Death Before Bedtime

CHAPTER SEVEN

1

“Is he dead?” asked Lieutenant Winters, his voice coming to me from behind some dark green clouds through which a light shone fitfully.

“Not yet,” said a voice and I slipped away, discouraged.

My next attempt at consciousness occurred when a great many yards of tubing were withdrawn from my insides. I opened my eyes, saw a pair of hands above me, felt the tube being withdrawn, felt hideously sick and passed out again.

The next day, however, I was sitting up in bed ready to receive callers. My head ached terribly and I was extremely weak. Otherwise my mind, such as it is, was functioning smoothly.

A trained nurse was the first person I saw on my return to the vale of tears. She smiled cheerfully. “They took out two quarts,” she said.

I moaned.

“Now it’s not as bad as all that.”

I said that it was as bad as all that. I asked her what time it was. “Eleven forty-seven. You can have milk toast now if you want it.”

I said that it was unlikely I should ever want milk toast at any time; in fact, the whole idea of food, despite the complete vacuum in my stomach, was sickening. I asked if it was day or night.

“Daytime, silly.”

“How long have I been unconscious?”

“About ten hours, since last night. You came to once or twice while Doctor was pumping your stomach; you made things very difficult for Doctor.”

“For Nurse, too, I’ll bet,” I said, remembering my hospital-talk from an appendectomy of some years before.

“I’m used to difficult cases,” she said with some pride. “We had a very difficult case, Doctor and I, a week ago. It involved a total castration and my gracious …”

“Send for Lieutenant Winters,” I said weakly, putting a halt to these dreadful reminiscences.

“Well, I’m not sure that …”

“I will get up and go to him myself,” I said, sitting up with a great effort.

She grew alarmed. “You stay right there, dear, and I’ll go get him. Now don’t you move.” I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to.

A moment later she returned with Winters. He looked upset; as well he should have been. He motioned for the angel of mercy to leave the room.

When we were alone, he said, “Why did you do it?”

“Why did I do what?”

“Take all those sleeping tablets. According to the doctor you took over a dozen, of the strongest type. If you hadn’t knocked the receiver off the hook and the butler heard the phone ring in the pantry, you would’ve been dead now which, I suppose, is what you intended to do.”

“Winters,” I said softly, “when I go you go with me.”

He looked alarmed. “What do you mean?”

“Only that I did not take any sleeping tablets, that I was deliberately poisoned.”

“Are you sure of this?”

I called him several insulting names. He took them gravely, as though trying to determine whether or not they suited him.

“Who do you think gave them to you, and how?”

“They were given me by the killer you failed to apprehend and, as for the how, they were slipped rather cleverly into the coffee I drank after dinner. Mrs. Rhodes serves something which tastes not unlike Turkish mud, very expensive and heavy, so heavy that it’s impossible to taste whether it’s been tampered with or not.”

“Why do you think you were poisoned?”

“Because I know who did the murders.”

“You do not.” Winters sounded suddenly like an angry schoolboy trying to put a braggart in his place.

“I do, too,” I said, mocking his tone. He blushed.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t see how you happen to know who did the murder from the information available.”

“It may be that I have a better mind than yours.”

It was his turn to attribute rude characteristics to me. I smiled seraphically all through his insults. When he finished, I suggested that this was hardly the way to speak to a man who has only recently returned from the other side. Then, all passion spent, I spoke to him reasonably. “As soon as I have enough evidence I’ll let you know.”

“When will that be?”

“Tonight at dinner,” I said gaily, not at all sure that I could produce enough evidence but undisturbed by any thought of failure: so great is the love of life. I had recovered; I was not to die just yet. It is a feeling common to soldiers and those who survive operations and accidents of a serious nature.

“I insist you tell me now.” Winters became suddenly official.

“Not a chance in the world, friend,” I said, pulling myself up in bed. My head still ached but I was no longer dizzy. “Now you tell the doctor to give me a shot of something to put a little life back into me and then, like Dr. Holmes, full of morphine or whatever it was he took, I shall proceed to arrange the evidence in such a manner that not even the police will be confused.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Will you do as I tell you?”

“No. If someone did try to kill you, and I have only your word that they did, the police would never allow you to be without protection.”

“You may protect me as much as you like.”

“Damn it, man, you’re withholding evidence from the proper authorities, do you realize that? Will you stop playing detective long enough to allow us to do our job properly?”

I was irritated by this. “If you’d done your job properly Rufus Hollister would not be dead and I would be feeling much more fit than I do. Since you can’t be trusted to do it on your own, I prefer to do it myself.”

Winters bit his lower lip furiously. It took him a second to regain control of his temper. His voice shook when at last he spoke. “I have my own methods, Sargeant. I know what I’m doing. I was perfectly aware that there was a good chance Hollister had been murdered. But we must be thorough. We can’t go off after every harebrained theory which occurs to us, even if it happens to be the right one. We have to build slowly and carefully. It happens that at this moment we are on the verge of some new evidence which may bring us closer to the murderer, assuming Hollister was not a suicide. Amateur help is not much use because amateurs usually end up dead. We were fortunate, I suppose, that we could save you.” This was a good point and I softened considerably.

