Too Many Bodies

Chapter Four Somebody Dies Tonight!

For the first time, Inspector Home spoke. “Not sure exactly what you’re trying to do, Sedalia, but seems to me you’re counteracting your assurance to the killer that you don’t know his identity. You’re demonstrating you know how to dig things up, and letting him see you’re a pretty formidable opponent. Suggest you turn over what you have so far to me and drop out of the case. Kind of short fuse, this killer seems to have, and I got an idea he won’t wait till you catch him before trying to stop you.”

This brought a sudden silence.

Then Irene Chambers said, “Thish is...” She stopped, looked startled and tried again. “This ish...” This time her halt was more abrupt. Her lips tightened and she sank back in her chair, obviously deciding to keep her mouth shut if she was not able to control it.

Slowly Jerome Straight rose from his chair, a peculiar half smile on his long, gaunt face. Opening his mouth wide, like an opera singer preparing for a high note, he took a deep breath.

“Wahoo!” he yelled.

Then, with all eyes on him, he carefully reseated himself, smiled benignly around at all of us — and went to sleep.

Monica Madigan struggled erect, stood swaying and said in an incredulous voice, “We been Mickey Finned! By God, we been Mickey Finned.”

Staggering slightly, she crossed the room and grabbed both my arms to hold herself erect.

“Henry,” she said reproachfully. “You didn’t have to spike my drinks. I love you — I’ve always loved you!”

I looked at her in horror. Sedalia threw back her head and roared with laughter. I glared at her bitterly.

“So now what are your plans?” I asked. “What did you expect to accomplish by getting everyone in this condition?”

Sedalia’s amused glance took in her guests. Jerome Straight was asleep. Irene Chambers was sitting dignified but glassy-eyed with her hands sedately folded in her lap. Alvin Christopher was looking puzzedly at a package from which he was having difficulty extracting a cigarette. Only the inspector and Gerald Rawlins were still more or less in possession of their full faculties, the inspector because he had stopped at two glasses of punch, and Gerald apparently because he had a large tolerance for alcohol.

“You must admit tongues were loosened a bit,” Sedalia said. “But I do confess I hadn’t thought of what would happen beyond the present point.”

This I might have known. When Sedalia had an idea, she went ahead with a single-mindedness of purpose which took no regard of possible consequences. And now that we had a house full of intoxicated people, she was entirely capable of blithely going out for a walk and leaving me to handle the situation as best I could.

Monica’s hands on my arms were beginning to lose their grip and her expression was suddenly sleepy. Holding her erect, I looked down to where Sedalia was sitting.

“I suggest a mass napping period,” I said. “Suppose you let Miss Chambers have your bed, and I’ll put Mrs. Madigan in mine. The rest of the guests can distribute themselves on couches and the daybed while you carry Mr. Straight into the guest room.”

Sedalia nodded agreeably, rose and heaved the gaunt-faced lawyer into her arms as she would a baby. I started to lead Monica into the hall when Sedalia called after me.

“Don’t stay too long, Hank. I think Mrs. Madigan is after you.”

Refusing her the satisfaction of a reply, I led the sleepy woman to my room, let her sink back on the bed and removed her shoes. Her eyes stared up at me dreamily.

“Why’d you get me drunk, Henry?”

I said stiffly, “It was Sedalia’s idea.”

“But now that I’m drunk and practically helpless you take me to your bedroom. You didn’t have to get me drunk, Henry.”

I felt myself blushing furiously. Rising from my seat on the bed, I strode to the door. As I pulled it shut behind me Monica emitted a mocking little laugh, and I realized she had deliberately been amusing herself by teasing me. For some reason the thought made me furious. Not that I would have expected a woman as attractive as Monica to seriously throw herself at a man a quarter-century her senior, but no man likes to have a woman laugh at him. At that instant I would have been glad to learn Monica was the killer.

