The Second Fletcher Flora Mystery MEGAPACK™: 20 Classic Mystery & Crime Stories!

The Tool

Originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, December 1964.

From his country home, half-hidden in a grove of maples some five hundred yards away, Gavin Brander came across the intervening fields to visit his neighbors, the Singers. To be exact, it was Stella Singer and her daughter, Nettie, that he came to see, although he was prepared to tolerate Cory Singer also, if he happened to be around. Brander was a tall, slender man with the graceful carriage of an excellent tennis player, which he was. It was just after three o’clock when he left for the Singer home, and he hoped that he was not so early that he would be kept waiting for a cocktail.

He approached the house through an old orchard of cherry and apple trees that still bore blossoms in the spring, and fruit in the fall. Under one of the apple trees, a few feet from the fence he had just vaulted, he came upon Nettie. She was sitting on the ground with her back against the tree trunk, and she was eating a green apple on which, before taking each bite, she sprinkled salt from a cellar that she held in her right hand. Her brown hair was so rich and thick that it seemed almost too heavy for her small head and the delicate neck that supported it, and she had a serene golden face that was, apparently, forever brooding pleasantly over some inner cache of warm secrets. She did not speak as he approached, and he stopped and looked down at her with an expression of indulgent affection. Sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead to dapple her white shirt and soiled jeans.

“You know,” he said, “you are going to have the most awful bellyache. Better throw that away.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “Green apples never make me sick.”

“That’s rather incredible. It makes me feel squeamish just to watch you.”

“It’s just a foolish notion people have about them. In my opinion, green apples are good for you. In moderation, of course.”

“Perhaps it’s the salt. Do you think so?”

“I doubt it. The salt makes them taste better, that’s all. Would you care to try one? I’ll loan you my salt if you would.”

“No, thank you. I don’t believe I’ll risk it. Why are you sitting out here in the orchard?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“For me? That’s very flattering, I must say. I should think, however, that you could have waited at the house.”

“Mother’s at the house, and I wanted to see you alone.”

This was in precise conformity with his own wishes. Although he had come to see both mother and daughter, he preferred, for his own reasons, to see them separately. Now, balanced on his toes, he sat down easily on his heels.

“What did you want to see me about?”

She salted the green apple and took a bite. Her heavy hair fell forward, shadowing her eyes, and he was a little startled by the glint of malice that darted out of the shadows.

“Thanks to you,” she said, “things have become very difficult in our family.”

“Is that so? I’m sorry. In what way?”

“Cory doesn’t like me. He’s afraid of me, I think. He wants to send me away to school in September.”

“It’s absurd for a grown man to be afraid of a young girl. What makes you think he is?”

“Because I hate him, and he knows it. I wish he were dead.”

“How do you know he wants to send you away to school? Has he discussed it with you?”

“No. He’s only discussed it with Mother, but I overheard them talking.”

“That was lucky for you, wasn’t it? Now you know what to expect.”

Her eyes, in the shadow of her hair, were bright for an instant with an expression of sly amusement.

“It isn’t difficult to hear and see things if you know how to go about it. I’ve listened to Mother and Cory talking lots of times.”

“Oh?” He stared at her hard with a sudden feeling of uneasiness that he disguised with the lightness of his voice. “I suppose you’ve also heard your mother and me talking lots of times?”

“Whenever I felt like it. Sometimes I listened and watched both.”

“You’ve acquired some atrocious habits, my dear. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that spying is bad manners?”

“It’s often useful. You learn things.”

“I dare say. What have you learned about your mother and me, for example?”

“Oh, that’s plain enough. You’re in love with each other, of course. You always kiss when Cory isn’t there.”

“That’s nothing. Nowadays, kissing is a casual form of greeting between good friends.”

“Not the way you and Mother do it.”

“You’re quite a clever girl, aren’t you?”

“I’m extremely intelligent. Cory wants to send me to a school for gifted students.”

“Would you like that?”

“No, I’ll refuse to go.”

“How does your mother feel about it?”

“She thinks I ought to wait another year. She and Cory had an argument about it. She said he just wants to get rid of me.”

“Does Cory suspect your mother and me? Is that what you meant by saying I’ve made things difficult? I certainly didn’t mean to.”

