The Devil Loves Me

3

Miss Tomson, charge nurse of the accident ward, stepped out of room 202 and thumbed her nose at the door. Then she walked, with no loss of dignity, to the desk.

“Now what do you think she wants?”

Miss Hearst sighed. “A bedpan. All of them do all of the time.”

Miss Tomson ignored this. “A powder puff, a comb, lipstick, and some perfume. ‘If it isn’t too too much trouble.’ ”

“I’ll rustle up the perfume,” Miss Hearst said smoothly. “You can’t beat a drop of formaldehyde behind each ear. It’s so clinging.”

Miss Tomson remembered her official position and said, “No levity please, Miss Hearst.”

“Of course not, Miss Tomson. I was only trying to help.”

Mollified by this lip service, Miss Tomson became natural again. “I don’t care for these cloying blondes. They should be poisoned every six months as a matter of principle. Still, it’s odd, isn’t it? It wasn’t attempted suicide as most of them are, because she doesn’t even know she was poisoned, Dr. Hall says.”

“He’s been in there for half an hour,” Miss Hearst remarked. “He’s a sucker for blondes.”

Miss Tomson was arch. “Jealous, Miss Hearst?”

“Oh no,” Miss Hearst said with a shrug of her starched shoulders. “I could be a blonde myself if I wanted to spend the time on it.”

Unaware that harsh remarks were being made about her person, Miss Jane Stevens sank back among her pillows. Miss Stevens herself never made harsh remarks. Her mind moved in a small circle about herself though frequently the circle expanded to include her brother Duncan or some nice new young man she’d met at a party. Or at a hospital.

She smiled up at Dr. Hall, the intern on the accident ward. “You must be terribly clever. I feel quite well again. When am I going home?”

Dr. Hall returned the smile. “When we get a pretty girl on this ward we can’t let her go off the same day.”

“What... what happened to me?”

In the coarse white hospital gown she looked very small and fragile. She suspected this fact and endeavored to improve on it by letting one round white arm trail helplessly over the edge of the bed.

“You mustn’t think about it,” Dr. Hall said.

“Did I faint?”

“Well, in a way.”

She sat up, looking at him with frightened eyes. “Look, I didn’t have a... a fit? You know what I mean.”

“Epilepsy? Oh no.”

“Oh well, that’s all right.” She sank back again. “Where is Duncan? He’ll be worried about me.”

“He’s around somewhere,” Dr. Hall replied in the confident voice he used for making statements with no basis of truth.

The charge nurse bustled into the room and announced brightly that she wouldn’t want to disturb anybody but Miss Stevens had company waiting and Dr. Hall was wanted immediately in 206.

Dr. Hall scowled at her. “There wasn’t anyone in 206 half an hour ago.”

Miss Tomson replied sweetly that half an hour was a long time in a hospital.

“Company?” Jane said. “Is it my brother?”

Dr. Hall went out, and Miss Tomson gave Jane a look of synthetic sympathy. “My dear, it’s the police!” she hissed, and left Jane flailing her arms and shouting questions at the closed door.

Prye and Sands came in together.

Jane gasped, “Police? What— Not Duncan?”

“Nothing to do with Duncan,” Prye told her. “How are you feeling, Jane?”

The question calmed her. She gave him a very brave smile. “I’m fine, Paul. Don’t bother about me. I’m sorry I spoiled your lovely wedding.”

“That’s all right. Jane, this is Inspector Sands.”

Sands smiled but said nothing.

“You are a policeman then?” she said, paling. “What do you want?”

“I hope you’re feeling well enough to stand a shock,” Sands said mechanically, thinking that she looked well enough insulated.

“Shock? What is everybody so mysterious about today? What shock?”

“You were poisoned this morning.”

She didn’t look shocked at all. She seemed, on the contrary, rather pleased, as if she had been proved right about something.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I was positive that the bacon tasted odd this morning. It’s no wonder I’m ill. Food poisoning—”

“It wasn’t food poisoning,” Sands said. “It was atropine.”