In Sedalia’s apartment I discovered Irene Chambers and Jerome Straight had been safely bedded down. Alvin Christopher lay on the daybed in the front room, and Gerald Rawlins was stretched full-length on the couch. The assistant district attorney was already asleep, but Rawlins was puffing on an unlighted cigarette and making a desperate effort to look sober. When I entered the room, the cigarette dropped from his hand, he smiled at me foolishly and closed his eyes.

“Think I’ll run along,” Inspector Home said in a ponderous tone. “Wife expecting me for dinner, you know.”

He moved toward Sedalia, weaving slightly, started to make a slight bow, thought better of it and walked out into the hall to obtain his coat, brushing the door jamb on one side as he went out. Accompanying him to the front door, I found his coat in the hall closet, held it for him and handed him his hat.

“Are you all right, Inspector?” I asked.

“Quite,” he said with dignity, unsuccessfully fumbling with the door knob.

Reaching past him, I opened the door, took his arm and guided him to the elevator. I pressed the signal button and waited with him as the car rose ten stories.

When the elevator door opened, I asked, “You’re not driving, are you?”

He shook his head. “No. Perfectly capable if I was though. Took a taxi.” He peered at me suspiciously. “Don’t think I’m drunk, do you, Henry?”

“Oh no,” I said.

“Never been drunk in my life.”

He entered the elevator, carefully pushed the down button, and stared at me owlishly as the door closed between us. Feeling mild relief at having disposed of at least one intoxicated guest, I returned to Sedalia’s apartment.

At first I didn’t see her, because I did not glance down at the floor. I walked right past where she was lying, glanced in her bedroom and saw Irene Chambers sleeping on her bed, walked through the dining room and peered into the guest room where Jerome Straight slept, checked the sun room and finally the kitchen.

When I found her none of these places, I called, “Sedalia!”

There was no answer. Perhaps she had gone up to my room for some reason, I thought, or into the study. I was puzzled rather than worried when I went back into the front room.

But this time the moment I entered the room, I saw Sedalia. She was stretched out face down just to one side of the front door, and I had walked right past her. My heart stopped for an instant as I saw the bright red staining the massive golden coils of her hair and forming a minute pool on the floor next to her head.

One glance at the heavy fire tongs next to her body explained what had happened. With a sickening sense of realization, I knew one of our five guests was shamming drunkenness and. was actually as sober as I. The instant Sedalia had turned her back, the murderer had struck her with the first weapon handy, then reassumed the appearance of being in a drunken sleep.

Moving to Sedalia’s side, I felt her pulse and was amazed to feel it beating strongly. Immediately I ran to the door, intending to phone the house doctor from the hall, but I stopped when it occurred to me this would put Sedalia beyond my line of vision.

Grabbing her by the ankles, I dragged her face down out into the hall. Anyone trained in first aid would have frowned at this procedure, but I considered it less dangerous than leaving her out of sight, where the murderer might decide to employ the fire tongs once more and make sure of the job. Then I picked up the tongs so as to have a weapon in case I needed it and dialed the switchboard.

“Send a doctor to Miss Tweep’s apartment at once,” I said. “It’s an emergency.”

The house doctor, a fussy little man with horn-rimmed glasses arrived within five minutes. He removed bobby pins carefully and unwound the two long braids which reached to below Sedalia’s waist when they were not coiled around her head. Gingerly he felt the gash he found underneath all the hair.

“Probably only a mild concussion,” he said. “She’d be dead if it weren’t for all that hair. It made as good protection as a football helmet. I don’t think she’s in serious danger, but I’d suggest we play safe and get her to a hospital.”

Sedalia picked that moment to groan, sit up and clutch her head with both hands.

“Are you all right, Sedalia?” I asked inanely.

Her eyes opened but remained pinched with pain. Dazedly she looked at the tongs I still held.

“Hank!” she said in amazement. “Did you clout me?”

“Of course not. Are you all right?”

She smiled bitterly. “Course I’m not all right. My head is split wide open and I think I’m going to die.” Struggling to her feet, she stood swaying. “But first I’m going to make somebody pay for this headache.”