“I am,” I said, “very moved by your rhetoric. The fact that you people saved my life is one point in your favor. So we’ll make a bargain. I will get up today. I will collect what evidence I need and contrive, if possible, a trap … one which will be sprung tonight. I will then, if successful, give Lieutenant Winters full credit for the amazing apprehension of a clever killer. Does that satisfy you?”

It did not satisfy him. We fought for half an hour; finally he agreed, but only after I told him that even if he arrested me I would never reveal what I knew in any way except my own. Reluctantly, he consented. He insisted on following me about all day and I said that he could.

He then called in the nurse who called the doctor who gave me several shots; the nurse then brought me bread and milk which she insisted I eat. Winters excused himself. He would, he said, join me when I was dressed.

“Come on, dear, finish the nice bread.” Nurse did everything but stuff the concoction down my throat. I found to my surprise that I liked it, that it restored the lining to my stomach. The return of bulk made me gurgle pleasantly; it was nice to have the body functioning again and my head felt less sore.

“Now, you rest there like a good boy for twenty minutes before you get up. Doctor’s orders. Shots must have time to take effect.” With that she was gone. As she went out the door, I saw that a plain-clothes man was standing guard over me. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, preparing myself for the battle ahead. It was going to be a full day.

There was a sudden commotion outside the door and I heard Ellen’s clear commanding voice ring out over the gruff tones of the law: “I insist on seeing him. He happens to be my fiancé.”

“Let her in!” I shouted; the door was opened and Ellen swept in.

“Bloody oaf,” she said, plumping down in the chair beside the bed. Her voice softened. “Poor darling! You tried to kill yourself for love of me, didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you and Walter Langdon living together in Garden City with a dog and little ones.”

“I should’ve known that I wasn’t the cause of your suicide. I never am. No man ever seems to want to kill himself on my account.”

“Someone tried to kill me, though, on general principle, I suspect.”

Ellen frowned suddenly and looked nervously at the door, as though expecting a gunman to be lurking there. Then: “Rufus was killed, wasn’t he?”

I nodded.

“And the same person who killed him killed my father and tried to poison you?” I nodded again. She looked thoughtful. “I figured that out some time ago. I didn’t believe the story that you tried to kill yourself.”

“Was that what the police said?” I was incredulous.

“Of course … they’d hardly admit their case wasn’t closed.”

I whistled. “Winters is pretty smart. If I had died he would have said I was a suicide and that would’ve been the end of the case … everything would be just ducky.”

“They’re so corrupt,” said Ellen, betraying more feeling for me than I had thought possible.

“I wonder why Winters didn’t let me quietly drift off to a better world?”

“Because, my darling, I for one raised such a fuss and summoned the doctor. It was completely a matter of self-esteem. I couldn’t take the chance of your killing yourself for me (as Verbena Pruitt maintained you had, out of jealousy over Walter) and then having you actually die and there be some doubt. I insisted you be saved so that the world could hear from your own foam-flecked lips that it was because of me you wanted to end it all. How in demand I should’ve been!” She chuckled: then, seriously, slowly, “Peter, do be careful. Of all my fiancés I am fondest of you, at this moment anyway. For God’s sake be careful.”

“I will, dear. I have no intention of letting myself get killed.”

“You haven’t done so well so far,” she said. She paused; when finally she spoke, her voice trembled and for the first time since I’d known her she was no longer in control. “I’m terrified,” she whispered. “There’s something I should’ve told you when Father was killed. You remember I said then I knew who did it? Well, in a way, I did. When Mother …”

But she wasn’t allowed to continue. At that moment the door opened and Mrs. Rhodes entered. “Ah, Ellen, I didn’t know you were here.” She seemed disagreeably surprised. But quickly she became all sympathy, brushing past her daughter to me. “Mr. Sargeant, I do hope you’re better; I tried to see you earlier but you were still unconscious.”

“It looks as if I’ll be all right, Mrs. Rhodes,” I said with a gallant smile.

“I’m glad. One more tragedy would have been too horrible to bear.”

“It seems,” said Ellen, “that he did not kill himself for love of me.”

“I never thought he had,” said Mrs. Rhodes with a certain sharpness. “Verbena is the romantic one …”

“Well, if I had tried to kill myself, Mrs. Rhodes, it would have been for your daughter’s sake.”

“A pretty speech,” said Ellen; she looked drawn and tired.

“Are you getting up now?” asked Mrs. Rhodes.

“Yes, I have an appointment downtown. I’ll be back in time for dinner; you must be so sick of your boarders by now.”

“Not at all. In any event, when you come back from your appointment I should like to talk to you.” Over her mother’s shoulder Ellen shook her head suddenly, warningly.

I told Mrs. Rhodes that I would be glad to see her later in the afternoon, if we had time. Mother and daughter withdrew.

Carefully I sat up in bed and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Some fairly discreet fireworks went off in my head. I was weak but not ill. Slowly I dressed. I was tying my tie when Miss Flynn rang me from New York.

