In the parlor I sat in Hollister’s place beside Lieutenant King. I secretly studied each face in turn for evidence of guilt. I got nowhere.
Sarah Mallory sat on one of the twin sofas between Bart Wayne and Amelia Mallory. Her face was graven, but it revealed nothing. In time of stress and personal grief she seemed strongest.
Amelia for once was not knitting. She watched her mother with anxious eyes. There was a fresh warm look in her pretty face. She doted on her mother. Of them all she had the most reason to want to be rid of Denise Clarke. She was glad that Denise was dead. Hadn’t she been jealous of her? Had she killed her brother for the same reason? Jealousy, because of her mother’s love for them both and her lack of it for Amelia. She had a better brain than given credit for. She was quite capable of planning murder and doing it. Look at the way she had tried to protect Uncle Victor. She had a real affection for the old man. Denise’s appearance on the upstairs porch had been unexpected, but if Amelia were there and wanted to get rid of her, she might have acted fast.
Uncle Victor, seated with Seth Godwin on the other sofa, looked old and weary for the first time. He had been fond of Denise. Her death would get at him deeply. But he alone had stayed in the house when we gathered around her body. Why? He must have heard her scream. The living room door was open. He could have heard Sarah Mallory’s terse commands to Bart and Seth to go after her. Why hadn’t he joined us outside? Because he wanted to grab that cyanide jar and get rid of it? He might have had time to dump the stuff in the creek and toss in the broken jar. The rushing water would dispose of the poison swiftly and the glass, washed, might retain no trace.
One thing was definite. Uncle Victor had had no part in Denise’s death, be it accident or murder.
Seth Godwin ditto, but Seth was nervous, jittery.
Mrs. Rollo came in, dark, grim, thin, in her black dress. She sat down on a straight chair near the hall door. She was also outside suspicion in the Clarke death. Or was she? Her room was dark. That didn’t mean that she was in it, asleep. And Dick Mallory’s will certainly fixed her up for life. She could retire if its provisions were carried out.
Bart Wayne alone showed any emotion because of Denise’s death. He was deeply moved. I saw Jane Mallory watching him, now and then. Her expression was quizzical. Denise was said to have fallen in love with Bart. Was there something in it, and was Jane thinking that, too? Denise might be shallow and vain, playing at life and love in her high-heeled pumps, but Bart had seen a lot of her lately, and he might have cared for her enough to marry her—if Jane Mallory hadn’t showed up. Bart had seen Denise’s fall. Had he seen someone push her to her death? Jane Mallory? Would he say so?
Lieutenant King sat down beside me. He cleared his throat.
I opened my notebook again and uncapped my pen.
I looked at Patrick, in a chair between me and Seth. He looked as if pretending he wasn’t there. What did he know? What hadn’t he himself told us?
King spoke in a level, tired voice.
“Well, here we are again. I guess most of you heard me criticized a short time ago for dillydallying. Maybe it’s true. But it is a very serious thing to falsely accuse a man or woman of murder. Most good law enforcement officers—and I have a reputation for knowing my job—would rather take more time and make fewer mistakes.”
Sarah Mallory sniffed faintly. He ignored it.
“As you all know, I’m seriously handicapped by not having enough trained help on this case. I couldn’t anticipate that we’d have three murders …”
Sarah Mallory exploded.
“Three?”
“Dr. Godwin thinks that Miss Clarke’s fall was an accident. Maybe it was murder. If it was, we’ll prove it, and the murderer will burn, Mrs. Mallory. By burn, I mean get the electric chair. Miss Clarke was hysterical because she was frightened. Why?”
“Miss Clarke was hysterical because of the way you grilled her,” Sarah Mallory said.
“Do you really believe that, Mrs. Mallory?”
“I do.”
“I don’t. She was afraid for some reason. Her conduct this entire night has indicated fear. Who or what was she afraid of?”
Sarah Mallory snorted. “Poppycock.”
King winced, but went on.
“It is hard to imagine that Miss Clarke alone would murder Richard Mallory and Mildred James. In Mallory’s case, she had nothing to gain. She was the only person mentioned in his will, aside from you, Mrs. Mallory, who got next to nothing.”
Mrs. Mallory whispered something to Bart Wayne. He nodded and patted her hand.
“But her conduct tonight indicated that she at least suspected something she had not told about those murders. Against instructions, she left this place, slipped back, and tried to lay hands on that cyanide jar. She admitted that the cyanide came from the greenhouse on the Clarke place. Mr. Victor Mallory, after denying it, admitted that he had lied about the source of the cyanide, after Miss Clarke came out with the truth. When we get the analyst’s report, we may find that two kinds of cyanide have figured in this case. That makes the cyanide jar critically important. Which of you removed the jar from the table of exhibits while we were outside around Miss Clarke?”
All faces looked uniformly innocent.