“No, no. Cory’s very dull about such things. He doesn’t see what’s under his own nose.”

“Perhaps he’s not as good at spying as you are.”

“He’s not as good at anything as I am. Things are difficult because of the tension, and you have caused it by the advice you have given me.”

“I’ve only tried to help. It would be much nicer for everyone wouldn’t it, if Cory would simply give up and go away? Divorces are quite easily obtained these days.”

“Well, I’ve tried my best to make him go, but all it has done is create bad feeling between him and Mother. They are always at odds about me.”

“What have you done? I may be able to suggest something more.”

“I’ve taken every opportunity to express my hostility, that’s all. I even threatened to kill him.”

“Such threats from young girls are not to be taken seriously. I imagine he simply discounted it.”

“Do you? I don’t. He was quite disturbed about it. Later, I heard him asking Mother if she didn’t think I should see a psychiatrist, but Mother wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Good for your mother. You can always depend on her to defend you. Nevertheless, however disturbed Cory was, I’ll bet the threat would have been more effective if you had done something to support it.”

“Done what? I don’t want to get myself into serious trouble, you know.”

“Of course not. I was just thinking of a kind of trick. A clever girl like you should be able to devise something.”

“It shouldn’t be difficult. It really doesn’t take much to upset Cory. He’s a worrier.”

“Not without cause, I can see. I happen to know a few tricks myself, in case you’re interested. I don’t think I’d better engage in a conspiracy with you, however.”

“Why not? It would be our secret.”

“Well, I’ll think about it, but I’m sure that you will think of something better yourself.”

She finished her apple, and now she threw away the core and balanced the salt cellar on one knee, which she had drawn up in front of her. Her eyes were bright with excitement, but at the same time they seemed to retain an analytical detachment that survived excitement or anger or any emotion whatever.

“You want me to make Cory leave Mother, don’t you? That will make it possible for Mother to get an enormous settlement that will make everything much better when you marry her later. You are planning to marry Mother, aren’t you?”

“How would you feel about it?” He suddenly felt something himself that was very close to fear. “If you hate Cory for marrying your mother, wouldn’t you hate me as much?”

“Not at all.” She laughed and snatched the salt cellar from her knee and shook her hair back from her eyes. “You’re different from Cory. It might be quite entertaining to have you in the family.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He arose from his heels and settled his feet flat on the soft earth. “Keep me posted on developments, will you?”

“Yes, I shall.” She laughed again with a kind of childish delight, anticipating a trick on Cory. “And now you had better go up to the house and see Mother. Cory isn’t home, so you don’t have to worry. No one will see you kiss her. Not even me.”

He found Stella at the rear of the house, in a sunny room with sliding glass doors that opened onto a wide terrace of colored flagstones. She was standing at the doors looking out across the terrace. She turned, hearing him behind her, and started toward him. She was wearing a white sheath and white sandals, and her skin had been exposed to the sun in controlled baths that had given it the shade and sheen of butterscotch candy. She was holding a cigarette in one hand and in the other, he was happy to see, a thin-stemmed glass with an olive in it. No one saw him kiss her. Not even Nettie.

“Darling,” she said, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“My ego is greatly stimulated, I must say. You are the second beautiful woman who has told me that within the last half hour.”

“I’m jealous of the other one.”

“You needn’t be. I’ve been talking with your precocious daughter in the orchard.”

“Nettie? The girl’s becoming quite impossible. What on earth was she doing in the orchard?”

“As I said, waiting for me. Also eating a green apple.”

“Nettie likes you, I think, and it’s rarely that she likes anyone at all. It must be your irresistible charm. I’m having an early martini. Will you have one?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“They’re in the pitcher on the table there. I remembered the ratio exactly. Four to one.”

“Good. Will you have another one with me?”

“Later, darling. Four-to-one martinis shouldn’t be rushed, especially when they get an early start.”

“You’re right. They are good for you, like green apples, in moderation. If you doubt me, ask Nettie. She’s my authority.”

She sat down on a white leather sofa, drawing her legs up under her, while he went to the table and poured a martini from the pitcher. After adding an olive, he went and sat beside her on the sofa, half-turned to face her directly.