Her usual composure had obviously suffered a shock. “You are well?” was her first majestic misuse of an adverb. I told her I had survived, that the report she had read in the newspaper about attempted suicide was not true. I assured her that I would see her the next morning at my office in New York. She was very much relieved. I asked her for news and she told me that all Gotham was Agog at the thought of Hermione’s recital. It was generally considered that I had pulled off the public relations stunt of the minute. I told her to contact the editor of the Globe and tell him that I should have another article for him on the Rhodes murder case and that, since it would be the eyewitness account of the murderer’s arrest, I would expect X number of dollars for this unique bit of coverage. Miss Flynn agreed to Talk Turkey with the Globe. “I trust, however, you will be very careful in the course of this most Crucial Day.” I said that I would. I then asked her to check, if possible, some records and to call me back at five o’clock. She said that neither rain nor sleet … or so many other words, equally prolix … would keep her from finding out what I wanted to know.

2

The day went smoothly.

Winters went everywhere I did but, perversely, I kept throwing him off the track, to his fury. He could say nothing, though, for it was part of his official pose that he knew already, on his own, who the murderer was. I am fairly certain that he did not figure it out until the business was finished.

Before I left, I requested that Johnson Ledbetter be asked to dinner that night, without Elmer Bush.

On our way downtown, I read the afternoon paper. My attempted suicide appeared on page ten, with very little tie-up to the Rhodes affair. The Ledbetter affair occupied the front page, however. He was quoted at length to the effect he had been smeared by the opposition. There was even an editorial on the subject of morality in politics. Everyone was having a good time with all this and none of the papers seemed aware that either the Governor’s fiasco or my own misadventure was in any way connected with the recently “solved” murder. All this was to the good, I thought, with some satisfaction. It would make the beat all the more exciting.

“What’s our first stop?” asked Winters.

“Our first stop is the Party Headquarters and the office of one Verbena Pruitt.”

“But …”

“There will be neither ‘buts’ nor outcries. You will in fact have to wait outside in the anteroom while I speak to her.” There was considerable outcry at this but I won my point.

Verbena’s office was large and comfortable. Its position on the second-floor corner, southern exposure, indicated her importance in the Party. I was allowed to come in right away. Winters waited outside in the hall, trying, no doubt, to listen through the door.

“Come sit over here, beside me,” boomed the second or third lady of the land from behind a dainty knee-hole desk which looked as if it might crumple at any moment beneath the weight of her huge arms.

I sat down and she swiveled around in her chair and fixed me with her level agate-gaze. “You look green,” she said at last.

“I don’t feel so good,” I admitted.

“Love!” she snorted. “Root of all evil if you ask me … money certainly isn’t. I’m all for money … it’s pure; it’s useful; you can measure it … or at least you could before they started monkeying with the gold standard.”

“I didn’t kill myself for love, Miss Pruitt.”

She brightened. “Money worries? Career on the downgrade?”

“Just the opposite. I was doing too well and someone decided to kill me.”

“You’re a very daring young man,” said Miss Pruitt enigmatically.

“I suppose so. I wish you’d help me, though. There’s a lot at stake.”

She smiled. “How do you know that I may not be ‘at stake’?”

“I’m fairly sure. I don’t know everything of course; that’s why I want you to help me.”

To my surprise she said nothing to show that she was surprised by this turn of affairs, that the murderer of Lee Rhodes was still free and dangerous. Instead she said: “Ask me what you like and I’ll answer what I like.”

“How long did you know Lee Rhodes?”

“Twenty-five years or so.”

“Were you in love with him?”

This was daring. She sat back in her swivel chair; I was afraid that it might give way under her, tipping the great lady on her head, but she knew what she was doing. “You’re awfully fresh, young man,” she said.

“I was curious.”

“Then to satisfy your curiosity, yes, we were very close at one time. Shortly after Ellen was born, Lee wanted to divorce Grace and marry me. I may say with some pride that I talked him out of it. We were fond of each other but I was almost as fond of Grace. I didn’t want to wreck her life; though, since, I’ve sometimes wondered if it was the right thing.”

“You mean not separating them?”

She nodded, her eyes focused on the far wall, her voice dreamy. “They never got on of course. Grace would’ve been so much happier with another man, I’m sure of that, but the opportunity never arose again and they settled down with one another, neither contented.”

“You went on seeing a great deal of both?”

“Oh yes. I saw them through a hundred crises. When Ellen was supposed to marry that nephew of mine, it was I she came to after her father annulled the marriage. I was the one who reconciled them … though not for long since she went away as soon as she was of age. I practically brought her up. They were the most helpless family you ever saw when it came to managing their private affairs.”

“Mrs. Rhodes disliked Camilla, didn’t she?”

“Not really. She hated the idea of her, naturally, when she found out. Grace is a woman of high principles, you know, and it was a devastating blow for her, finding out Lee had had a by-blow, as they say back home. I think she was quite indifferent to Camilla one way or the other, as a person.”

