The Devil Loves Me

2

The arrival of Detective-Inspector Sands and Sergeant Bannister was witnessed from behind at least one pair of curtains.

At the drawing-room windows stood Dennis Williams. Except for the studied blankness of his face he seemed at ease as he watched the two men step out of the car and walk unhurriedly along the flagstones.

From behind him Mrs. Shane said, “Dennis, what are you staring at?”

He turned, and the light from the windows fell on his right eye. It was swollen and the eyelid was a rich plum color.

“Police,” he said.

Mrs. Shane rustled over to the windows. “They don’t look like policemen. How do you know?”

“The big one has flat feet and the smaller one is too casual.”

“What very odd reasons, Dennis!”

Dennis smiled at her lazily. “Shall I go on? The small one is the inspector, because the big one keeps looking down at him, waiting for him to speak.”

“Since you’re in a deductive mood,” Mrs. Shane said rather crossly, “you might deduce where Dinah has disappeared to.”

Dennis touched his eye lightly. “Dinah and I are not very friendly today. She didn’t confide in me.”

“Well, she should be here. The inspector will want to question her.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because one of the servants is bound to tell him that she doesn’t like Jane.” She paused. “Incidentally, Dennis, would it be asking too much to ask you to stop making passes at Jane while you’re here?”

The careful blankness disappeared from his face. “That’s a—”

“I am quite aware of certain incidents, Dennis. Age may have cost me my figure but not my eyesight.”

“I didn’t—”

“The discussion is closed.”

To emphasize her words she went back to the refectory table at the other end of the room and resumed her work on the wedding presents.

“Fifteen coffee tables,” she muttered. “Dear heaven.”

Dennis did not pursue his point. He was too busy listening to the voices in the hall outside. A pleasant, mild voice was saying, “I’m Detective-Inspector Sands. This is Sergeant Bannister.”

“I’m Jackson, sir.”

“Please close that door, Dennis,” Mrs. Shane said briskly. “I have to think.”

Dennis went over and slammed the door.

In the hall Jackson made a gesture to take the inspector’s coat and hat.

“No, thanks,” Sands said. “I’ll keep them. Is there a room I can use while I’m here?”

“The library, sir. In here.” Jackson opened the door and Sands went inside.

“You’ll come in too, Jackson?”

“Me?” Jackson stared at him. “Yes sir.”

“Of course you will,” Sands said.

Sergeant Bannister’s teeth gleamed in a smile but he said nothing. Sands nodded at him almost imperceptibly, and Bannister ushered Jackson into the library and went out, making a funny little deferential bow before he closed the door.

Jackson stood near the door, his hands clasped behind his back. His breathing was loud and quick, and to cover the sound of it he said, “You want to know who was in the house at the time Miss Stevens was poisoned?”

“I don’t know when she was poisoned,” Sands said. “Perhaps you do?”

Jackson flushed, but the inspector was not looking at him. His pale eyes were studying the wall above Jackson’s head. He turned suddenly, removed his coat and hat and laid them on a chair. Then he sat down behind the big mahogany desk.

Jackson watched him, hypnotized. There was a deadness about his face and his movements. As if he has been dead a long time and is only going through the motions, Jackson thought. He is corpse-gray, even his hair and his suit and his eyes, and his voice doesn’t come from him but from somewhere, something, near him.

“I am very embarrassed,” Sands said.

His small sigh slithered down from the ceiling and tickled Jackson’s stomach. Jackson giggled.

“You mustn’t stare,” Sands said. “Are there many guests in the house?”

“N-no sir.” His voice shook when he smothered the giggle.

“Tell me.”

“Dr. Prye, who phoned you. Miss Stevens and her brother, Duncan. Mrs. Dinah Revel and her... her fiancé, Mr. Williams.”

“Mrs. Revel widowed or divorced?”

“Divorced.”

“And?”

“J-just divorced,” Jackson stammered.

“I meant, and what others?”

“Mrs. Shane and her daughter, Nora, and Mrs. Shane’s sister, Aspasia. And the servants.”

“How many?”

“Three. Myself, Mrs. Hogan, the cook, and Hilda Perrin, the general maid.”

Sands was quiet, writing the names in his notebook. Jackson stood and watched him. The silence was thin, eerie. He heard his own voice floating around the room. “Hilda Perrin, the general maid,” from the ceiling and the walls. “Hilda Perrin, the general maid.” He lost track of time. Had he said it an hour ago, five minutes ago?

“You are nervous, Jackson?” Sands said without looking up.

“No sir.”

“Miss Stevens is an American, I understand?”