“You shouldn’t be standing,” the doctor said. “We’re going to get you to a hospital.”

“Nonsense,” Sedalia said in a stronger voice. “I’ll be all right soon as I eat a few aspirin. Hank, let’s find out which of our guests is playing possum.”

But we were unable to find out. We even had the doctor examine them all, but his only conclusion was that all of them could either be unconscious or shamming. We did find proof that one of them was sober, however, though which one it was impossible to tell. A vase on the end table which had been between Jerome Straight and Irene Chambers contained the contents of at least two punch cupsful. And since this end table also contained a cigarette box on which all our guests had drawn freely, I recalled everyone had been near it at some time or other with a cup in his — or her — hand.

We were right back where we had started, with five suspects.

Three aspirins and a small strip of adhesive tape were all the medical attention Sedalia would accept. The aspirin apparently eased her headache, but it had no effect on her disposition. When the house doctor insisted he would not be responsible if she refused to go to a hospital, she growled that he did not look very responsible anyway, and shooed him out of the apartment.

When the doctor had gone, I said fearfully, “Now we’re alone with the murderer again. The minute we relax there may be another attempt to kill you.”

“Who’s going to relax?” she snapped at me. “I have no intention of turning my back again, and if any killers want to get tough, they’ll end up without an unbroken bone in their bodies.”

“Why did you turn your back in the first place? What happened anyway?”

Sedalia fitted an ivory-tipped cigarette in her holder and I held a light for her. With her milk white complexion and her long braids hanging down either side of her face, she looked like a little girl blown up to six times normal size.

“I was starting to clean up,” she said. “I had carried some of the glasses out to the kitchen, and when I came back in to the front room I opened the hall door to look out and see what was keeping you. I heard something behind me, started to turn, and the roof fell in.”

I thought a minute. “Then Mrs. Madigan is eliminated at any rate. She wasn’t in the apartment.”

“Depends on how long you were gone. She could have sneaked down from your room while I was in the kitchen, hidden in my bedroom, clouted me with the fire tongs and got back to your bed before you returned, if you took very long to let the inspector out.”

I thought again. “It must have been three or four minutes at least. Possibly even five. The elevator was on the first floor and I waited with the inspector until it came up and he started it down again.”

“Then nobody is eliminated.”

Again she made a rapid tour of all our guests with me trailing behind her. Only this time she carefully searched each one.

“What are you looking for?” I asked. “The baggage ticket again?”

“Weapons,” she said shortly. “Long as they’re unarmed, I can handle any one of these characters. Or all of them put together for that matter.”

Finally satisfied that none of them possessed firearms, Sedalia moved a chair into a corner of the front room from which she could see both slumbering occupants and at the same time keep her eye on the apartment door, the door to her bedroom and the door to the dining room.

“Now bring me a beer,” she said grimly.

I did not much care to leave her alone. Not that I feared for her safety now that she was alert to possible danger. On the contrary I felt that any overt move on the part of the killer would probably be his or her last. But I myself am not particularly athletic, and I doubted that I would be a match in a death struggle for any of our guests with the possible exception of the elderly Jerome Straight. In spite of self-assurance that the killer could have no possible interest in me, I kept glancing over my shoulder all the time I was alone in the kitchen.

As quickly as I could, I got a tray and glass from the cupboard, opened a bottle of beer and got myself back into the front room, where Sedalia could protect me as well as herself, if necessary.

Nothing further of interest transpired, however. About seven o’clock our guests began waking up completely sober, another of the peculiarities of Pale Dynamite. Just as the concoction brings on intoxication more rapidly than any other drink with which I am acquainted, so does it wear off more rapidly. Its effect seems to be to shoot a large quantity of alcohol into the bloodstream at once, producing quick and thorough intoxication. But as soon as the alcohol in the blood is burned up, revival starts, for there is none left in the stomach to replenish the bloodstream, as there would be with some more slowly absorbed liquor such as whisky.