“What did Nettie want, exactly?” she asked.

“I got the impression that she wanted to accuse me of making things difficult in your little family.”

“That’s absurd. Cory doesn’t suspect a thing. You’re just a good neighbor, darling.”

“Oh, it apparently has nothing to do with you and me. It’s strictly between Cory and Nettie. She hates him, you know.”

“I know. But how are you involved?”

“I’m not really. Nettie only thinks I am. She has a wild notion that I have somehow contributed to the hostility.”

“I’ve sometimes felt myself that you incite Nettie to be a little more intractable than she might otherwise be.”

“Not intentionally, I assure you. If I’m an innocent but unfortunate catalyst of some kind, perhaps the solution would be for me to stay away. Is that what you want?”

“No. I couldn’t bear that. The truth is, I should never have married Cory.”

“Of course you shouldn’t have. You should have waited and married me.”

“Darling, I hope you don’t mind being next.”

“Not I. I’m planning on it. First, however, there’s the small matter of a divorce. Preferably obtained by you on favorable grounds.”

She leaned over and kissed him, and he patted one of her exposed butterscotch knees and continued to cup it intimately in his hand after the kiss was finished.

“I don’t think that will be a prolonged problem,” she said. “Nettie’s taking care of it.”

“Is the feeling between Nettie and Cory actually so strong?”

“Stronger. She hates him intensely, and he, for his part, is afraid of her.”

“Afraid of a child? You must be exaggerating.”

“I’m not. She threatened to kill him the other night.”

“When I was a kid, as I recall, I threatened to kill several people at various times. It’s merely a manner of expression.”

“Nettie is no ordinary child. If she made her threats in a fit of hysterical anger, you could discount them. But she doesn’t. She is perfectly calm and deadly. It’s quite frightening, really, and I can’t say that I blame Cory for being impressed. He wants to send her off to school.”

“Will you permit it?”

“No. Cory and I have had an ugly scene about it.”

“I still say that there’s something ludicrous about a man being afraid of a young girl.”

“Nevertheless, the relationship between them has become almost intolerable. Be patient a little longer, darling. Nettie will solve our problem for us in good time.”

“You think she’ll force a separation?”

“Yes. And a divorce will follow. No one can blame a mother for refusing to desert her child.”

“Where is Cory now?”

“He drove into the village. He should be back any moment.”

“Too bad. I was hoping for a little more free time. Oh, well, everything in its own time and place, I suppose. How about another martini now?”

She held out her glass, and he carried it and his over to the table. Bending slightly over the pitcher as he poured, his eyes had a speculative expression, as if he were considering an idea hitherto neglected.

There was a knock on the door of her room, and Stella, without turning away from her reflection in the mirror of her dressing table, called out an invitation to enter. In the glass, she watched the door open and Cory come in. He closed the door and leaned against it, both hands clutching the knob behind him. He was a small man with fine blond hair brushed neatly from the side across a thin spot on the crown. In her year of marriage to him, Stella had learned that he was, although generous and kind, a man of precarious disposition, subject to a kind of irrational and free-floating anxiety. In his eyes now, as he looked across the room to intercept in glass her reflected observation of him, there were shadows of worry.

“Come in, darling,” she said, still not turning. “I’ve been having a nap. Is it getting quite late?”

“Not late.” He left the door and came over to sit on the edge of the bed, her eyes following him in the mirror. “About five.”

“That’s all right, then. Dinner’s early tonight, but we’ll have plenty of time for cocktails.”

She began again to brush her hair, interrupted by his entrance, and she picked up the count immediately where she had left it, forming the sounds of the numbers with her lips in a rather absurd little ritual, as though a few strokes more or less made any difference. But it created diversion.

“Have you had the .22?” he asked abruptly.

“The what?”

“The .22 caliber rifle. It was in the rack in the library.”

“Of course not. You know that I never touch your firearms.”

“It’s gone.”

“Are you sure you didn’t take it out and leave it lying somewhere? You must admit, Cory, that you’re rather forgetful.”

“I haven’t touched it in weeks. I thought you might have loaned it to Gavin or someone.”

“Well, I didn’t. I wouldn’t loan your rifle to Gavin or anyone else.”

“Someone has taken it. I wonder who.”