“Yes sir. She lives in Boston.”

“And Mrs. Revel?”

“Mrs. Revel and Mr. Williams both come from Montreal.”

“Her fiancé, you said?”

“That’s what I said.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He looked up. “I’d like to see this Dr. Prye who telephoned me.”

“Right, sir.” Jackson backed toward the door as if he were glad to escape.

“Jackson.”

“Y-yes sir.”

“I am not a sinister figure, surely?”

Jackson shook his head violently and moved out of the door.

Or am I? Sands thought. Perhaps I am. He looked down at himself, laughing softly. When he looked up again Prye was standing in the doorway, watching him.

Sands’ laugh fell away into an echo. “Dr. Prye? Come in and close the door.” He met Prye’s puzzled gaze with a smile. “Will you sit down?”

Prye closed the door and sat down on the red leather window seat. He was still speechless from his first sight of Sands chuckling softly to himself in an empty room.

“I know a little about you, Dr. Prye,” Sands said.

Prye found his voice and a smile. “Propaganda,” he said.

“You are a consulting psychiatrist, permanent home Detroit, came to Toronto to attend a wedding. My name is Sands, by the way. Inspector White of the Provincial Police is a friend of mine. You remember him, of course?”

“Of course,” Prye said hollowly.

“I understand he almost shot you.”

“Yes.”

“Because you interfered with one of his cases.”

“Again yes.”

“That covers everything, I think. I don’t carry a revolver. Is this your first visit to Toronto?”

“I’ve passed through it before. I’ve never stayed here.”

“But you have acquaintances in the city?”

“The people in this house, and yourself.”

“No one else?”

“No one.”

“Yet the note your friend found in his pocket was addressed to you. That lessens my work, doesn’t it?” Sands paused. “And where is your friend, by the way?”

“I told him to return home.”

“Unwisely, perhaps?”

“It’s a quality of invulnerability,” Prye said.

Sands’ eyebrows moved in surprise. “What is?”

“Your quality. Why you could frighten Jackson. Why you make me tongued-tied. You are an observer, an outsider. We insiders have no weapons against you.”

Sands leaned across the desk. “You won’t need any. Let me see your letter, will you?”

Prye pulled out the letter and gave it to him. Sands read it through quickly, folded it, and put it in an envelope that he took from his coat pocket.

“Long-winded fellow,” he commented. “Mildly endowed with humor of a sort. Everything well planned too. You read the note just before Mrs. Revel screamed at the church?”

“Yes.”

“The method would have to be poison, of course, preferably one which could be administered well ahead of time. Is that why you suggested atropine to the intern in charge?”

“Partly. The physical symptoms suggested atropine strongly: dilated pupils, extreme glassiness of her eyes, her inability to speak, the pinkness of her skin. I had still another reason, not so much a reason as a hunch.”

He took out a cigarette and lit it.

“The immediate result of Jane’s poisoning was that the wedding was stopped. Let’s assume that that was the result intended. Bear in mind that the letter was sure to be received before the ceremony and that the ring was taken. So it occurred to me that if I wanted to break up a wedding I’d give someone in the wedding party a nicely calculated dose of atropine. Or muscarin.”

“Why specify the poisons?”

“Because they are the only two poisons in the whole range of toxicology which are perfect antidotes for each other. Although both are effective poisons used separately, used together they nullify each other and are relatively harmless. So that if I gave you, for instance, a half grain of atropine and a doctor followed it up with a similar quantity of muscarin, you’d live to have me arrested for attempted homicide.”

“Is this fact widely known?”

Prye said, “It’s not the sort of thing that would come out in drawing-room conversation, but it’s easy enough to find out.”

“What is muscarin?”

“It’s the poison obtained from the fly mushroom and is chemically allied to nicotine. It’s not easy to obtain like atropine, which is used widely in prescriptions. That’s why I’d choose atropine. All right. I break up the wedding by poisoning a bridesmaid. But suppose I have no grudge against the girl. I don’t want her to die, so I make sure that the poison is identified. Then the wedding would be stopped, Miss Stevens would recover, and all would be well.”

The telephone on the desk began to ring. Sands said, “Excuse me,” and lifted the receiver. Prye could distinguish none of the words which came over the line but the voice seemed vaguely familiar, high-pitched and excited.

Sands grunted once or twice and said, “Thank you. Fifteen minutes ago? I’ll see about it.”

He replaced the receiver and looked around at Prye. His eyes were cold. “Your thought processes may be tenuous, Dr. Prye, but they’ll do.”