She was completely blank. “I don’t quite know what atropine is.”

“It’s a poison,” Prye said. “Like arsenic, strychnine, the cyanides—”

“Oh.” Her mouth opened and her eyes widened as if they were controlled by the same string. She said “Oh,” again. That was all.

Prye shook his head sadly and thought, it’s impossible to surprise a cow. Either the adjustment is over in a second or there is no adjustment at all. He said lightly, “Know anyone who wants to get rid of you, Jane?”

“You mean, kill me?”

“That’s right.”

“No, of course not. Why, I’ve never injured anyone in my whole life. The poison was probably intended for someone else.” She paused, her eyes gradually brightening. “That’s it, of course! The poison was intended for you, Paul. It wasn’t for me at all.”

“Why me?”

She waved her arm vaguely. “Well, aren’t you — I mean, you are connected with things like murder and all that, aren’t you?”

“That’s hardly a reason for poisoning me.”

She gazed at him with reproach. “It is a much better reason than anyone has for poisoning me.”

“You had your breakfast with Dr. Prye this morning, Miss Stevens?” Inspector Sands asked.

“Yes, that’s why I’m so sure that the poison was intended for—”

“Yes,” Sands said. “Was there any switching of coffee cups? Who served the coffee? Did you have any other liquids? Did you notice any peculiar taste?”

“The bacon,” Jane said brightly.

“Other than the bacon?”

“No.”

“Tell me everything you did from the time you got up this morning.”

“Well,” Jane said, “I woke up early, something which I loathe doing, don’t you? I put on my robe, it’s blue to match my nightgown and I didn’t want to dress up before—”

“All right. You came down the stairs. Then what?”

“Then Dr. Prye came down and we went into the dining room. Jackson was bringing in the percolator. Or was it Hilda? I can’t remember.”

“Jackson,” Prye said.

“Of course. It was Jackson. I said good morning to him and he said it wasn’t a very nice day for the wedding. Then I sat down. I had grapefruit juice, bacon, one egg, two slices of toast, and some coffee. Jackson poured the coffee.”

“I did,” Prye said.

“So you did,” Jane said. “Anyway, as soon as I tasted the bacon I knew there was something odd about it. Rancid, you know. I don’t wonder it was bad now that I know—”

“The bacon was all right,” Prye said violently. “I didn’t have any grapefruit juice but I did have bacon. It was all right. It didn’t have any poison on it, in it, or under it. It was swell.”

“You needn’t repeat it so often, Paul,” Jane said coldly. “I understand. You think the poison was put into the grapefruit juice or the coffee and not the bacon. But you needn’t even bother thinking it was in the grapefruit juice, because if someone were trying to poison you, Paul, they wouldn’t put it in my drink.” She turned to Inspector Sands and smiled at him sweetly. “Would they?”

The inspector was saddened by this appeal. I wonder, he thought, if it’s any use. He spoke very slowly and distinctly: “Since it was you, Miss Stevens, who received the poison, I must assume in the absence of further evidence that it was you who were intended to receive it.”

Jane was trying hard to follow this, it was evident. Her eyes had narrowed to small, bright, almost intelligent slits. After a time she said pensively:

“It might even have been Duncan. Hardly anyone likes Duncan. And that glass of water I drank in his room—”

“You went into Duncan’s room after breakfast?”

“Yes. You see, he was drinking rather heavily last night. He said really dreadful things to everyone. Duncan gets so clever when he’s drunk and I can hardly understand what he’s talking about, but you could tell he was saying dreadful things from his expression.”

“Yes. After breakfast this morning you went to his room. What for?”

Jane smiled patiently. “To wake him. He was to be an usher, you see. I thought I’d better take him some aspirin tablets. He gets the most horrid headaches. Duncan has a very nervous disposition so I think his headaches are migraine. It’s always worse after he’s been drinking, for some reason, and I did want him to be feeling all right for the wedding. So I went and got my bottle of aspirin tablets and took them into his room.”

“What time was that?”