“Nonsense.” She laid her brush on the dressing table and spun half around, back to the glass, to look at him directly. “Be reasonable, Cory. Who on earth would take your rifle?”

“Someone.” His voice had suddenly a petulant, fearful quality. “Where’s Nettie?”

“She’s in her room, I think. Why? Surely you don’t suspect Nettie of taking your rifle.”

“It would do no harm to ask her.”

“On the contrary, it might do a great deal of harm. The constant tension between you and Nettie is becoming unendurable.”

“Am I to blame? I’ve done everything possible to make myself acceptable to her.”

“She resented our marriage. You will simply have to be patient with her.”

“My patience is rather strained these days. Nettie should go away to school. It would give her a chance to adjust.”

“We’ve been over that. It would simply be evading the problem, and Nettie is, besides, too young to leave home.”

“Nettie’s not really young at all. She’s ageless.”

“I don’t believe that I like that remark. What do you mean by it?”

“You know what I mean. She’s deliberately trying to destroy our marriage. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do to accomplish it Perhaps she already has.”

“Stop it, Cory. I won’t listen to you say such things. It’s obscene for a grown man to feel such hatred for a child.”

“I don’t hate her. She hates me. Frankly, I’m afraid of her.”

“Oh, don’t be such a coward.”

“Call me what you like, but there’s something abnormal about the girl. She’s completely enclosed. Nothing reaches her.”

“She’s extraordinarily bright. You can hardly expect her to have the same interests as mediocre children.”

“It’s more than that.” He stood up and jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. “I want to speak with her, if you don’t mind.”

“About the missing rifle?”

“Yes.”

“Then I do mind.”

“Nevertheless, I insist. If you won’t bring her here, I’ll go look for her.”

“Very well. Have your own way. I’ll get her.”

She left the room and walked down the hall to Nettie’s door. Trying the knob, she found the door locked, and there was, after she knocked, such a long interval of silence that she began to think that Nettie was asleep inside or had gone out somewhere, locking the door after her and carrying away the key.

Then, when she was about to leave, Nettie’s voice sounded suddenly on the other side of the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Mother. I want you to come with me to my room. There’s something we need to settle at once.”

A key turned, and the door opened. Nettie was wearing, as she had been yesterday, a white blouse and jeans. Behind her, an open book lay in a swath of sunlight on the floor.

“I was lying on the floor reading,” she said. “What needs to be settled? Something new about me?”

“You’ll see. It’s nothing to worry about. Come along, dear.”

Together, they returned to Stella’s room. Cory, waiting, was still standing by the bed with his hands jammed into his jacket pockets. Stella had a feeling that the hands were clenched, and she was momentarily aware, with the slightest sense of compassion, of the depth of his desperation. She turned to Nettie, who was looking steadily at Cory with eyes that had acquired instantly the peculiar gloss of blindness.

“Cory wants to ask you something,” she said. “Please answer him truthfully.”

Nettie didn’t acknowledge the directive, and Cory, after waiting until it was apparent that she would not, spoke with a kind of rush, his words trailing away as if he barely had breath to utter them.

“My .22 rifle is gone, Nettie. Did you take it?”

From his voice she gauged the measure of his concern, and her own voice, when she answered, was bright with mockery.

“Yes,” she said. “I took it.”

Her candor was dearly a shock. Stella, who had expected denials, and Cory, who had expected a more trying inquisition, stared at her with slack faces that were almost comic and incomprehensible.

“What on earth for?” Stella asked. “You know you’re not allowed to use the rifle without supervision.”

“I’m not sure,” Nettie said. “Perhaps I intended to kill Cory.”

Stella sank down upon the bench in front of her dressing table. Cory did not move.

“You mustn’t say such dreadful things.” Stella’s inflection suggested that she was protesting the innocent use of obscenity that had been spoken without understanding. “Where is the rifle now?”

“In my room. I put it in the closet.”

“Go and get it and bring it here.”

Without a word, Nettie turned and went out. When she was gone, Stella sat staring at the floor, ignoring Cory, and Cory, hands in pockets, remained unmoving by the bed. There was nothing to be said that either was prepared to say, and they waited in silence for Nettie’s return. She came, in a minute or two, with the rifle under her arm. Stella, watching her walk toward Cory, was suddenly aware that the rifle was pointing straight at Cory’s chest. Half-rising, she extended one arm in a gesture of alarm or supplication.

