “I told her we had put the parlor in order and that nothing serious was hurt. The only breakage was that glass tabletop, wasn’t it?”
“All I noticed,” Patrick said. He touched my arm to suggest our return to the living room. In the hall Bart said he would bring more bourbon and Patrick and I went into the living room. Uncle Victor slid off his big chair onto his little feet and bowed. His black shoes gleamed in the firelight. Jane Mallory looked drowsy, but she laughed aloud when Patrick told her that the parlor was again perfection itself.
“I’ve always wanted to see it like that,” she said. “I never thought I’d have the chance. It was so funny. That policeman on the floor and Seth sitting on him with his eye turning black. Seth, of all people! I’m proud.”
Patrick offered cigarettes. Uncle Victor took one and fitted it into the black holder. Patrick looked at Jane.
“What did you destroy outside, Jane? When the nurse was watching you?”
“But nothing, Pat. She must have been mad to say such a thing.”
“She came to the lieutenant,” Patrick said quietly. “She told him the capsule was the last one in the bottle. She implied various things. I think she had a burst of conscience.”
“Why?”
“Did she lie about you, Jane?”
Jane lifted her head in that gracious way she had.
“I don’t think she thought she was lying, Pat. I think she was devoted to Dick, as women so often were, and that she was so shocked at his death that she jumped to any conclusions. Perhaps she remembered something later, something she wanted to tell.”
“What she said put Seth Godwin in a hell of a spot, after the reading of that will.”
“That will!” Jane said, with a sigh. “Dick committed suicide. I’ve been convinced all along but the will proves it. He thought up the things that would probably destroy his mother, if those who are to inherit band together, and then he took the cyanide himself.”
“In that case, why was the nurse murdered?”
Uncle Victor said, “You’ve got something there, my boy. You’ve got a head on your shoulders, young fellow. I was just saying so to Jane, here. Jane has brains, too. She’ll manage. My late nephew knew what he was about when he made her his, executrix. Jane is not only very beautiful. She is clever and kind, too.”
The tourmaline eyes were shining. He’s buttering Jane up, I thought. He wants his inheritance and he’s started right in to flatter Jane. He’ll play Jane against Sarah.
Patrick said, “I don’t think it’s very clever to forget destroying something in the front yard, Jane.” Jane gave an angry gasp. “And, by the way, Mr. Mallory, where did you get the cyanide you keep in the bottom drawer of your filing cabinet?”
Uncle Victor sputtered. It was the first time he had looked discomfited.
“But I told the lieutenant it came from my late nephew’s photographic lab on the top floor. He had the lab locked up.”
“That would be potassium cyanide,” Patrick said. He was guessing. “The cyanide in the jar you keep in your file is sodium cyanide. Where did you get it, Mr. Mallory?”
“Tell him the truth!” Denise Clarke cried, as she came into the room. “Give me a drink, somebody. Bart, angel, quick the bourbon.” Bart had followed her in with a bottle and ice on another tray. “Those monsters!” Denise may have referred to us or the police or all. “Tell the truth, Uncle Victor. Tell them I gave you the cyanide.”
“My dear child, do be careful what you say!”
“Was that why you were hanging around back there?” I demanded. “Was that why you pushed me?”
“I should have beaten your brains out.”
Denise didn’t chirp. She didn’t act childish. And she looked every one of her thirty-odd years. I glanced at Patrick. He was eyeing Uncle Victor, who had left off his mask of gentility, who looked afraid.
“Dick Mallory discussed his will with you, Mr. Mallory?”
“Everybody except Dick’s mother knew the terms of that will,” Uncle Victor said. “Dick was very careful to tell everybody what to expect.”
I glanced at Jane. She was looking at Uncle Victor with an expression as subtle and ancient as time. Bart was casually pouring and passing the drinks. Jane took out a cigarette and lit it with the table lighter. Her face told nothing. Denise began to giggle. Uncle Victor again looked suave as new paint. Nothing had changed.