Another Woman's House (28 page)

“What … ?”

“Alice killed Mildred. She killed Jack.”

“
What are you saying?
”

“It is the truth, Sam. She told me.”

He was out of bed, a dim, thin figure in pajamas. He caught her wrist. “Where is she? Where is Alice?”

“In the library. Sam, she killed them both. She'll hurt Richard. She's different, she's terrible … Sam, help me …” Her voice was shaking; she was incoherent. Sam released her wrist. He snatched up a coat and flung it around him. He took her by the arm and they were in the hall. They were hurrying, running. Her breath stung her throat.

He went down the stairs first. He ran into the library and then brought up short.

Alice was sitting again in the ruby-red chair. She was composed and quiet.

There was no faint resemblance to the woman Myra had seen in her. She looked up quietly at Sam.

He leaned suddenly against the table. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He gave a shaky laugh. “Thank God, you're all right, Alice,” he said. “I didn't know what had happened!”

Alice said, “I'm so glad you are here, Sam. Myra is hysterical. She's saying terrible things. I'm sorry for her. For her own sake, Sam, please try to quiet her.”

Sam wiped his forehead again. “I'm sorry for Myra too,” he said. “But I'm not going to let her hurt you.”

A
ND THERE WAS NOT
one scrap of proof.

Not one written word, not one shred of evidence. No one besides herself had heard Alice's words and Alice would not have uttered those words if she had not already believed that Myra knew the truth; if Alice had not thought at once, when she discovered Myra so near in the very moment when Mildred died. Danger! Danger from Myra; Myra has heard; Myra knows the truth! And if, with swift and ugly shrewdness, Alice had not put herself in Myra's place and reasoned what she would have done with a weapon so conveniently placed in her hands.

She had offered instantly the price she would have exacted had she been Myra. She had broken into Myra's own brief story of the few things she had really heard and seen, to offer that price, to say quickly, instantly, almost in so many words, I'll give you a divorce—only keep quiet. Don't tell. It's easier that way, quicker that way, less likely to turn Richard against you than to accuse his wife of two murders. Much less trouble all the way around! It seemed incredible to Myra now that she had not recognized that offer. Instead, she had only thought, bewildered, how out of place and wrong such a talk was at that moment.

And then later, when the police had gone, with an almost equally outré insistence upon discussion of a divorce, Alice had flatly and finally retracted her offer because she felt safe. Because she began to believe that Myra, really, knew nothing. And then the account of the brief little meeting Myra had had with Mildred (Mildred who was heartbroken by the discovery of Alice's imperfection, distraught at the realization that the woman she loved best in the world had killed the man she loved), the brief account of that meeting had frightened Alice again, had shaken her out of her assuredness. “You didn't tell me,” she'd said, and Myra, unaware of the significance that Alice might read into her words, distracted by Richard's return and the sound of his entrance, had answered, “I've not told anyone.”

So, later: “You threatened me,” said Alice.

It was a clearly marked path. So clear that Sam must recognize it, must see the truth as truth. She would tell him. She would show him. She would need no other proof, thought Myra swiftly.

He had wrapped his coat around him and was sitting on the arm of a chair, lighting a cigarette, his face still angry and intent.

But Alice had observed the growing confidence in Myra's face. It was as if she had followed Myra's thought and waited for the exact instant of attack. She took a quick breath and said, “Sam, Myra says that I killed Jack. She says that she's going to tell everyone that she listened to everything Mildred said to me. She's going to say that I made Mildred write that letter and then I made her take the poison.” She lifted her shoulders in a kind of helpless shrug and said, “I know how it sounds. Nobody could have made Mildred do that. But—I've suffered so from the terrible accusation that Webb made …”

“That's, what made Myra think of it,” said Sam and turned toward Myra. “Listen, Myra. You're only hurting yourself …”

“It is the truth,” cried Myra. “Alice admitted it. She told everything …”

“You're having a brainstorm! If you'll just forget this and …”

“You've got to believe me. She's dangerous. She has murdered two people …”

“
Myra!
” He got up and came toward her. “Stop that!”