“Perhaps,” Nettie said, “I’ll kill Cory now.”

Thereafter, action followed action in an odd and deliberate sequence, as if every sound and movement were carefully modified and measured. The report of the rifle was hardly more, it seemed, than the popping of a cork. Stella, arm outstretched, sank down again upon the bench. Cory, dying with his hands in his pockets, looked down with a kind of wonder, just before falling, at the small hole opened above his heart. Nettie turned to Stella, as children in need have always turned to mothers.

“But it was a blank,” she said. “Gavin told me it was a blank!”

Martin Underhill, a detective on the sheriff’s staff, after descending the stairs, crossed the hall and entered the library. The room was darkening, and it was several seconds before his eyes, adjusting to the shadows, found Stella sitting in a high-backed chair turned away from a window. She did not rise to meet him, did not move at all. He walked across the room and sat down in another chair facing her. In his manner there was a reassuring touch of deference which she assumed to be an offering to her position in the county, but in fact, it was detectable in his contacts with people of all stations.

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Singer?” he asked.

“I’m quite all right, thank you,” she said.

“I’m afraid there are a number of points to clarify. Are you up to it?”

“I’m prepared to tell you anything you need to know.”

“Good. Suppose you begin by telling me again just what happened.”

“As I’ve said, Cory’s rifle was missing. The .22 that you saw upstairs. It had been taken from the rack over there, and he was very disturbed about it. He suspected Nettie of taking it and, as it developed, he was right. Nettie admitted it. I sent her to get it and bring it back. She returned in a minute or two, carrying the rifle under her arm, and I saw that it was pointing directly at Cory. She said something about killing him, merely an expression of childish hostility, but then the rifle went off, and Cory fell. And that’s how it was.”

“In spite of her remark about killing him, you’re convinced that it was an accident?” he asked.

“Of course it was an accident. I have told you that the threat was just an expression of childish hostility.”

“What caused the hostility?”

“Nothing specifically. I mean, no particular incident. Nettie didn’t approve of my marriage to Gary. She resented him as an intruder.”

“I see. But the rifle was loaded, Mrs. Singer. That bothers me. Do you think it was already loaded when Nettie took it from the rack?”

“I doubt it very much. Cory never left his firearms loaded.”

“Well, then. You can surely see that Nettie must have loaded it herself. Were bullets available?”

“There were bullets for all the firearms somewhere. I’m not sure just where Cory kept them.”

“Do you think that Nettie could have found the bullets?”

“It’s entirely possible, but I’m sure that she didn’t.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

Again Stella was silent, again remembering. Now she was hearing Nettie’s words, almost lost in the echo of a shot and the trauma of horror.

“Something she said just after she shot Cory.”

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘Gavin told me it was a blank.’”

He stared at her through the shadows, trying to read the expression on her face. There was no expression to read. He began to appreciate the terrible exercise of control behind her apparent quietude.

“Who,” he asked, “is Gavin?”

“Gavin Brander. A neighbor. He lives half a mile or so up the road.”

“What did Nettie mean?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking and thinking about it, but I’m just not sure.”

“Have you asked Nettie?”

“No. She had a terrible experience, you understand. She’s resting in her room. I don’t know if she’s capable of answering questions.”

“We had better try. I’ll be as considerate as possible. Will you fetch her?”

“If you insist.”

“I’m afraid I must. I’m sorry.”

Alone, he listened to the diminishing sound of her footsteps crossing the hall and ascending the stairs. There was an old-fashioned grandfather’s clock in the shadows behind him, and he listened to the mechanical measurement of time. Time passed, measure by measure, and pretty soon he was aware of footsteps in the hall again. Nettie entered, followed by Stella. Nettie made an odd little bow to Underhill, who had risen, and sat down in the high-backed chair that Stella had left. She seemed completely composed. Serene was the word that occurred to Underhill. If she had suffered a trauma, she had recovered with remarkable rapidity.

“Nettie,” Stella said, “this is Mr. Underhill. He wants to ask you some questions. You must do your best to answer them.”