“Miss Stevens went upstairs about ten minutes to nine,” Prye said.

“Well, it must have taken about five minutes to get the aspirin, so that would make it five minutes to nine,” Jane said with an air of triumph. “But when I got there you’d never guess whom I saw coming out of Duncan’s room!”

“All right,” Prye said. “Who?”

Jane turned to Sands. “Do you give up too, Inspector?”

“Yes, I give up,” Sands said.

“Well,” Jane said, “it was Dinah. I never was so surprised in my life, because Duncan and Dinah can’t stand each other. And when I got inside the room I was quite shocked because Duncan was still sleeping and Dinah had had her pajamas on. I didn’t know what to think.”

She knew what to think, Sands decided, and she thought it. Aloud he said: “Isn’t there a possibility that she had just gone in to awaken him?”

Jane’s eyes widened. “I never thought of that. It’s a possibility, of course.”

“Did Mrs. Revel know you had seen her?”

“Oh yes. I said good morning to her. She said good morning and went down the hall into her own room. She wasn’t in the least flustered, but then Dinah never is, really. She pretends she is sometimes, just to — just for excitement.”

“Did you wake your brother?” Sands prompted.

“I shook him and shouted to him, but he wouldn’t wake up. The only thing that ever wakens Duncan is cold water. There was a pitcher of it half full on his night table, so I poured out a glass and let it trickle out on his forehead.” She giggled. “Oh, he was terribly mad!”

“You mentioned taking a drink of water yourself,” Sands said.

“Yes, I did. Somehow, I could still taste that frightful bacon. There was a little water left in the pitcher so I drank some of it.”

“How did it taste?”

Jane wrinkled her nose. “Well, it tasted funny, but I thought that was because it was Duncan’s water.”

“Duncan’s water?” Sands repeated. “I see. He even had special water to drink?”

“Well, not exactly. It’s the same water, but Duncan never drinks anything that isn’t room temperature. He thinks all these hot and cold drinks that people take cause stomach ulcers. Even his cocktails have to be lukewarm.”

Sands interrupted, “So that the pitcher was left standing in his room all night to make the water room temperature?”

Jane nodded. “Yes, because when Duncan has migraine he is awfully thirsty in the mornings. He was very angry with me for drinking his water so I went downstairs to the kitchen to get him some. I mixed a little hot water with the cold.”

“Why didn’t you ring for Jackson or Hilda?”

“Duncan told me not to. Duncan says the only way he can teach me these things is to let me learn from experience. He said I must reap what I sow, and if I drink someone else’s water I have to replace it.” She sighed, rubbing her fingers across her white forehead. “Duncan is awfully clever.”

“Duncan,” Prye mumbled to the window, “is a pain in the pants.”

But Jane was paying no attention. She was talking again, assuring Sands that she felt the whole thing was a Ghastly Mistake, that she felt perfectly well and wanted to go home, or at least as far as Nora’s house.

A commotion in the hall outside the room caused her to stop abruptly. She sat up in bed. “That’s Duncan, I bet.”

The door opened gradually and hospital sounds filled the room, the rattle of dishes and silver, the sigh of starched uniforms, the steady buzz of professional whispers, the brisk tap, tap, tap of rubber-soled shoes.

One whisper raised its head above the crowd.

“I’m afraid you can’t, Mrs. Revel,” it said. “We have orders not to—”

“The hell with orders,” declared a hoarse voice from the hall. “The hell with everyone! I wanna see Janie—”

“But the doctor left orders—”

“The hell with orders,” the hoarse voice repeated.

She came into the room with slow, unsteady steps and leaned against the wall, surveying the three of them out of glassy, half-closed eyes.

“Migod, a party!” she said.

She couldn’t be any drunker, Prye thought. She still wore her yellow bridesmaid’s dress and the hat of fresh marigolds. The dress was torn at the hem and the hat had slipped down over one eye. Some of the marigolds had come loose and straggled down to lose themselves in her flaming hair. She had a man’s coat draped over her shoulders. It was made of shiny blue serge and was slightly dirty.