“You obtained the contract for Roger Pomeroy before he came to Washington, didn’t you?”

She looked startled. “You’re very well informed,” she said coldly. “Yes, as a matter of fact I did.”

“You must’ve known all along that he had a pretty good alibi in case of arrest.”

“I did. As a matter of fact Grace and Ellen and I discussed the whole thing the morning of the day Pomeroy was to be arrested. I had discovered that that young fool of a policeman was going to arrest Roger and I talked it over with the family: should I or should I not let the police know that I had helped Roger get his contract before he came to see Lee. Roger himself begged me not to. I must say I didn’t want to: I would’ve found myself in a very uncomfortable position. On the other hand, we didn’t want Roger arrested. I will tell you, frankly, that none of us knew what to do until Rufus saw fit to kill himself and Roger was released, ending, I may add, one of the worst days of my life.”

“Do you think Rufus killed himself?”

“You should know,” she said, slowly, looking at me speculatively.

“I should know?”

“Did you take sleeping pills?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then it would seem Rufus was killed, and the confession was a fake.”

“That’s how I see it.”

“Why would the murderer want to kill you, though?”

“Because I knew everything. I’ve been poking around, you know, out of curiosity; while nosing about I figured out who did it.”

Verbena Pruitt’s face was a mask: a vast roseate larger-than-life-size mask. “I can see then why you were poisoned. Now I will give you some advice: leave Washington. I can promise you that the police will forget the whole thing. There will be no more trouble for any of us. The dead are dead and can’t be recalled. The rest of us are well out of it. You get out of it, too.”

“No.”

She was suddenly angry. “What then do you want? What’s your price? This was ugly indeed.

“I’m not for sale,” I said, becoming indignant although my sense of reality didn’t entirely desert me even in this heroic moment. “At least not now, to you. I’ll tell you one thing, though. I was ready to drop the whole thing last night. I decided it was, as you say, none of my business. I didn’t want to upset everyone again. I saw no reason to interfere in an affair which did not, really, concern me at all. But then the murderer tried to kill me and that, for reasons which will become more apparent, was more than I could take. I now intend to turn the killer over to the police.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

There was nothing more to say; we were through with one another. I had learned what I needed to know already, earlier in the conversation, and so, very politely, I excused myself and left her office. She did not speak.

“Well?” said Winters, joining me in the corridor.

“Well, yourself, my fine minion of the law.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“It’s my nature,” I said, feeling blithe.

In the entrance hall we ran into Johnson Ledbetter. He looked more than ever like an harassed buffalo at the end of the trail. He greeted me with hollow vigor. I detached myself from Winters and moved off into a corner with him. Politicos wandering in and out of headquarters quickly averted their gaze when they saw him: he was a fallen star and no one wanted to catch the infection of failure which, as all professionals know, is remarkably contagious.

“We’ll be seeing you tonight, won’t we, Senator?”

“Yes, of course I’ll be there. What’s going to happen?”

“We’re going to unveil the murderer of Rufus Hollister and Leander Rhodes.”

Ledbetter’s gray face looked set. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do. There’s one thing I would like to know, if I may: what did happen when you talked to Rufus, before he was shot?”

“That’s private.”

“You will be forced to tell it to the court, Senator.” I was reckless.

“I don’t see that it has any bearing on the murders,” he said weakly.

“I’m sure Winters can keep you off the witness stand if we know just what happened.” I was quite willing to commit Winters to anything at this point.

“We discussed the business of the two companies, all of which you have no doubt read about in the papers.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He said we were in danger of being exposed, that a Federal Commission was ready to publish its findings and begin legal proceedings. I said that I, of course, had no connection with any of this, even though my name appeared as a director and there was some stock issued in my name.”

“Did Hollister say anything about being exposed?”

“That’s all he talked about.”

“I mean being exposed by some malicious party, by the murderer?”

Ledbetter paused for one long moment; then he shook his head, “No, he didn’t mention anything like that.”

“Why did you quarrel?”

“Because he wanted me to accept equal blame with him; since I was not guilty I saw no reason to associate myself with him.” This canard was uttered with pious sincerity. “He thought I could get the Party to hush the whole thing up, or at least blame it on Lee. Unfortunately, I couldn’t.” Ledbetter betrayed himself in a most un-lawyerlike fashion; I wondered how on earth a man of his limited intelligence had managed to become the Governor of a state.

“What time did you go upstairs to talk to him?”

“About eleven-thirty.”

“How long were you there?”

“Twenty minutes, I should say.”

“Did he act as though he had another appointment?”

Ledbetter’s eyes grew wide. “How did you know? Yes, as a matter of fact he did say he was to meet someone at twelve.”

“In his room or somewhere else?”

“I assumed some other place since only Verbena, Grace and I were in the house.”

“Did you notice anything unusual on your way downstairs?”

He shook his head thoughtfully. “No, I was too angry to pay much attention. It is not a pleasant thing, young man, for a political figure to have his honor impugned and his integrity questioned. I may add that it looks as if I shall soon be vindicated. The Senate committee has already informed me, unofficially, that according to the documentation sent you by the unknown party, I was, along with Lee, the innocent dupe of Rufus Hollister.”