Prye recognized the voice then, and said, “That was the hospital, I gather. It was atropine?”

“Yes. I knew that before I came here. I was at the hospital. Where were you fifteen minutes ago, Prye?”

“Talking to Sergeant Bannister in the hall.”

“Fortunate.”

Prye leaned forward, frowning. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Sands said, “that fifteen minutes ago an anonymous male voice informed the hospital that Miss Stevens was an atropine case. Your hypothetical poisoner seems to have materialized.”

Sands’ small gray eyes remained fixed on Prye.

“Materialized,” he repeated.

Prye’s smile was careful. “I mustn’t have any more hunches, must I? No indeed.”

“You couldn’t have made the telephone call?”

“No.”

“And you wouldn’t want to stop your own wedding?”

“No.”

“Who would?”

There was a long silence. “No one,” Prye said at last.

“No tricky wills, no trust funds and the like bearing on Miss Shane’s marriage?”

“Nothing,” Prye said.

“Miss Shane is an only child, is she not?”

“Yes.”

“Possibly her mother would prefer her to remain single?”

Prye smiled. “I think not.”

“Her maiden aunt?”

“Perhaps. But she would hardly choose this bizarre method of keeping her single. Besides, Jane is her favorite niece. Aspasia would have chosen some other member of the party. Did you see Jane? Is she conscious?”

“Conscious but sacrosanct,” Sands said sourly. “Guarded by a cordon of young and consequently earnest and ignorant interns. Is the girl pretty?”

“Very pretty. Later on she’ll be fat, faded, and stupid. Right now she’s curved, blond, and stupid.”

“Is she? Her brother, Duncan, seemed bright enough. I saw him waiting in the corridor outside her room. He seems devoted to his sister. He was extremely nervous.”

“That’s a hangover. He was celebrating the wedding last night. I was not aware that he was devoted to Jane.”

The inspector affected surprise. “Really? But then you saw him yesterday for the first time. Devotion between members of a family has its ups and downs.”

“In that case Duncan must have hit a new low last night. When he was drunk to the point of eloquence he told me he disliked me and disliked weddings and that the only reason he’d come at all was to prevent Jane from raping any of the ushers.”

“Sad,” the inspector said.

“Rape,” Prye said, “is always sad.”

“No, the other, the lack of feeling and respect for his sister. Unless, of course, the girl is actually a nymphomaniac. Would you say that?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Prye said dryly. “I’m marrying into the family.”

“Still, she has a weakness in that direction?”

“Oh yes, decidedly.”

“And the anonymous telephone call came from a man. It’s a small point but—” Sands rose and made a gesture of dismissal. “That’s all for now, Dr. Prye.”

Prye lingered. “Any chance of my seeing Miss Stevens when you do?”

“If it will interest you.”

“It will.”

“In that case you’d better have some lunch now. I’m expecting an O.K. call from the hospital at any time.”

At the door Prye turned to say, “I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Revel hasn’t returned. She left the church before the ambulance arrived.”

“Why?”

“Mrs. Shane told her to.”

“I’ll see Mrs. Shane now. Will you bring her?”

Prye crossed the hall and opened the drawing-room door. Mrs. Shane looked up from her work. Dennis remained slumped in a chair with a book in his hands.

“Inspector Sands would like to see you,” Prye said to Mrs. Shane.

“Well, I should think so,” she replied crisply. She flashed a look at Dennis. “I am a perfect mine of information.”

Dennis slapped his book shut and yawned, too casually. “I’ve got nothing to lose. Not for anything would I poison a blonde.”

“I’m aware of that,” Mrs. Shane said. As she passed behind his chair she put her hand on his shoulder for a moment. “I do think you might do something about finding Dinah, however.”

“She’ll come home,” Dennis said, “dragging her tail behind her. My guess is, she’s tight as a tick already. We can only wait and find out.”

“Very well.”

Mrs. Shane closed the door with unnecessary firmness and went into the library. Sands was standing at the window looking out. Without turning he said, “Fine maples, Mrs. Shane.”

She was pleased. “They are, aren’t they? My husband planted them thirty years ago. This was all country then.”

He turned around very gradually and smiled at her. She liked him at once because he looked tired.

“You haven’t had any lunch,” she said instantly. “Will you stay?”

“No, thank you. Policemen and doctors become accustomed to missing meals.”

“Yes, I suppose.” She arranged herself in a deep leather chair. “How is Jane?”

“She will recover,” he said.

“I thought she would.”

He looked surprised. “Why?”

She gave him a confidential smile. “Because I’m lucky. That must sound very silly indeed. Does it?”