Nettie nodded, staring with grave composure at Underhill, who resumed his seat and leaned forward hands on-knees.

“Nettie,” he said, “why did you take your stepfather’s rifle?”

“I wanted to play a trick on him.”

“Oh? What kind of trick?”

“I was going to pretend to shoot him.”

Her confession of malice had somehow an air of innocence, as if she had admitted to soaping windows on Halloween. Paying silent tribute to her composure, he took a moment to recover his own.

“Why did you want to do that?”

“Because I hated him. I wanted him to go away, and to stay away.”

“Was the rifle loaded when you took it?”

“No.”

“Where did you get the bullet?”

“Gavin gave it to me. He said it was a blank.”

“Don’t you know the difference between a live bullet and a blank?”

“Of course. A live bullet will kill you. A blank won’t.”

“I mean in appearance. Can’t you tell the difference by looking at them?”

“I suppose I could if I really thought about it. But I didn’t. I hardly looked at it. The bullet Gavin gave me, that is. I put it right into my pocket and later I put it right into the rifle.”

Underhill leaned a little farther forward, his grip tightening on his knees. His words were as precisely spaced as the ticks of the clock.

“Listen to me, Nettie. I want you to be very careful how you answer. Do you think that Gavin Brander purposely gave you a live bullet in the hope that you would kill your stepfather with it?”

“He must have, mustn’t he? How else can you explain what happened?”

“Oh!” Underhill stood up, struck a fist in a palm, and sat slowly down again. “But why? Why would he want Cory Singer dead?”

Nettie seemed to draw a little farther away into the shadows. Her voice was suddenly small and cold.

“I wouldn’t want to say.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not my place to do so.”

Stella, standing behind Nettie’s chair, released her breath in a long sigh, and Underwood lifted his eyes. Her face was drained of color and stiff as wood. Nothing in it moved except her lips.

“She means that it’s my place, and I suppose it is. Gavin Brander is in love with me. And I, God help me, was in love with him.”

“Was, Mrs. Singer?”

“You can’t go on loving a man who is capable of using a child to commit a murder.”

“It would be difficult, to say the least.” Underhill’s voice was light and dry, but his heart was turgid with restrained rage. “I think, if you will excuse me, that I’d better go see Mr. Brander at once.”

Gavin Brander opened the door. Underhill, standing outside, introduced himself, and Brander’s eyebrows expressed surprise. He stepped back and gestured Underhill in. They went from the hall into the living room, Underhill preceding.

“I’ve just had my dinner,” Brander said. “May I offer you a drink? I’m about to have one.”

“No, thanks.” Underhill, in a chair, held his hat in his lap. “I’m on duty.”

“Oh? Well, I suppose you fellows must work all hours.” Brander, postponing his own drink, claimed another chair. “What, precisely, is the nature of your business?”

“I’m investigating a death. A neighbor of yours. Cory Singer.”

He was watching Brander intently, and he had to give him credits for acting, if acting Brander was. His face betrayed just the right amount of neighborly shock.

“Old Cory dead? That’s bad news. Since you are concerned, I take it that something in the matter is amiss?”

“There is. Cory Singer was shot and killed by his stepdaughter.”

“The hell you say!” More acting? If so, more credits. “So Nettie actually did it! She did it after all!”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you were not acquainted with the family, and can’t be expected to know. But there was a lot of hostility between Nettie and Cory. On Nettie’s part, that is. She made his life difficult. Recently she threatened to kill him, but I’m afraid that I put that down to no more than childish extravagance. My mistake, it seems.”

“His, I’d say.”

“Quite so. Which prompts me to wonder why you have come to see me. Why have you?”

“Because the girl says that you gave her the bullet that killed her stepfather. She says that you told her it was a blank.”

Brander stared for a few seconds at Underhill with an almost witless expression, as if the latter had unexpectedly spoken in an unknown tongue. Comprehension was followed by a bark of incredulous laughter.

“Surely you’re not serious!”

“It’s a serious accusation. I didn’t come here to be amusing.”

“You must realize that Nettie is addicted to fantasy. I was about to say that she is an incorrigible liar, but let’s be charitable.”

“Do you deny the accusation?”

