Alphabet Hicks

Seventeen

At the moment of middle twilight when Hicks was backing his car into the pasture lane, Heather Gladd was up in her room, seated by a window, looking out but not seeing anything. She had gone there as soon as her interview with the district attorney had ended.

She was thinking about herself. Until yesterday she had never seen a dead person except in a coffin. Then her sister — who had been the only person alive whom she had deeply loved — so suddenly and unexpectedly and shockingly. Then George, with the two flies at that hole in his head. What she was thinking about herself was that she was a completely different person from what she had been two days ago. Then her attitude toward the emotional tangle in which George and Martha and she were involved had been unbelievably puerile and infantile, in spite of the tears she had shed. She had been exasperated and petulant, that was all, as at some petty annoyance like finding that all her stockings had runs in them. And she would have gone on like that, she admitted grimly, possibly forever, a frivolous shallow simpleton, if death had not come to teach her. She had literally not known that there was anything in the world as ugly and final as death, and that things that happen between people could bring it. The first thing about death, when it came close to you like this, was that it made you feel dead yourself. She had not cried since she had found Martha dead. That was because she was dead herself. Yet she had acted sometimes as if she were alive — for instance, with Ross Dundee about those sonograph plates. Why hadn’t she simply gone and got them and given them to him? What difference did it make now? And why had she acted...

That knock was at her door.

She got up and crossed the room and opened it.

“Oh,” she said.

“May I come in?” Ross Dundee asked.

“Why — why, yes.” Heather stood aside. “I thought maybe they were sending for me.” She started to close the door, decided not to, changed her mind, and closed it.

Ross stood. She stood. Their eyes met. “They may not send for you again,” he said lamely. “I hope not.”

“It doesn’t matter. Only I can’t tell them any more than I’ve already told them.”

“You were sitting down. Sit down.”

She hesitated, then returned to the chair by the window. He went and stood in front of her. Silence.

She looked up at him. “Did you want to ask me something?”

“Well, I... wanted to tell you something. To say something. This is the first time I’ve ever been in this room.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. I started to come in several times when you weren’t here, but I never came farther than a step in. I had an odd feeling about it.” He dismissed it with a gesture. “But that wouldn’t interest you. I don’t imagine anything anybody named Dundee could possibly say would interest you.”

“I have nothing against anybody named Dundee.”

“You ought to have,” Ross said bitterly. “You have every reason to. You’ll always remember this place, and us, with — I don’t know what. Hate, I suppose. I know that and there’s nothing I can do about it. I admit I didn’t believe you when you said Cooper didn’t kill your sister. I thought he had. Now I don’t know what to believe. It’s impossible that anyone here could have killed them, no one had any reason to, so I suppose the only thing to believe is that someone came when she was here, and went in the house and got the candlestick and killed her, and came back today when he was here and killed him. I realize how crazy that is, but it’s the only thing I can believe, because if that wasn’t it my father must have done it. You didn’t and Brager didn’t and I didn’t and Mrs. Powell didn’t. You say that fellow Hicks was with you at the laboratory yesterday, so he didn’t.”

He stopped. In a moment he went on, “One thing you said yesterday. About my father and me being here when your sister was killed. I said it was stupid, but it wasn’t. What do you know about us? How do you know we’re not homicidal maniacs? It was me that was stupid, not you. Of course, I know I’m just a plain ordinary dub, but you don’t.”

“You don’t think you’re a dub at all,” Heather declared, meeting his eyes. “You think you’re pretty hot stuff.”

“I do not!”

Heather made a gesture.

“All right,” Ross said savagely. “You’ve had me wrong from the start, and now nothing will ever change you. I realize that. But today I realized that it was actually possible that you suspected me of killing your sister! Why shouldn’t you? How do you know I didn’t?”

“I never said—”

“I know you never said it, but you hinted at it. And now Cooper too. At the time he was killed I was down at the old orchard. I didn’t even hear the shot. I know nothing, absolutely nothing, of who killed him or your sister, or why, or anything. Do you believe that?”

“No.”

“But you must! You must believe it!”