“Isn’t the committee at all interested in discovering who sent me those papers?”

“I don’t think the question arose.” I trembled for the safety of our country: these were the elders who framed our laws!

“Have you ever wondered who might have sent me those very convenient documents?”

“I’m afraid I’ve been much too busy to give the matter much thought.”

“Well, it was obviously someone who had your interest at heart, as well as a considerable stake in the business of the murders.”

“I always assumed that it was sent by a well-wisher who wanted to see justice done.”

“A well-wisher who had access to Senator Rhodes’ library, who knew where the papers were hidden, who implicated Rufus Hollister, who murdered Rufus Hollister, who mailed the papers to me in a very whimsical fashion, a well-wisher who …”

Ledbetter frowned menacingly, “Leave her out of this, hear me? If you drag her into this I’ll …” But there was no reason to continue our talk and so I excused myself and joined Winters at the door.

“What in the name of God did you tell him? He looked like he was going to kill you.”

“Everyone wants to kill me today,” I said, not inaccurately.

“You can say that again,” muttered Winters as we walked out into the bright winter noon.

I had one more errand to do, one which particularly mystified Winters; then we drove back to the house.

No one was in sight when we got there and I was suddenly afraid that the whole lot had fled; the presence of four detectives in gray business suits reassured me; the situation was under control.

Winters and I sat in the drawing room drinking Martinis; at least I drank several and he tasted one. I found I was still groggy from the sleeping pills and needed the stimulant or depressant of alcohol, whichever it is. I also needed a bit of courage for the evening ahead. I was like an actor preparing for a crucial first night. I couldn’t afford to muff a line.

We chatted about one thing and the other, both growing more excited by the minute … he against his will, too, since he disapproved of what I was doing and would have, if it had been possible, stopped me right then and there and concluded the case on his own more pedestrian lines.

At five o’clock Miss Flynn called with the information I had requested. I thanked her profusely; she had, in that inexorable way of hers, found out more than I should have thought possible. “Nevertheless, Mr. Sargeant, bearing in mind these Revelations, I would conduct myself with Extreme Caution.” I assured her that I would.

“All the evidence is now at hand, buddy,” I said, patting Winters on the back, feeling very content and a little drunk.

“It had better be,” said the policeman solemnly, eating the onion which I had put in his Martini.

3

There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that evening that something extraordinary was going to happen.

Everyone was studiedly casual at table. Ledbetter told a few old-time political stories and there was a great deal of merry laughter. I sat next to Walter Langdon and we discussed politics and journalism.

“The theme of the demagogue,” I said, weightily, “seems particularly fascinating to American writers. I suppose because we have so few of them in this country.”

“You mean so few effective ones.” Of them all Langdon was perhaps the most relaxed, in appearance.

“Well, yes. The great modern example was Huey Long. I suspect a hundred novels and plays will be written about him before the century’s over.”

“Penn Warren did a pretty thorough job,” said Langdon.

“I always liked the book Dos Passos wrote better. You remember? It was called Number One.”

Langdon nodded. “I read it. I think I’ve read everything about Long ever written.”

“I’ve been told he had a good chance of becoming President.”

“A lot of people thought it might happen, God help us. Fortunately God did and he was assassinated.”

“ ‘Killed in the shell,’ as it were.”

Langdon looked startled; he smiled. “Yes, that’s one way of putting it.”

“Your way, or rather Shakespeare’s.”

“The theme of my piece for the Advanceguard, too.”

“I thought you were going to show it to me.”

“You can see it any time you like. I’m taking it back with me tomorrow. I got it all done, first draft, that is … thanks to your typewriter paper.”

“Think nothing of it. Is it thus always with tyrants?”

“Not always … if only it were.”

“We should have a much better world, I suspect.”

Langdon nodded, his eyes suddenly bright. “If only people would act in time they could save the world so much pain. But they’re weak, afraid to take the life of one man for fear of losing their own.”

“But you would risk yours, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yes,” said Langdon quietly, “I would.”

When dinner was over we went into the drawing room, as was the custom of the house, for coffee. Winters kept trying to catch my eye for some sign but I gave him none. I was in no hurry. Timing was important at this stage.

I was standing off at one end of the room observing the dinner guests and witnesses-to-be when Roger Pomeroy came over and said, “I’m afraid I was very indiscreet the other night … must’ve been tight … didn’t realize I’d told you all I had.”

“It’s perfectly all right,” I said.

“Do wish you would keep what I said in strictest confidence, no matter what happens. Verbena was furious with me for telling you about that contract she arranged. She’s afraid you’re going to write it up in the papers.”

“Not a chance,” I said amiably. “I don’t even think it’ll come out at the trial.”

“Trial?”

“Tell her I’m not really a newspaperman, that I’m not down here to try and ferret out scandals for the delight of the people. All I’m interested in is the murders.”