“There has been a curious interest in that jar all during this inquiry. Amelia Mallory removed it from Mr. Victor Mallory’s place first. Why, Miss Mallory?”
“Because I didn’t want Uncle Victor accused.”
“Not even if he’d murdered your brother?”
“But he didn’t,” Amelia said, calm and certain of herself.
“You were trying to protect your uncle. Who, then, was Miss Clarke trying to protect by destroying this evidence?” No response. “And Mr. Victor Mallory lied about the source of the cyanide to protect Miss Clarke.”
“I’m deeply sorry,” Uncle Victor said, in his rich voice. “I’ve made my apologies, Lieutenant.”
“You caused delay.”
“Pooh!” Sarah Mallory said to King. “Delay? If anybody is responsible for Denise’s death it’s you yourself. We’ve had nothing but delay.”
“Mrs. Mallory! Once again I must ask you not to interrupt me. I’ve been critically short of assistance tonight. I assure you that I’ll wind this up as quickly as possible and turn the case over with pleasure to your sheriff and state’s attorney. You can talk with them and lodge any objections to my conduct here at that time. Meanwhile, shut up!”
Mrs. Mallory stood up.
“Sit down!”
She looked about. Bart Wayne stood up and said something to her and she dutifully sat down.
“Thank you, Mrs. Mallory. Now, about the cyanide jar. Mr. Victor Mallory, why did you take it from the kitchen?”
Uncle Victor freshened up instantly.
“My dear man, I did no such thing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m sorry. I spoke the truth.”
“You lied about the stuff once before.”
“Yes. I admitted it. But now there is no reason to protect Miss Clarke, so why should I take the jar away?”
“You went into the kitchen while the rest of us were outside and you removed the jar. What did you do with it?”
“I didn’t enter the kitchen during the time you were outside.”
“Where were you?”
“In the living room.”
“All the time?”
“Definitely. All the time.”
“Strange. A girl you profess to admire falls to her death and you sit in the living room when everybody else has rushed to her side. Do you expect me to believe that?”
“I didn’t want to see her,” Uncle Victor said. “I knew what had happened. I heard her scream. I heard my sister-in-law calling out and saw her pass the living room door on her way outside. But I couldn’t bear to see her. Hurt, or dead.”
“You lied earlier in the evening to protect her.”
Uncle Victor ran his tongue around his full green lips. He leaned forward and after a brief glance at Sarah Mallory said, “I’ll speak candidly, since what I say can’t hurt her now. Denise confided in me a great deal. She was deeply hurt because she had divorced a husband in the hope of marrying Dick Mallory. I was honestly of the opinion that she had murdered Dick.”
“Why?”
“Because he wouldn’t marry her.”
“What twaddle, Victor!” Sarah Mallory snapped.
“Wait a minute,” King said. “This seems to be a bit mixed up. Miss Clarke stated in my presence that Richard Mallory was a drunk and a bore and that no woman would put up with him but his wife.”
Sarah Mallory looked black, but Bart patted her hand and she remained silent. Uncle Victor said, “Denise changed.”
“In what way?”
“My dear Lieutenant! This is a private matter.”
King hit the table with his fist. My notebook jumped and my pen almost hopped out of my hand.
“A private matter! My God. I think the only solution to this mess is to take you all to jail and lock you up till you get ready to talk …”
Sarah Mallory spoke up.
“There’s my son’s funeral …”
“I know. I know. And the next day is Derby Day. I know that, too. That means tourists. I might have had a little help from the state patrol if they weren’t all busy on the roads. But, of course,” he added, his voice very sarcastic, “people like you don’t go to jail. You don’t do anything except in your own sweet time, do you!” He glared. “Okay, go into that living room, all of you except Jane Mallory. Mr. Wayne, I’ll hold you responsible for these people. They’re to stay there until I say they can go. Meanwhile, we’re going to find a jar of cyanide, and the faster we find it the better it will be for all of you. Go, please.”
They went out, all but Jane, who looked quietly from the same wing chair. King said nothing more about the cyanide. After a moment he stood up and walked to Jane’s side.
“Mrs. Mallory, I’m taking you to jail for the murder of your husband and Mildred James and the probable murder of Denise Clarke.” He touched her shoulder. “You are under arrest.”
Jane said, “I didn’t do any of it, Lieutenant King.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Mallory. There is enough evidence against you to send three people to the chair. I’ve delayed taking you in because of the antics of the Clarke girl. I knew she wouldn’t go to all that bother to protect you.”
Jane was staring with eyes like dark blue pools of light.
“You can get a lawyer,” King said, a little ineptly. “After all, if you had sufficient cause …”
“Lieutenant King,” Patrick said. “You are making a mistake. Jane Mallory didn’t do these crimes.”
King whirled on Pat furiously.
“Is that so? Well, well. Then who did?”
“Bart Wayne.”