“It isn’t a question of must. What I believe and don’t believe—”

“But you have simply got to!” Ross came a step closer. “I can stand your not liking me, and your not caring a damn about how I feel about you, about how I love you, I can stand that because I can’t help myself, but you’re not going away from here thinking that I had anything to do, anything at all, with the terrible things that happened here! You are not! You have no right to think a thing like that about me!”

“On the contrary,” Heather asserted, “I have.”

“You have?”

“I not only have a right, I have a reason.”

“Reason?” He stared at her. “You have a reason—”

“Certainly I have,” Heather said firmly. “You never knew my sister, did you?”

“I did not.”

“You never met her or knew anything about her?”

“How could I? She was in France. You told me about her. I only met you—”

“Then where did you get that sonograph plate with her voice on it? And why—”

“Where did I get what?”

“That plate with Martha’s voice on it. And why were you so anxious and determined to get it back?”

Ross was gaping at her incredulously. “Are you saying — are you trying to tell me—”

A knock, a series of sharp taps, sounded in their ears — not at the door, but on the wall against which the dresser stood. It was followed at once by a voice sharp with anger:

“Damn you, what do you mean by that?”

Then another voice, quick footsteps, a door opening, and, as Heather got to her feet, the door of her room swung open and Brager was there; and entering immediately behind him was a man in the uniform of the state police. The policeman was saying in an unfriendly tone:

“Okay, it’s your wall and you tapped on it. If you people aren’t careful there’s going to be some tapping around here on something besides a wall.”

“What’s the idea?” Ross demanded.

Brager’s eyes popped at him, popping with indignation. “He expects me to keep still!” he sputtered. “He comes to my room! He hears voices at my open window, coming from your open window, and he stands there to listen, and he expects me to keep still! I know policemen do those things, all right, they do, but that is no reason to think I am a swine! To expect me to keep quiet while he listens to you and you are not aware of it! I knocked on the wall!”

He glared defiantly at the policeman.

“Thank you, Mr. Brager,” Ross said. “He’s quite welcome to anything he heard.” He scowled at the policeman. “We’ll shut the window and try to keep our voices low enough not to disturb you—”

“I’ll save you the trouble,” the policeman said dryly. “If the lady will please come downstairs. If you’ll just come with me, Miss Gladd?”

“She’s been there,” Ross asserted truculently. “They’ve already talked with her.”

“I know, but things come up. Will you come, please, Miss Gladd? Under the circumstances?”

Heather went to the door and passed through, with the policeman at her heels. She was filled with mortification, and was furious both with herself and with Ross Dundee. They had acted like children, talking like that, in that house at that time, by an open window without even taking the precaution to lower their voices. Not that she had anything to conceal from anyone, now that George was dead... but yes, she had... she had given Hicks a promise and said she would keep it...

They were approaching the door to the living room when it opened and Hicks emerged. His eyes darted at her, at her escort, and back to her.

“Hello,” he said. “Straighten your shoulders.”

She took the hand he offered and the clasp of his fingers was good for her. “I didn’t know you were here. I was — George—”

“I know. They’ve been telling me about it. I’d like to hear it from you. We’ll go outdoors.”

“I’m being taken in there. To the district attorney.”

“Yes? I’ll go along.”

But that didn’t work. Hicks did enter with them, but he was immediately put out, Corbett being in no mood to waste any words on the matter. After the door had been closed again, and Heather had been seated, the policeman stood at a corner of the table and reported succinctly what had just happened and the substance of what he had overheard. Manny Beck had apparently left by another door, for he was no longer there. Corbett listened with his baby mouth puckered as though preparing to whistle.

He shook his head at Heather in disapproval. “You see,” he said regretfully. “You should have learned that we discover the things you try to conceal from us. That Cooper was in love with you. We learned that, didn’t we? And other things. And now young Dundee is in love with you.” Corbett wet his lips. “Has he asked you to marry him?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Heather said, and compressed her mouth.

“There is nothing disgusting about marriage, my dear. Nor even about love.” Corbett wet his lips again. “Not necessarily. This is interesting. Very. You told me only an hour ago that you had no idea of why your sister and her husband were killed, nor any reason to suspect anyone. Now it seems that you do in fact suspect Ross Dundee. Why?”