“Alice was in love with Jack. He was going to leave her. She dictated Mildred's confession. Mildred brought the poison for Alice to take and Alice put it in her mouth. …”

“Mildred took the poison herself,” said Alice.

Sam cried, “This is fantastic! Alice couldn't have made Mildred take poison. …”

“Mildred knew Alice had killed Jack. Oh, you
must
listen, Sam! She told Alice she had to atone, she had to take poison, or go to trial. Alice believed her. She didn't know that she couldn't be tried! She promised to sign a confession if Mildred would write it.”

Sam seized her hands and she wrenched them away from him. And knew with a kind of sickening quake that of the two, it was she who seemed hysterical and irresponsible, wild and erratic in her look and her words, and that Alice was composed and quiet and utterly convincing in that composure.

And safe.

Sam said sternly, “You've got to stop that, Myra.”

“But she admitted it. She told me everything. …”

“Myra, be reasonable.” Alice's high lovely voice was sad but unperturbed. “If I had done such terrible things would I have told you? Would I have told anybody? Myra, try to pull yourself together. Everybody loses some time. I know it sounds trite, I know that just now you think you'll never forget Richard, but try to be a good loser. Try to be game. Sam and I won't tell Richard any of this. Let him remember you as he knew you. Not …”

“I haven't lost,” said Myra, suddenly cool. For there was the gun on the table, gleaming in the light.

Sam had not yet seen it. It lay behind the lilies Mildred had brought. Myra avoided Sam, who would have stopped her as if she intended to do Alice some physical injury, and went to the table. “There's the gun. Alice hid it in the newel post. She hid it the night she shot Jack.”

Sam had come to her side. He stared at the gun, his face a white, sharp mask of concentration. “It is the gun! At least it looks like it!” he cried.

A flicker of something like credulity touched his face. Myra said swiftly, “She put it in the newel post. The top is loose. She—she must have hidden it, held it so Webb did not see it. Yes, yes, that's what you did.” She turned to Alice. “You had on a long, full white skirt. You knew the top was loose; you held the gun so Webb could not see it. You ran into the hall when he told you to phone for the police. He went to the curtains at the other end of the room. He could not see you. You lifted the top of the post, dropped the gun there then ran to the phone. And nobody ever knew until …”

Alice said, “Myra, where did you get the gun? Did Mildred leave it in that room? Did you take it and hide it, so as to accuse me? Even then—in the very moment when a woman was dying—did you think of that?” The faint, half-dawning credulity in Sam's face flickered out. He picked up the gun.

“It's loaded,” said Myra quickly. “Alice loaded it …” She looked at Alice and saw by the unperturbed and calm look in her brown eyes that it was not loaded. What had she done with the shells? Thrown them out, across the terrace, into the rain and darkness while Myra went to summon Sam?

Sam said, “Where did this gun come from, Myra?”

“It was in the post. I found it. I …”

Alice said, “First you accuse me, now you say that you found it. Oh, Myra, Myra—you've lost! But lose with dignity, my dear. Lose with courage. Don't make it impossible for us ever to want to see you again. Don't destroy the friendship and the memory Richard and—and I too, would want to hold for you. Sam, make her go to bed. Give her a sedative. Keep this from Richard. …”

Myra turned desperately to Sam. “You must listen. Even if you think I'm hysterical and wild, listen to me. Listen to the whole story. …”

“You've lost your head,” said Sam. “I'll take care of this gun and …”

“Her fingerprints are on it. They must be on it,” cried Myra suddenly.

He held the gun in his hand, nevertheless. He said, “You must not talk like this, Myra. It is a criminal act. You are making a completely baseless and very terrible accusation.”