“Oh.” Pomeroy looked at me blankly. “Well, don’t get me in Dutch with her, will you? That contract could be misunderstood, you know. Perfectly legal and all that but you know what a stink those people like Pearson make when they find out that a friend has done another friend a good turn, all perfectly on the up and up.”

I allowed that I knew just how it was. I could see he was uneasy but I gave him no more assurances. Then I strolled over to Mrs. Rhodes. She was sitting by the silver coffeepot, pouring, as she had done the night before and every night, doubtless, for many years. I sat down beside her.

“It is very hard,” I said.

She looked away, her face set. “Will you have more coffee?” she asked mechanically.

“No thank you.” The thought of coffee made me ill. I had tasted it all day: the result of that stomach pump.

“You are going to go through with this?” She did not look at me as she spoke; her hand toyed with the silver sugar tongs.

“I must.”

Before she could speak, Camilla Pomeroy was upon us. “I couldn’t’ve been more horrified!” she said, her eyes wide. “I just found out from Mr. Winters what really happened … and with my sleeping pills, too, or rather Roger’s only we keep them in my vanity case. Someone came in yesterday and took the whole bottle. They must’ve emptied it all in your cup last night. Though how, I don’t know, since Mrs. Rhodes was the one who poured.” Then, as though alarmed at the implications of what she had said, she began to talk very fast. “Thank heavens, though, you’re all right today. A third tragedy would have been more than flesh could bear.”

“Well, I have a strong stomach.”

“You must have. Of course I’ve always hated the idea of having sleeping pills around, especially those strong ones Roger takes. They could knock out an elephant in no time at all. I think they’re an absolute menace.”

“A menace,” repeated Mrs. Rhodes absently.

Across the room Ellen signaled to me. I excused myself and joined her at the backgammon table.

“Are you really going to be a sleuth?” she asked, setting up the board.

“I suppose so.”

“What fun! You take the greens; I’ll take the whites.”

“For chastity?”

“Don’t be rude.” We set up our boards. I watched Mrs. Rhodes across the room; she seemed distracted. Her hands nervously touched objects: silver, china, the jewels at her throat, as though she were trying to satisfy herself that the world was real, that this was not all a dream.

Langdon sat talking quietly to Ledbetter, discussing politics, no doubt. Every now and then Langdon looked over at us, at me; if he was anxious he did not betray it. Verbena Pruitt sat like a colossus between the Pomeroys who chattered loudly across her, talking of Talisman City. She ignored them, as though they were chattering birds come to rest upon her monumental self. Her eyes had a vacant, faraway look. Soon. Soon. Soon.

Ellen was off to a good start with double sixes.

We played in silence for several minutes. I watched the room, aware that Winters had a man at each door and another out on the street by the windows. Winters himself pretended to read a magazine.

“Well, it’ll soon be over,” said Ellen, shaking her dice.

“Will you be glad?”

“Lord yes! Though I’ve missed Bess Pringle’s party because of your silly sleeping pills.”

“Bess Pringle gives a lot of parties.”

“I know but I wanted particularly to go to this one.”

I picked up one of her men. She swore softly. She rolled but couldn’t come in. “Peter dear, who did it? Tell me. I’m dying to know.”

“You did, my love.”

She rolled her dice and came in on a four and picked up my man. Her face had not changed expression. “What a horrid thing to say, even as a joke.”

“What a horrid thing to do, even as a joke. It’s all right with me if you want to kill your father and Rufus but I think it ever so unfriendly to try and knock off your fiancé. It shows a lack of sensitivity.”

Ellen smiled, her old dazzling smile. “You’re going to have a hard time proving it, my lamb,” she said, her voice pitched so that only I could hear.

“It’s already proven. I spent the day getting evidence.”

“And?”

All my men were in homeplace; I began to take them off. “When you were a small and wicked girl you were engaged to be married to Verbena’s nephew. At the last minute that passion of yours for forbidden vice made you run off with a gymnast. Your father caught you and brought you back home. He had the marriage annulled and you hated him for it. When you were old enough, you left home for good.”

“Ancient history,” said Ellen, unperturbed.

“Ancient, yes, but we must construct a motive carefully. There is a great deal of proof that you hated your father for other reasons; this particular interference is good enough for a start. About a year ago he tried to get you to go into a sanitarium for observation. When you refused, he reduced your allowance; he also threatened to have you committed. You came down here a month ago to talk to him about it. While you were here you learned, probably by accident, about his business dealings with Hollister. The first thought which went through your head was to blackmail your father into giving you more money. It is possible that you did get something out of him … we’ll find that out by checking your bank. In any case, you were aware of the papers that he had drawn up, implicating Rufus in the company scandal and clearing himself …”

“There’s an awful lot of guesswork in this,” said Ellen.

“There has to be when it comes to a complicated motive. Fortunately, there is no guesswork in what happened afterwards. On the spur of the moment you came to Washington, full of a desperate plan. I’m sure that you didn’t arrive with any intention of killing your father: talk, however, of the new Pomeroy explosive did the trick. It looked like a perfect setup: your father is killed and his enemy Pomeroy is suspected, all very convenient.