“I didn’t say I suspected him.”

“What she said,” the policeman put in, “was that she didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t know anything about it.”

“I’ll handle this,” Corbett said sharply. “Why didn’t you believe him, Miss Gladd?”

“Because I don’t know what to believe. He was there, that’s all.”

“Do you think he’s a liar?”

“No.”

“Do you — uh — return his love?”

“No.”

“What specific reason did you have for telling him to his face that you didn’t believe him?”

“I had no specific reason. Just what I said.”

“My dear young lady.” Corbett was reproachful. “This will never do. You heard the officer say that you told Ross Dundee that you had a reason, and he asked what it was, and you said it was a sonograph plate of your sister’s voice. That is something else you have been concealing from us, and obviously something important. Have you got the sonograph plate?”

“No.”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s on it? What does your sister’s voice say?”

“I don’t know.” Heather swallowed. “I know nothing whatever about it. It is a private matter. I don’t intend to talk about it or answer any questions about it.”

“That’s a strange attitude for you to take, Miss Gladd.”

“I see nothing strange about it.”

“I do.” Corbett gazed at her. “It’s more than strange. We are investigating the murder of your sister, whom you say you were fond of. But instead of helping us you hinder us. You deliberately and defiantly withhold information. You say it is a private matter! If the dead could speak I would like to ask your sister you were so fond of whether she agrees that it is a private matter.”

“I won’t—” Heather’s chin was quivering. She made it stop. “I won’t listen to things like that.” She stood up. “You can’t make me listen to things like that. I won’t listen to you and I won’t talk to you.”

She started for the door. A policeman moved to get in her path, and, making no attempt to detour, she stopped. For a brief second it was a tableau, a drama in suspense; then, just as Corbett piped, “Let her go, officer,” the door burst open and Ross Dundee marched in, with an angry and expostulating individual coming for him from behind. In the confusion Heather slipped around them and through to the hall.

She had formed a resolution, impulsively but unalterably, and the immediate necessity was to communicate it to Alphabet Hicks, not so much to enlist his help as merely to communicate it. He was not in the hall. She went to a door at the end of it and entered the dining room, found it empty, and passed through to the kitchen. Mrs. Powell was there, pouring a cup of coffee for a man in a Palm Beach suit and a battered Panama hat.

Heather asked, “Have you seen Mr. Hicks?”

“No,” Mrs. Powell said, “and I don’t want to.”

“He’s all right,” the man said tolerantly, “except he’s batty. Why, do you want him?”

“Yes.”

“He went upstairs to see Dundee. Last door on the right.”

That would be Ross’s room. Heather took the back stairs. Her resolution quickened her step, and, on the upper floor, even caused her to omit the common amenity of knocking on the door of another’s room before entering. She turned the knob and went in, disregarded Dundee, who stopped pacing the floor to glare at her, confronted Hicks, who was straddling a chair, and told him:

“I can’t stay here. I can’t! I’m going to leave.”

“It would have been a good thing for all of us,” Dundee said harshly, “if you had reached that decision a week ago. Perhaps if you hadn’t been here—”

“Shut up,” Hicks said rudely. He got up to approach Heather. “Don’t mind him, he’s having a fit. Did the district attorney tell you you can leave?”

“No, but I’m going to. I can’t—”

“Okay, we’ll see. At least we’ll leave this room.” Hicks spoke to Dundee: “For God’s sake calm down a little. Put cold compresses on your head. Comb your hair.”

“He motioned Heather ahead and followed her out. Across the hall and down a dozen paces was the door to her room. When they were inside and the door was closed, Heather said:

“I can’t talk even in my own room. That’s why he was taking me to the district attorney. I was in here talking and Mr. Brager and a man were in his room and heard us, and Mr. Brager tapped on the wall to warn us—”

“Then talk low. Keep your voice down.” Hicks went and shut the window and came back. “Who were you talking with?”

“Ross Dundee. I was here and he came—”

“To ask about the sonograph plate?”

“No. At least — he didn’t. But I did. I asked him where he got a plate with my sister’s voice on it.”