“But it is true …”

He turned to Alice. “I'm sorry you've had this to go through, Alice. But don't let it worry you. Nobody for a moment will believe Myra. The facts of Manders' murder are now too well established. She'll see that when she's had time to think …”

Richard opened the front door and came quickly and happily along the hall. He was whistling, and the gay, clear sound seemed to belong to another world. With a surge of returning confidence, Myra started toward him. And this time Sam caught her wrist and held it as if his own hand were made of steel. He cried: “You're a fool if you try this with Dick. For God's sake, Myra,
think!
For your own pride, don't let him see you like this.”

Richard came to the door. “Has the district attorney got here?” he asked.

“No …” said Sam and tightened his hold on Myra. Richard, too full of his own news to sense immediately anything strange in their attitudes, anything wrong in the room, went on hurriedly, “Everything's over! The district attorney got to the police station just as I did. He's coming here to take a look but the case is closed. All they wanted me for was to ask me about the gun.” He looked at Myra and explained, “Webb did know something of it. You were right. He found the shell that you buried. Willie apparently followed you and dug it up and Webb happened upon it in the path. He said his foot struck it and he looked at it and knew it had no business there, and that somebody had very recently buried it. So he leaped to the right conclusion that somebody
had
had that gun and …” He glanced around and said, “Golly, it's cold in here. Why don't you build up the fire?”

He went to the fireplace and stooped over to take the tongs.

Alice said softly, “The gun is here. Myra had it …”

Sam said, holding her, “Myra, for your own sake …”

Richard had heard neither of them. Richard had not reached for the tongs. Richard, in fact, was suddenly and curiously immobile, as if frozen, staring downward.

All of them perhaps were aware of that sudden fixed stillness.

And then he straightened.

He turned around and faced them.

His face was as changed as if a different man stood before them, an older man, at once saddened and fearful. He looked swiftly around the room. There was a terrible apprehension in his eyes. He looked at Alice and said, “
What have you done now?
”

He came to her and cried in white, grim anger and fear, “
What have you done?
Tell me.”

She moved back in the chair as if it were a lair. Her eyes were blank and sullen.

“I haven't done anything.”

“Don't lie! When did you smash the cupid? Before”—he stopped and seemed to brace himself against the impact of his own words and said—“before Mildred's death? Or after … ?”

“No, no! Afterward—I didn't hurt her—I didn't touch her. …”

“Alice, tell me the truth. I
know
you when you are like this. …”

She moved her head slowly, sluggishly, from side to side. He turned to Sam. His face was drawn and white with the fear he had not spoken until then. His eyes had still that look of horror, of grim and terrible apprehension. “Has she hurt anybody, Sam? She'll do anything when she's like this. She's like a woman possessed. But I thought she'd learned to control it. I thought … Did she kill Mildred? Tell me the truth.”

Sam did not reply. His hand on Myra's wrist relaxed. It became completely slack and nerveless and dropped away. Myra looked at him, and he was looking at Alice with utter, stunned revulsion in his face.

She saw that and knew.

She knew what she would see when she looked at Alice. She knew that Alice was powerless then to check or conceal her own devouring fury.

Richard saw it too. He said, “For God's sake, Alice …”

Myra looked at Alice then and that other creature had come into possession again.

There was a strange, deep pause as if the room held its breath.

And Sam said in a numb and icy voice, “I always wondered about that. The five slugs. Five slugs into him where one would have been enough. I wondered who could have been capable of such rage, such a passion of vindictive fury.” He paused and said as gravely as a judge pronouncing a death sentence, “You killed Manders. You shot him. You looked like that when you did it.”

There was complete conviction in his voice. There was the full power and recognition of truth.

Alice got up clumsily, humped and sluggish. She cried in that slurred and coarsened voice, “I'm glad I killed him!” She whirled upon Richard, “You did this to me! You made them see the truth! I'll kill you, too!” she cried in blind and obsessed anger and flung herself upon him. He caught her. Sam ran toward them and she twisted out of Richard's grasp and clawed at Sam.

“Hold her hands,” cried Richard. “Catch her hands …”

Someone had entered the hall, had come along it toward the library, had stopped in the doorway. Myra was distinctly aware of it, but she could not look, could not take her sickened gaze from that terrible searing instant of struggle.