“Categorically. Why in the devil should I commit such a fantastic idiocy? Think a moment. If I had given her a live bullet with which to kill Cory, saying it was a blank, I should have certainly anticipated her spilling the beans when Cory was dead. One can’t sustain a deception like that.”

“One can’t, indeed. But one can deny it.”

“I see. It then becomes simply my word against hers. I’ve always known that Nettie was a clever little devil, but I seem to have underestimated the depth of her malice. I believe I’d better have a drink.” He stood up and went to a liquor cabinet, where he splashed whiskey into glass, drinking it neat before turning. “Excuse me. I confess that I’m a bit disturbed. However, the accusation won’t wash. Why should I want to kill Cory Singer, by contrivance or directly or any way whatever?”

“Because he happened to be Stella Singer’s husband.”

Brander turned again to the liquor cabinet. This time he added water to his whiskey and carried the glass back to his chair. Underhill, watching him, thought that his assurance had slipped a little. That was no indication of anything, however. Innocence, falsely charged, is apt to be more nervous than guilt charged truly.

“So that’s the way of it,” Brander said. “Well, I won’t deny that I’m in love with Stella. I’ve told her so, and I suppose that she has told you. Nettie’s also in on the secret, I believe. She’s an accomplished spy, you know, as well as a liar, and I’ve been indiscreet a time or two.”

“Are you confirming a motive?”

“No, no. Nothing of the sort. There was no motive. Frankly, the marriage of Stella and Cory wasn’t working out. He would have been eliminated in a short while without the drastic expedient of murder. I’m quite certain of that.”

“Is Nettie Singer familiar with firearms?”

“I believe she’s done some shooting under supervision.” Brander’s eyes widened, narrowing again as he looked intently at Underhill. “Enough, I’m sure, to know the difference between a blank and a live bullet.”

“It’s a point. She claims, however, that she hardly looked at it. She merely slipped it into her pocket and from her pocket into the rifle. It’s possible. It’s even possible that she noticed the difference without its actually registering.”

“Do you seriously believe such an absurdity? Anyhow, it’s irrelevant. I gave her no bullet, blank or live. Her story is a lie. Incredibly ingenious, too, I concede. I seem to be highly qualified on several points as a victim.”

“Is that your position? Your word against hers?”

“What other position is there? Did you expect me to collaborate in my own destruction?”.

“No.” Underhill stood up abruptly and slapped his hat against his thigh. “There will be a hearing, of course. We will see then whose story is believed.” Turning, he walked to the door, where he stopped and turned back. “Let me warn you against over-confidence, Mr. Brander. I have a notion that Nettie will be a rather convincing witness.”

But Brander seemed to have recovered his assurance completely. Without answering, he lifted his glass and smiled.

The door was unlocked, and Stella, opening it silently, slipped inside and stood listening intently in the darkness. There was no sound, no sound at all, but the room itself, holding its breath, seemed to throb with a giant cadenced pulse. Moonlight slanted through an eastern window and sliced on the bias across the floor. Beyond the bright path, in the farther shadows, Nettie was lying and listening too, waiting, Stella knew, for Stella to speak.

“Nettie,” Stella said.

“Yes, Mother?”

“I must talk with you. Are you sleepy?”

“No, Mother. Come sit on my bed. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Stella walked to the bed across the moonlit path. She sat down, one hand clasping the other in her lap, but a third hand, small and warm as sundrenched earth, crept in between them and lay still.

“Nettie, where did you get the bullet?”

“I told you, Mother. Gavin gave it to me.”

“Are you sure? You must be very sure, Nettie. If the police believe that, Gavin will be arrested for murder.”

“If they don’t, will I be arrested? Will they take me away from you?”

“I don’t know. I would try to protect you.”

“Don’t worry, Mother. They’ll believe me, because it’s the truth. Gavin gave me the bullet. He said it was a blank, but it wasn’t. He said he wanted to help me frighten Cory, but he really wanted me to kill him. Will you miss Gavin, Mother, when he is gone?”

“Never mind,” she said. “He is gone already.”

She lifted her eyes to the moonlit pane. Between her cold hands, the warm hand stirred. She was silent. Having come to terms with an intimate and terrible world for two, she had nothing left to say.