“Which is what I told you—”

“I know you did. It came out before I knew it.”

“Keep your voice down. This should interest you. Cooper was murdered because he mentioned that plate. Maybe you realize now that I wasn’t talking through my hat. A man has got himself into a hole that he can’t get out of, but before he quits trying he’ll kill you and me too if he can manage it.”

They were standing, facing each other. Heather’s head was tilted so that her eyes, on a level with his chin, were looking straight into his. Her voice came out a whisper:

“What man?”

Hicks shook his head. “Maybe I know. Maybe I don’t. I came out here to increase my knowledge and ran into this. Was there ever a sonotel installed in this house?”

“Yes. There’s one now, in the wall of the living room.”

“That would amuse Corbett. He’d like that, doing his questioning in a room wired for sound. When was it installed?”

“It was there when I came, over a year ago. It was used for experimenting. About two months ago it was taken out and a new one was put in, a new model.”

“Who installed it?”

“I don’t know about the old one. Ross Dundee installed the new one.”

“Keep your voice down,” Hicks admonished her. “Today. About Cooper. You were at the laboratory with Brager when it happened?”

“Yes. He came and said George was there — no, he told me that when we were in the woods—”

“Tell me what happened at the laboratory.”

She told him. He took it in, asked a few questions, nodded as if satisfied, and said:

“Okay. That’ll do for now. We can cover some other points on our way to New York. The best—”

“To New York?”

“Certainly. You say you want to get away from here, which I can understand, and I have something to do somewhere else. So we might as well go together. The car you lent me is backed into the entrance of a pasture lane up the road about four hundred yards toward Katonah. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes. The other side of the old orchard.”

“There’s a house a short distance beyond.”

“Yes. Darby’s.”

“We’d better not try to leave here together. They won’t be keeping close watch on you, and if you’re any good you can make it. You know the ground. Circle around through the orchard and pasture. Are you afraid to try that?”

“Afraid? Of course not!”

“Good for you. I’ll join you as soon as I can. I have a little errand to do here before I leave, and it’ll be harder for me to get away. They’ll miss me. Be patient and take a nap in the back seat. Change to a dark dress and don’t try taking any luggage. In case of a slip-up — wait a minute.”

Hicks frowned. “I’ve got the key to the car. Is there another one around?”

“Yes, in a drawer in the dining room.”

“Can you get it?”

“Of course.”

“You’re a wonder. When you grow up and get big like me you’ll be President.” Hicks sat down and untied a shoelace and removed the shoe. He put the shoe on his lap and got his wallet and a memo book from a pocket. From the wallet he extracted a baggage check and glanced at it, then wrote something on a page of the memo book, tore it out, handed it to Heather, slipped the baggage check into the shoe, and put the shoe back on.

“There,” he said, “keep that in a safe place. Your shoe will do. It’s the number of the check for something I left in the parcel room at Grand Central. In case anything regrettable happens to me, here’s what you do. Get Dundee’s wife, Mrs. R. I. Dundee, and go with her to Inspector Vetch of the New York police, and both of you tell him everything you know. Everything. Don’t hold out on him. Give him the number of that check and tell him to get it. Vetch is a good guy, once you get used to his mannerisms. You’ll like him.”

“But what—” Heather was gazing at him. “Why do you think anything—”

“I don’t. But this individual we’re after has apparently got a screw loose. Getting Cooper like that in broad daylight! He’s so scared there’s no telling what he’ll try next, so just to fool him we make these little arrangements. By the way, I should warn you, when you meet Mrs. Dundee you’re going to get a shock. Be prepared for it.”

“A shock? Why a shock?”

Hicks patted her on the shoulder. “You’ll understand when you meet her. Go ahead and change your dress — or wear that long dark coat you had on last night—”

“I’m not going to meet her,” Heather said, “unless you — unless something—”

“Right. So the chances are you’ll never have the pleasure. I’ll explain further on our way to town. Probably—”

The door swung open and R. I. Dundee barged in.

“Irving’s here. My lawyer,” he snapped.

“Coming,” Hicks said. He smiled at Heather. “See you later.”

He followed Dundee out.