“I suppose you can prove that?” King said, full of anger.
“I think if you’ll get him in here and leave the others in Seth Godwin’s charge we might make him confess.”
“That’s a lie!”
Bart Wayne stood in the door. There was nothing handsome about his face now. It had a rocklike hardness. The skin, stretched taut over his bones in his fury, disclosed his resemblance to Sarah Mallory. His eyes glittered as with madness. His lips were drawn into a V-shaped sneer.
Jane, looking at him, gasped, “Dick! He looks like Dick!”
King stood away from Jane, closer to the mantel, his eyes narrow and intent, perplexed by the turn of affairs, uncertain.
I jumped up and waited. My heart beat crazily. Patrick stood and casually stepped behind the wing-backed chair where he had sat. He parked his elbows on the back of the chair and leaned his weight on them.
Bart Wayne was moving slowly toward Patrick. His hands were in his jacket pockets. He’s got a gun, I thought, panicked.
“That’s a lie, Abbott. Admit it.”
“You were going to let Jane Mallory take your rap, weren’t you, Wayne?”
“You’re lying. You won’t get away with it, hear? I’m Bart Wayne.”
“Bart?” Jane said, pleading. “Bart, please …”
“Shut up.” He didn’t look at her.
“Bart, dear. Wait!”
“Bitch,” he said, his lips thin and hard. “Lucky I escaped from her.” He didn’t glance at Jane.
Then Jane Mallory spoke in a low voice.
“I trusted you. I thought you were kind and good.”
She gave a funny little sigh and sank back in her chair.
Bart was moving slowly, slowly, toward Patrick. I saw King slip out his police special and hold it ready. For once a gun comforted me.
I glanced wildly at Patrick, wanting to cry out, to run to him, knowing I mustn’t because it would hamper him. He was standing nonchalantly, bent a little forward, his weight resting idly on his elbows on the chair. His eyes were green as grass, narrow, intent. I knew that look.
King barked, “What is this, Wayne? What goes on?”
Bart didn’t reply. He moved on toward Patrick. Their eyes seemed locked together. King took a step to the other side of the mantel in order to have a cleared space between himself and Bart. He had his pistol ready but Pat was also in his line of fire.
Bart took his left hand from its pocket. The right hand stayed where it was. I could see the hardness which was the gun. I could hardly breathe. There were no voices sounding in the other room, nothing. Silence out there was ominous, too. Did they know? Were they waiting for Bart to kill all of us? Seth, too? Did Seth know what was happening here?
When Bart was within five or six feet, Patrick flung the chair forward, leaped over it and landed on Bart’s shoulders just as he pulled out his gun. The gun went off. The gunshot sounded like a cannon in this room. Things jangled. It was like a signal for panic. There were cries, and I heard people clamoring in the hall, at the door. I couldn’t take my eyes off the fight. Patrick had Bart down, was twisting the gun from him, throwing it aside. Bart hooked one arm around Pat and flung him over and jumped on top of him. Blood flowed. In the hall Sarah Mallory began screaming. Amelia put an arm around her and led her away. Seth Godwin and Uncle Victor stood in the door, Seth baffled and Uncle Victor excited by the fight. On the floor the men ducked, hammered each other, turned over, upset a curio cabinet, kicked, grunted. Patrick’s nose was bleeding. Bart, immensely strong, was no mean opponent. There was a maniac expression on his face. He was out to kill. His crazy eyes filled me with terror.
When Patrick finally had him down, held in such a way that he couldn’t move, beaten and helpless, he gasped, “All right. Let me go. I’ll talk.”
King, right on the job now, signaled to me to take notes. My hand quivered. The shorthand characters took strange shapes.
Bart sat up. King had picked up his gun which he slipped into his own pocket. He stood over him, the police special ready for action. Bart, sitting on the floor, said, “Put that away. You won’t need it.”
“I must warn you that anything you say …”
“I know. I know. Anything I say will be held against me. Who the hell cares? Not I. I killed them.”
“All?”
“I killed Dick Mallory because he was a stinking swine who always had everything when I had nothing. I went into the room ahead of Jane. I swapped the capsules. That idiotic nurse saw me do it, in the mirror when she was supposedly writing in her chart. She always gawked at Dick. She was nuts about him.”
“You did it at this time specially to trap Jane Mallory, didn’t you?” King asked.
Patrick was standing with his handkerchief under his nose, stopping the blood. King asked all the questions.
“Sure. Why not? Dick had told me about the will. I knew Jane would get all the money unless she was convicted of his murder.”
“Otherwise, you expected to inherit?”
“Why not? Look at the rest of the bunch. And Cousin Sarah’s mighty proud of being a Wayne. You don’t think she’d let anybody else get it, do you?”
“You kissed Jane Mallory?” King said.