“The first part worked beautifully but then the complications began, proving no doubt that murders should not be committed on such short notice. Verbena Pruitt told you and your mother that Pomeroy had a perfect alibi, that he could be proven motiveless at a moment’s notice. So you had to act quickly. Rufus Hollister seemed like the next best possibility. You had access to the papers which implicated him in the business tangle; all you had to do was, strategically and while the heat was still on Pomeroy, direct suspicion toward Rufus … and it was here that your troubles really began. In the last few hours I have tried to figure how you might have done it differently; you will be pleased to know that your method was about the best I could think of, though of course it wasn’t good enough.”

“I think I’d like a drink,” she said, thoughtfully, rolling two and one.

“Later. You wrote me a very whimsical note which, if I’d been quicker, I should have spotted as being vintage Ellen. You directed my attention to Rufus Hollister, knowing that I would follow the lead, that I would also pass it on to the police. You were also in possession of the papers, having the night before assaulted a plain-clothes man, looted the library and sent me, on the return visit to your room, hurtling through space, a bit of predatory behavior I find in the worst taste.”

“I’ll have Scotch,” said Ellen.

“You are deliberately trying to diminish my one great moment,” I said irritably.

“Well, if this proves to be your one great moment all I can say is …”

“Shut up. You went, the night before I got the letter, to the study and took down a copy of the Congressional Record in which you, or perhaps your father in your presence, had hidden documents which, if certain affairs came to light, would be executed, absolving the Senator of guilt. You then made a mistake. You left the copy of the Record in your bedroom where I saw it and, though I must admit I didn’t quite get the point the first time I saw it, I realized later that it could only have come from your father’s study and since you had not the faintest interest in politics and since all the papers had been cleared out of the study, this volume must, in some way then, be connected with the Hollister papers.”

She grunted; she kept on playing, though, rolling the dice and moving her men mechanically. I continued to take mine off as I talked.

“So, then, you had the papers and suspicion was cast, rather cleverly, on Rufus even before the Pomeroy alibi was known to either me or the police. I suggest if you had left it at that, you might have got off. I suppose you lost your head. The case against Pomeroy was due to fall apart any minute. Even though you had cast suspicion on Hollister, you weren’t satisfied that that would be enough. So, instead of letting me chase the papers you sent the papers to chase me … and, incidentally, it was that phrase which first set me moving in the right direction. Do you know why?”

“No, and I don’t want to hear.”

“I shall tell you anyway,” I said serenely. “Your mother, by accident, used it to me a few minutes after I had got the letter, making me think she had written the letter. Later, when I was fairly sure she had not written it, it occurred to me in a flash of purest inspiration that a paper chase was an old children’s game which she had doubtless played and which she had taught her daughter. In other words, it was a family reference so immediate as to be common to you both.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” she exploited scornfully. “I can’t bear this on an empty stomach. Get me a drink or I’ll get it myself.”

“Not yet. But that will not be a part of the case … I just thought you might be interested in how a superior mind can proceed through semantic association to a correct deduction.” I paused for some outcry but she went on playing, scornfully. “Now the plot moves quickly. You decide Hollister must commit suicide. You toy with the idea of forcing him into it by threatening him with exposure. But this won’t work. You telephone him at the office while I am there and you make a date to meet at midnight, in his room, implying no doubt that you have the papers, knowing he is terrified they may fall into the hands of the police. You keep that date, collecting en route your mother’s pistol you used to play with as a girl, shooting targets in the backyard.”

“I thought we were all at the Chevy Chase Club that night?”

“All but you; from eleven-thirty to twelve-thirty you were occupied not with that muscular Marine officer but with the murder of Rufus Hollister. You took a taxi home. You slipped in that unguarded side entrance which you unwisely told me about later. You waited, no doubt in the hall, until Ledbetter stormed out of Hollister’s room and then you marched in, shot him with that remarkably quiet pistol, typed a confession at great speed, left the house by the same way you entered, hailed a cab and rejoined Langdon at the Club. Total time elapsed: one hour.”

“Very fanciful.”

“This afternoon I paid a visit to the taxicab company where, I am happy to say, you were identified after three hours of rather discouraging confusion.”

Only a sharp intake of breath indicated I had scored at last.

“Yesterday, when I had my talk with Mrs. Rhodes and announced (inaccurately you will be sad to hear) that I knew who the murderer was, you were listening in the hall. In that direct way of yours you determined that my suicide was definitely in order, the sooner the better.”

“Prove I was in the hall.”

“Just a bit of circumstantial evidence. I heard someone run up the stairs. A few minutes later I went up myself; I got a strong whiff of your perfume.”

She chuckled softly. “Sherlock Holmes by a nose. I’d like to hear that in a court.”

“You won’t, though you’ll hear other things. I am merely trying to give you an intimate view of the way my mind works. You will have to listen to so much dull evidence that I thought I would treat you to those fine little points …”

She told me what I could do with those fine little points as I rolled doubles and took my last three men off the board. The game was over.