Her eyes focused themselves gradually on Inspector Sands.

“Doctor,” she said thickly, “I’m a sick woman. I need a drink.”

“Dinah!” Jane said with infinite reproach.

Reproach for what? Prye asked himself. For being drunk? For going into Duncan’s room? For coming to the hospital?

The point was cleared up immediately.

“You’ve torn your beautiful dress,” Jane said sadly. “Migod,” Dinah said, “you’re cute. You look like a flower in that big bed, a little, fragile flower, a hepa... a hepa... hep—”

“Hepatica,” Prye said.

“That’s right,” Dinah said. “Doesn’t she? But, boys, if you only knew what I know. Boys, I could tell you things that I know.”

“Have a chair, Dinah,” Prye said. He took her arm and guided her to a chair. She sat down with great dignity, holding her neck very straight. The hat slid down her forehead and rolled off.

Prye said, “Dinah, this is Inspector Sands. Mrs. Revel, Inspector.”

“Glad to meet you,” Dinah said, extending her hand vaguely. “Any friend of Jane’s is a friend of mine. You bet. Trouble is, any friend of mine is a friend of Jane’s. Jane, you little hep—”

“Hepatica,” Prye said.

“Tell the boys if it ain’t so, Janie. Go on and tell the boys.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dinah,” Jane said in an injured voice. “Unless you’re referring to Mr. Williams and his kindness in taking something out of my eye last night.”

“Isn’t she cute, boys?” Dinah demanded. “Didn’t I tell you she was cute? Smart as a whip too. Caught on right away. Mr. Williams it is, Janie. Mr. Williams fixed your eye and I fixed his. I fixed his better than he fixed yours.”

Sands edged quietly toward the door. “Excuse me,” he said softly. “I shall see you later, Mrs. Revel. I’ve got to phone now.”

“Yeah,” Dinah said, watching the door close behind him. “He’s got to see a phone about a dog. Who is that man?”

“A policeman,” Prye said.

Dinah yelped, “Migod! I’m crazy about policemen. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re so noisy, Dinah,” Jane said. She turned plaintively to Prye. “I wish you’d take Dinah home, Paul, and look after her. She’s quite impossible when she’s drunk. She imagines things.”

Dinah shook her head owlishly. “Isn’t she the limit, boys? But you don’t know the half of it, boys. Tell ’em the other half, Janie.”

Prye said, “Shall we go home, Dinah?”

“Go on, Janie. Give, Janie.”

Jane sat up straight in the bed, her blond curls falling over her shoulders. “Honestly, Dinah, I had something in my eye and I asked Dennis to get it out for me and he said he would. That’s all there was to it. My conscience is quite clear.”

“Clear like ink,” Dinah said. “If Dennis was getting something out of your eye, why the hell was he kissing the back of your neck? Why the hell would that be, Paul?”

Prye didn’t answer, and she turned back to Jane. “All right, you tell me, Janie. Why the hell would that be?”

“If he was kissing the back of my neck,” Jane said virtuously, “it was without my consent and you really oughtn’t to blame me, Dinah. He might have— He might be One of Those Men.”

Dinah howled, “Migod,” and leaned her head back against the chair. She seemed to be shaking with laughter. She sat up again in a minute and said, “Dennis is one of those men, and God pluck you for a hepatica, you’re one of those girls. The kisser and the kissed.”

Jane raised her head and said to Prye in very dignified tones:

“I’m afraid Dinah is jealous. She’s one of these possessive women. Honestly, I feel sorry for her. I wish you’d take her home.”

“Home,” Dinah said, “is where the drinks are. Come on, Paul.”

“Delighted,” Prye said with feeling.

He went over, picked up her marigold hat from the floor, and helped her to her feet. She swayed back and forth and gradually became steadier. She was clutching the blue serge coat in one hand.

Prye said, “Where did you get the coat? We’ll take it back.”