“I kiss them all,” Bart said callously. “Jane’s a nice dish. I figured to marry her, even, if my carefully laid plan misfired. I was going to get the Mallory money in one way or another.”
King eyed him with abhorrence.
“You poisoned the nurse?”
“Sure. You thought her talk of ethics pointed to Seth Godwin. Nothing of the kind. She referred to the family. She was so muddle-headed she thought she oughtn’t to to tell you anything that would reflect against a member of the family. Silly fool.” Bart laughed. “You and Ada Rollo, between you, suggested how to get rid of her, but quick.”
King’s rejoinder was hissed.
“You might have killed half a dozen other people with that poisoned pudding, Wayne.”
Bart shrugged. He asked, “Can I have a cigarette?”
Patrick lit one for him. He almost smiled.
“You knew the truth all the time, Abbott.”
“I was pretty sure of it after we visited Dick Mallory’s bedroom. The chart was on a high chest of drawers. The nurse stood there. When we went into the room with Jane, my wife took the nurse’s place. She could see me in the mirror as I bent over the bed beside the table where the sedative capsule was placed. Then, when we went outside with Jane, she destroyed a cigarette butt by taking it apart, G.I. style, scattering the tobacco and rolling the bit of paper into an almost invisible ball. The nurse saw her and decided that she was destroying the sedative capsule. Later on, when you got worried that Jane might get off, you planted more cyanide in her traveling case, still in your car, and you took a capsule from Seth Godwin’s prescription and put it in her handbag.”
Bart’s eyes were glazed. He dragged on the cigarette.
“Why did you kill Miss Clarke?” King asked then.
Bart was disturbed. “Before God, I didn’t touch her. She tripped and fell. I was fond of her. I planned to marry her.”
“After Jane Mallory was convicted?”
“Sure. But Denise caught on. She guessed that I’d got the cyanide from her greenhouse. She guessed, but she was right. The silly way she ran around …”
“Trying to save your neck?” King barked.
“Yeah. The cyanide in the lab upstairs is sodium cyanide. That in Uncle Victor’s jar is potassium cyanide. Denise tried to destroy the jar and contents, I suppose, thinking there would then be no evidence left as to where it came from. That was silly. Analysts could certainly check the stuff in the greenhouse itself. Traces of it, certainly.”
“Where is that jar?”
Uncle Victor said, “Amelia took it, Lieutenant. I’ll fetch it, shall I?”
“Was Amelia still afraid you’d be caught and found guilty, Mr. Mallory?”
“It was foolish of her, Lieutenant. She is a dear girl and I shouldn’t wonder if her mother knows it at long last.”
“About time,” Seth Godwin said. The telephone rang. He went to take the call and returned as I was writing down some of the details Bart Wayne was adding to his confession. How he had planned it when in the jungle in South America. How he knew that Sarah Mallory would come around, just as she had done. How he would involve Jane. How he himself persuaded Sarah to send the telegram which brought her here. Jane sat in silence, perplexed, shocked.
Seth came back.
“That’s my baby case, Lieutenant. Need me here any more?”
“No. Go along. See you later, Doc.”
“Jane, may I drive you to the hotel?”
“Thank you, Seth.” Jane looked up at King, who nodded and said, “You’ve had enough for one day, Mrs. Mallory. Don’t leave town, please. You can’t take your overnight bag, I’m afraid, on account of the cyanide in it. You may take your handbag.”
Jane tried to stand. She swayed a little and Seth caught her, put an arm around her. As she looked up at him I foresaw that this story might have a happy ending. They went out without looking back. Bart watched them bleakly.
Ada Rollo came downstairs carrying a small bag.
“I put some nightclothes and toilet things in this for you, Miss Jane, honey.”
“Thank you, Ada.” Jane leaned toward her and kissed her and went out of the house for the last time.
We drove back to see Seth after Derby Day. He looked happy as possible and when we saw him with Jane Mallory we knew why without any words. Bart’s condition had taken a violent turn. He’d gone completely mad and was going to be committed to a state hospital for the insane. Sarah Mallory was a different woman, having discovered that in her daughter she had after all what she had wanted in a son. Amelia had not given up knitting, but she had cut down on it a lot because she was already busy learning how to manage the Mallory property. Uncle Victor was getting ready to make a long long trip, and Ada Rollo was planning ways to invest her monthly income, a whopper to her.
“So Mrs. Mallory let the will stand?” Patrick asked.
Seth grinned and he and Jane exchanged happy glances.
“That was easy. Jane and I gave up our claim on Dick’s estate provided the others were given what Dick wanted them to have. We didn’t want their money anyway.”
“Oh,” I said, giving Jane an admiring look. She certainly was a better woman than I am. All that money! “Oh. I thought maybe Sarah Mallory had made a complete switch. Had become an angel of generosity and such.”
Seth grinned wryly.
“I wouldn’t go that far, exactly,” he said.