“Fortunately, you will not be executed, for which I am thankful despite the heartless way you tried to murder me. You will be removed to a private institution where you will spend the remainder of your life weaving baskets and causing no end of trouble for the other inmates.”

“What do you mean?” Her lips had tightened in a thin red line; her eyes were large and dangerously bright.

“I mean, Ellen, that after the court consults with that middle-aged analyst of yours, Dr. Breitbach, whom you only partly conquered, you will be declared criminally insane, which you are, and committed for the rest of your unnatural days.”

“You son of a bitch,” said Ellen Rhodes, throwing her dice in my face.

4

The story was all mine and I made the most of it.

The Pomeroys returned to Talisman City, and, I assume, barring an occasional excursion on Camilla’s part into extramarital situations, lived a contented and exemplary life, manufacturing munitions.

Verbena Pruitt, untouched by scandal, proceeded to deliver the women’s vote to a successful candidate for President for which she was rewarded with the Bureau of Fisheries and a private car and chauffeur.

Johnson Ledbetter was allowed to take his seat in the Senate though everyone deplored the necessity of seating him for several days. But now his pronouncements on the economic structure of the nation are taken with great seriousness; he is already on the Committee of Spoils and Patronage. His nephew is employed as his private secretary while his niece draws a considerable salary as a typist in his office, a task for which she has demonstrated a remarkable skill since she lives in Talisman City, her salary being collected in absentia by the Senator.

Mrs. Rhodes conducted herself with great dignity during the trial, which was mercifully short. No family skeletons were rattled in public and the court speedily brought in a decision that the defendant was indeed paranoiac, placing her for life in a shady institution in Maryland where she would receive the best of care.

I did not appear in court. My testimony was handled by the prosecutor and though I should have liked the glory it was wisest, all things considered, to let it fall upon the sturdy shoulders of Lieutenant Winters whose photograph appeared in the papers many times during the week, giving him an illusion of celebrity which the passage of time, I knew, would dispel. He had had his moment, though.

I had mine when the Globe hit the street the following afternoon with the exclusive story. We had beaten every paper in town and my intimate descriptions of the murderess at bay were very fine. The sort of thing which ordinarily would have broken Ellen up with laughter.

Walter Langdon and I went back on the train to New York together and he allowed me to read the first draft of his study in political murder. I thought it very fine and suggested he make an epic poem of it. He did not take this kindly, but I was quite serious: there hasn’t been a decent narrative poet since Byron.

I had moments of remorse when I thought of Ellen in that insane asylum. It had been, after all, no business of mine. I would have dropped the whole thing if she hadn’t tried to kill me which, I thought, had been carrying her role as the Lucrezia Borgia of Massachusetts Avenue too far. We had been, after all, fond of each other.

Two weeks later, just before the poodle’s recital at Town Hall, I met Mrs. Goldmountain backstage. It was the first time I had seen her since Washington, since the trial.

She rushed up to me. She was magnificently dressed, with a diamond butterfly in her hair and gold dust sprinkled over her eyelids.

“I couldn’t be more nervous!” she said, clutching my hands.

“There’s no cause for alarm,” I said calmly. “We’ve got the whole show under control. I’ve been in consultation with Heigh-Ho all week. We have television cameras in the lobby to televise the celebrities, Look to take photographs, and all the news services are represented; nothing can go wrong.”

“I hope not. Hermione has been practicing like mad these last two weeks. Oh, we can’t let her down.”

She twisted a bit of black lace nervously between her fingers. “Alma Edderdale is here and I asked Margaret Truman especially to come. There’s to be a whole trainload of Washington people.” Photographers, newsmen, officials of Heigh-Ho pushed by us. There was a great racket. From where we stood in the wings we could see the stage and part of the house: it was nearly filled already.

“Oh, by the way, how clever you were about the Ellen Rhodes thing. Who would have thought it? And according to everyone you worked it all out.”

“Just luck,” I said, quietly.

“I’m sure it was more than that. You know I went over to Maryland to see her yesterday.”

“Who? Ellen?”

“Certainly. I was always very fond of her. I thought I’d go and console her … nasty girl.”

“What did she do?”

“Do! She barked at me and pretended she was a dog!” Ellen Victrix, I thought … the ending was not so unhappy after all. I pitied the younger doctors.

But then Hermione, wearing a black velvet bow decorated with seed pearls, was led past us. Mrs. Goldmountain gave her a parting hug.

There was loud applause when she appeared on stage with her accompanist.

A moment later the piano broke into one of the very grandest arias from Norma and Hermione’s voice, unearthly and loud, floated in the air.

Her subsequent stardom in nine movies is known to all; after the ninth she lost her voice and was forced to make personal appearances until the grim reaper laid her low. Her Town Hall debut was a public relations success though artistically her press was mixed. Virgil Thomson in the Herald Tribune summed up the general view when he said that her voice was a small one and not well trained; nevertheless, despite her unreadiness, he found her stage presence utterly beguiling and her graciousness, especially during the curtain calls, remarkable.