“Stole it,” she said cheerfully. “Cannot take it back. Cannot smirch the family scutcheon.” She paused at the foot of the bed and waved her free arm at Jane. “Good-by, my little hepatica. I hope you croak.”

“Good-by, Dinah,” Jane said sweetly. “I know you don’t mean what you say when you’re drunk.”

“The hell I don’t,” Dinah said.

Prye guided her out, a firm hand on her arm. In the corridor she stopped and disengaged her arm. “Sorry. I forgot something.”

She went back into Jane’s room. There was the sound of a sharp, heavy slap and a scream. Dinah reappeared in the corridor, looking very pleased.

“Gotta keep score,” she said. “That’s two.”

They took the elevator down to the first floor. At the desk a nurse informed Prye that Inspector Sands had left the hospital twenty minutes previously and could he found at 197 River Road, Humber 5563.

Prye had driven to the hospital in Sands’ car. Now he called a taxi and sat down on a couch in the waiting room beside Dinah. She was becoming very sleepy. He told her jokes to keep her awake, but after giggling impartially at all of them she went to sleep anyway, using her hat as a pillow.

When the taximan arrived he said, “Invalid, sir?”

“At the moment,” Prye said. “Dinah. Dinah, wake up! We’re going home to see Dennis.”

Dinah stirred and sighed, “Oh, Dennis.”

They carried her out between them and put her in the back seat of the taxi.

The driver sniffed the air. “A souse?”

“Somewhat,” Prye said. “River Road, 197, as fast as possible.”

He held Dinah up with one hand and maneuvered a cigarette out of his pocket with the other. He couldn’t strike the safety match in that position so he let go of Dinah and lit his cigarette, and she sagged forward until her head touched her knees. He put his arm around her, and she slept against his shoulder for the rest of the trip.

The driver turned off on River Road and pulled up in front of the Shanes’ house. Prye handed him three dollars.

“You’d better help me move the invalid.”

The driver eased Dinah out of the back seat and propped her up on the running hoard.

“Want me to sober her up a hit?” he asked Prye. “Just so’s she can walk in the house?”

“Just so’s,” Prye said. “It’s another buck for you.”

The driver supported Dinah by draping her over his left arm and with his right he gave her a smart whack on the rear. She let out a yell and straightened up, hanging on to the door of the car.

“I’m shot,” she said. “I’m shot.”

Prye dispensed another dollar. “Pretty,” he said. “There are certain advantages in not being a gentleman.”

“You bet,” the driver agreed, and climbed back into his car.

Dinah made the front steps nicely. Prye rang the bell, and Jackson appeared. When he saw Dinah he began to grin.

“You lovely boy,” Dinah said. “Could you spare a drink? I’ve been shot.”

“I don’t know how you old Harvard men react to such a situation,” Prye said. “But I hope you’re the executive type who’ll take over.”

“I’ve taken over before, sir,” Jackson said. He offered his arm to Dinah and she took it with a delighted smile. “Shall I escort you upstairs, Mrs. Revel?”

“Isn’t he gallant?” she asked Prye. “He doesn’t maul me the way you did, Paul.”

Jackson led her upstairs. Dinah’s voice floated down: “Honestly, Jackson, you’d never guess what Paul did to me! You’d never guess!”

“I’m a good guesser,” Jackson said, flinging an evil grin down at Prye.

“He hit me on the unmentionable,” Dinah said with dignity.

A couple of doors slammed upstairs and soon Jackson reappeared in the hall.

“I left Mrs. Revel with Miss Shane,” he told Prye.

“Fine,” Prye said coldly. “Fine. Was she telling Nora — was she talking about—?”

“Oh, yes sir,” Jackson said. “She was quite aggrieved at your little — ah, lapse. The rest of the family are in the drawing room, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, thanks,” Prye said bitterly. “You’ve done more than I considered humanly possible.”

He turned and went toward the drawing room. The opening of the door let out a babble of voices.

Mrs. Shane was occupying the center of the floor. One hand was raised and her mouth was open, as if Prye’s entrance had interrupted her in the middle of an emphatic sentence. She rustled toward him immediately.