“No. Some people are lucky. It’s partly because they believe in their luck. Tell me about your other niece, Mrs. Revel.”

“Tell you what?”

“Where she is, first.”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Shane replied. “Dinah is a free soul. She manages her own life very badly, I’m afraid. But I’m wasting your time.”

“No. There’s nothing I can do until I talk to Miss Stevens. You are not worried about Mrs. Revel, are you?”

She hesitated. “Not exactly worried. But it’s after lunch time and Dinah is dieting again, which means that she goes without breakfast and then appears early for lunch. And it isn’t like Dinah to go into hysterics as she did this morning.”

“She may be staying with friends.”

“No. I don’t think she has friends in Toronto. Dennis Williams thinks she is getting drunk. It’s not improbable.”

“You are admirably frank,” he said.

She smiled. “At my age one has no reason not to be.”

“You understand that this is likely a case of attempted homicide?”

“Yes. It’s not pleasant, but it’s better than accomplished homicide. It is puzzling. Jane is an innocuous creature, very like my sister, Aspasia. You will be gentle with Aspasia, I hope. She has a habit of fainting.”

“Habit?”

“I think so,” Mrs. Shane said firmly.

“More frankness,” Sands said with dry emphasis. “You are going to be a very suspicious person indeed.”

“I expect so. Are you going to do anything about Dinah?”

“If you want me to, certainly. You might describe her.”

Mrs. Shane sat up straight in her chair. “It’s not quite fair to ask a woman to describe another woman. We are too realistic about each other. Allow for that. Dinah is tall and thin, about five feet seven, and one hundred and ten pounds. Her eyes are pale blue. She has bright red hair, rather long and curly. I haven’t seen her natural complexion for years but she uses Rachel powder. She wears no rouge but a lot of lipstick and eyebrow pencil. All very heathenish but rather attractive.”

“Her clothes?”

“An odd shade of yellow. Velvet. Tiers on skirt and a hat of real marigolds. She had no coat.”

“Was she driving a car?”

“No. She came to Toronto with Dennis in his car.”

“Thank you,” Sands said. He went to the door and opened it for her. She walked out, looking a little surprised.

Sands reached for the telephone, reeled off Dinah’s description to the policeman at the desk, and then hung up and called the hospital again. Miss Stevens was doing as well as could be expected. Assured of his identity, the voice added that Miss Stevens had reacted wonderfully to the injections and was well enough to be eating. She was asking for her brother, Duncan. Would the inspector be kind enough to produce him?

“I left Duncan Stevens at the hospital,” Sands said acidly. “I didn’t smuggle him out in my pocket.”

“He left immediately after you did,” the voice claimed.

“I’ll find him. I’ll be there in half an hour. Keep the girl conscious.”

“That’s not in my province,” the voice said, and disappeared into space.

Sands went out into the hall and motioned to Prye, who was talking to Sergeant Bannister again. Prye came over.

“I hope you don’t get married often, Prye,” he said. “Another disappearance. This time it’s Stevens.”

They walked back into the library.

“Best news I’ve had in years,” Prye said. “But my luck won’t hold. Stevens has likely gone to another hospital for a quiet session with his d.t.’s.”

“Heavy drinker?”

“Chronic, I understand. He’s had a good ten years’ practice. He’s thirty-one.”

“The brother is a kind of guardian to his sister?”

“A kind of,” Prye said. “Jane’s twenty-two and Duncan controls the money until her marriage, in accordance with the family custom. Primogeniture and that sort of thing is very strong in the family.”

“Much money?”

“There used to be rather a lot, but Duncan is generous with himself. The best isn’t good enough for Duncan. How much this delusion has cost him I don’t know.”

“Any marriage imminent for the girl?”

“There was once.”

“Tell me.”

“It didn’t come off.”

Sands raised his brows. “These half weddings seem to run in the family.”

“That one didn’t get as far as mine did. Maybe the curse is lifting.”

“This was in Boston?”

“Yes. Three years ago. Ask Nora about it. She was there at the time.”

“What happened?”

Prye grinned. “Well, Nora swears that Duncan wears blue silk underwear and took a fancy to the young man himself. Nora read a book once.”

“I see. Was the girl upset at all?”

“You wait and see what a very great deal it takes to upset a cow.”

“Parents both dead?”

“Yes.”

They were silent a moment.

“You know when the girl was poisoned?” Sands asked.

“I think so. At breakfast. The time is right. She had breakfast about eight-thirty.”

“With whom?”

Prye looked up and smiled rather bleakly.

“With me,” he said at last. “With no one else but me.”