Jerome Straight was the first to rejoin us, a fitting thing since he had also been the first to depart from consciousness. He appeared in the doorway from the dining room, blinked at us grayly, looked faintly nonplussed at Sedalia’s hanging braids, then took in the sleeping figures of Alvin Christopher and Gerald Rawlins.

“I was going to say I was sorry for making a spectacle of myself, Miss Tweep,” he announced in a stiff voice. “But I see I was not alone. Was there something in the punch?”

“A little alcohol,” Sedalia said laconically.

He moved across to the hall doorway, turned to survey us both with unmistakable disapproval. “Thank you for an enjoyable party. I’ll leave now.”

I said, “I’ll help you with your coat.”

“I’ll find it,” he said coldly, and passed through the door.

In a few moments we heard the outer door open and close.

“Now if you would turn your back and get attacked again, we could eliminate Jerome Straight from the field,” I suggested.

“Shut up,” Sedalia said amiably. “I’m thinking.”

And she remained with her brow puckered in a thoughtful frown as the remainder of our guests awakened, bade her subdued good-byes and departed. After Jerome Straight, their order of awakening was Monica Madigan, Irene Chambers, Gerald Rawlins and Alvin Christopher. Except for the elderly lawyer, none of them seemed to harbor any particular animosity for having been trapped into intoxication.

When the last guest had departed, I threw the front door bolt and began to prepare dinner. Sedalia was still seated in the front room, thinking, when I called her at eight.

“You know, Hank, I’ve been wondering why the killer took such a chance to get rid of me. I don’t think it was just Steve Home’s remark about my being a formidable opponent, because waiting until night to make a second attempt would have been safer than with all these people around. The only answer I can see is that I must have said something this afternoon which made the killer think I was closer to an answer than I actually am. So I had to be stopped at the very first opportunity.”

I said, “I don’t recall your saying anything particularly revolutionary aside from your description as to how Monica Madigan could have built an alibi.”

“Perhaps that’s it,” she said slowly. “In my blundering way perhaps I described exactly what she did.”

In spite of still being rankled by Mrs. Madigan’s laughing at me, I felt it only fair to point out an item which seemed to me to eliminate both women from the murder of Adrian Thorpe at least.

“Don’t forget the person who bought the knife found in Adrian Thorpe was a man,” I reminded her. “Doesn’t that tend to eliminate the two women as suspects?”

She shook her head, causing her braids to jiggle. “Thorpe himself may have bought it as a souvenir, and the killer merely have seen it in his room and grabbed it up as a handy weapon. Our murderer has a tendency to use whatever is convenient, as witness the employment of fire tongs twice. Or perhaps the killer stopped a bum on the street and hired him to make the purchase. There are too many possibilities to make the purchase of the knife by a man mean very much.”

“Then have you tentatively settled on Mrs. Madigan?” I asked.

She rose to come to dinner. “I haven’t tentatively settled on anyone. Aside from suggesting how the Madigan woman could have framed an alibi, I can think of one other thing I said today which might have forced the killer to act fast.”

“What was that?”

“My announcement that I expected to hear from Jonathan Toomey, the first vice president of Fibrolux Plastics, tomorrow.”

“You mean he might tell you something which would disagree with Gerald Rawlins’ story?”

“That’s a possibility,” she agreed as she moved into the dining room. “But you may recall the other night Jerome Straight said something about Mrs. Chambers leaving her Fibrolux stock in trust with Mr. Straight as the administrator. If we can get hold of Jonathan Toomey tomorrow, I think I’ll inquire just what Jerome Straight’s connection with the corporation is beyond his voting power as administrator of the estate. It would be interesting to know whether under the terms of the will he could vote himself in as president of the corporation.”

I held Sedalia’s chair for her. “Well at least we can wait till tomorrow before worrying about any more murders,” I said philosophically.

“Think so?” Sedalia asked. “Bet a nickel the murderer tries to kill me again tonight.”

On this pleasant thought we sat down to our Sunday night supper.