“Come in, Paul. We are having a council of war.”

“About the poisoning?”

Mrs. Shane was reproachful. “Of course not. That’s the inspector’s job. This is about the wedding presents.”

Prye gave Dennis Williams a cool nod, Aspasia a smile, and strolled over to the fireplace.

“Personally,” he said, “I have no use for fifteen coffee tables so I suggest returning fourteen of them. Use the same principle throughout.”

Aspasia was watching him with her small, malignant eyes narrowed. She was sitting in a comer of the room in a chair much too big for her. Her feet didn’t quite reach the floor though she held them stiff and straight as if they did. She was nearly sixty, very dainty and neat to the top of her soft white hair. She reminded Prye of Jane until he met her eyes. They were not Jane’s vacuously pretty eyes; they were old and bitter and cold eyes.

“Dr. Prye chooses to jest,” she said. Her voice was soft and sibilant like a lady librarian’s.

Mrs. Shane said, “Dennis thinks, and I agree, that you should retain the presents and have the wedding as soon as possible, say on Monday. Jane must be perfectly well again. The hospital phoned to say she’s coming home tonight.”

Aspasia said in her genteel whisper, “The hospitals are overcrowded. They are turning people out before they should. She may die.”

“You are being clairvoyant again, Aspasia,” Mrs. Shane said coldly.

“I am sensitive to atmosphere. It is foolish to plan weddings in an atmosphere of death.”

“She isn’t dead, Aspasia.”

“No?” Her voice trailed upward into a question mark.

Prye went over to Dennis and said in an undertone,

“Dinah’s back. Soused.”

Dennis smiled. “I thought she would be. Any word of Duncan?”

“No.”

“He’ll be soused too. It’s epidemic. The police are looking for him.”

Prye said, “What for?”

“Something about a pitcher of water,” Dennis said thoughtfully. “Jackson told me.”

Prye turned to go out again. He glanced at Aspasia and stopped. She was staring at the window over his shoulder.

“That bird,” she said in a choked whisper.

Prye looked around and saw that a small black bird was perching on the window ledge. “Looks like a starling,” he said.

“They’re pests,” Mrs. Shane said. “Thousands of them in this district.”

“What is it doing on the window?” Aspasia was still staring at it. The bird tapped its beak against the pane with a quick, insolent movement.

Dennis mumbled, “What in hell do birds do on windows?”

“It is a raven,” Aspasia said.

“Nonsense,” her sister replied brusquely.

“It is a raven, I say!” Aspasia’s voice was shriller, and a flush was spreading over her face, curiously uneven, like pink paint spilling out of a can. “And Duncan is here now.”

“Maybe it’s a bat and Duncan is a vampire,” Dennis said.

The bird twisted its neck impudently, tapped the pane again with its beak, and hopped away.

“Strange little creature,” Mrs. Shane said, smiling.

“Strange,” Aspasia repeated dully. “Yes, it is strange. I must tell Duncan; warn him.”

“What on earth—?”

Aspasia waved her sister to silence and turned to Prye. “Nora tells me you are literate, Dr. Prye. Perhaps you know what happened to another Duncan—”

Prye wanted to laugh. She looked like a vindictive little elf. “This isn’t one of my literate days,” he said.

The smile froze on Dennis’ face. He strode over to her and grasped Aspasia’s shoulder.

“So you know,” he whispered. “So you know.”

Aspasia slipped out of his grasp and crumpled on the floor. Dennis stared down at her for a moment, then walked toward the door with the strange, lumbering gait of a spider.

Prye was too surprised to stop him. Mrs. Shane was bending over Aspasia, patting her wrists and telling her in an exasperated voice not to be a fool, that the damn bird was only a starling. She straightened up in a minute and met Prye’s eyes.

“This is the first time anyone has taken Aspasia’s predictions seriously,” she said dryly. “I don’t wonder it was a shock. Fetch the smelling salts, will you?”