Five Fatal Words (7 page)

"Who are you?" he repeated.

Melicent wondered for a moment if this was the Prof. Coleman of whom Miss Cornwall had spoken and then she knew who it was. She knew because the clarity and aspect of his eyes and the roundness of his forehead reminded her vaguely of Everitt Cornwall, and because the chin was the same indomitable chin that distinguished the features of her employer. She did not answer his question. Instead she said, "You're Donald Cornwall."

He gave his head an immense nod. "Excellent. I am Donald Cornwall. Who are you, may I repeat?"

"I am your aunt's secretary."

He came a step closer to her, as if she were a small and distant object requiring close scrutiny. "Have you a name?"

"Yes," Melicent answered. She did not tell him her name, however. His manner was so self-assured, so domineering, that she was instantly piqued by it. He seemed to understand the reason for her refusal to give her name; he bellowed at the top of his lungs, "Auntie--Hey!"

At that moment the new butler came and inquired somewhat awkwardly if the doorbell had been rung. He was apologetic for his failure to appear and reassured when he learned that it was not his fault. He began to carry Donald's luggage upstairs when Miss Cornwall arrived.

She had obviously been agitated by the voices in the hall, but Donald, seeing her at the head of the stairs, hailed her. "Hello, auntie? Just your little Donald popping in. Tell Hawkins, or Hopkins, or Hastings, or whatever his name is, where to put my duffle."

Miss Cornwall did so, as the butler passed her on the stairs and she joined them in the hall. She took her nephew's hand. "Donald! I--"

He interrupted her: "I drove up from New York. I came in from France last week."

His aunt was leading them all toward the living room downstairs. She spoke from what must have been a confusion of thoughts. "Why didn't you come here immediately?"

"There were some little things I wanted to do first."

"Oh!"

"One was buying an automobile. Down where father and I lived there weren't many good roads and they weren't very long. We had an old Ford, that's all. I haven't driven a car since I was at school in France and England, but the one I have outside is a beaut. I suppose it's an extravagance for a poor relation of the Cornwall family, but anyway there it is. By the way, I'd like to have your permission to take Miss Waring out in it any and every night--"

"Donald!"

Miss Cornwall's intonation was one of deep reproach.

"Yes, Aunt Hannah?"

Miss Cornwall looked at Melicent for an instant. "Didn't you tell him?"

She shook her head. "I was just going to when you came down."

"Tell me what?" Donald Cornwall had caught the note in the voices of the two women.

"Your Uncle Everitt arrived here at noon to-day," she said. "He went upstairs to take a bath just now and he was electrocuted when he reached up to turn off the lights."

"What!" Melicent watched the young man closely. Every vestige of his glib good nature--good nature that had been gruesome under the circumstances--deserted him. His color fled. The tan on his face became a sallow and unhealthy shade.

"Your uncle is dead." Donald Cornwall came closer to his aunt. "Did you get my letter?"

She frowned at him in caution. He glanced at Melicent and then took Miss Cornwall's ann. "Come upstairs with me, auntie, and tell me about it."

Melicent did not see Donald Cornwall until much later in the day. She waited in an agony of apprehension for some one to send for her, but apparently Miss Cornwall and her nephew had forgotten that she was in the house. She did not know just what time it was when Mr. Reece arrived. He drove up in a huge car that skidded to a stop at the door and she answered his ring before Hardy could come from the kitchen.

Mr. Reece was calm. He spoke quietly to her and told Hardy when he appeared to inform Miss Cornwall of his arrival. Meanwhile he talked to Melicent.

"When did it happen?"

"After noon."

"And how?"

"I don't understand it exactly," she said. "But he was taking a bath. He reached up to turn out the lights and got a shock which killed him."

"I see."

"He apparently had some sort of an ornament in his hand because they found him still clutching it--and it had burned his fingers."

"What was it?"

"A spider made of copper."

She could see that this small, gruesome detail shocked him as it had her. But his only voluntary response was a nod. "You're all right, Miss Waring?"

"Yes. "

"Granger's about, I suppose?"

"Yes. In the garage, I think."

"I'll see him later." He paused. "I had an expectation that you would be subjected to this sort of—ah--accident, Miss Waring. Forty years and nothing happened. Forty years--and now--I'm very sorry. But one thing I'd intended to tell you was that if the eccentricities of the Cornwall family ever become hard to bear, you may have confidence in Granger. I--" She had a momentary impression that he was going to add something to those words, but he did not say the words that were on the tip of his tongue. Instead, she could see him making the mental gesture of compromise. "What I mean is that I have investigated everyone in Miss Cornwall's employment and the facts I have found about Granger are especially to his credit."

"I see." Melicent remembered the arrival of Donald Cornwall. "Did you know that Miss Cornwall's nephew had arrived since the accident?"

"No! Which nephew?"

"Donald. "

"That's Daniel's son. When did he come?"

"Right after--right after--"

"I see."

Melicent thought a moment. "He's with his aunt now."

Mr. Reece nodded vacantly and went upstairs.

Much later Donald Cornwall descended and found her. He was grave and polite.

"I'm sorry about my rude entrance this afternoon. I had no idea--"

"It's all right."

"I was wondering if you'd care to come and have a little something to eat. I know the state your emotions must be in, but you'd be better if you ate something--"

"Well--"

He took her arm and led her toward the dining room. "Uncle Everitt never had a real home. He preferred to rough it all his life. He liked to live on ships and in hotels. I have talked to my aunt and his funeral will be at this house. I am trying to persuade my aunt to go away afterward and I think she may do so. If she did, you wouldn't have any objections to accompanying her, would you?"

Melicent had not thought of that. She realized that she would be glad to leave the shadows of Blackcroft. She wondered if Donald Cornwall would also accompany his aunt. She said, "No. One of the conditions required to fill this position was that the person should have no ties and I have none."

"I see." He drew out a chair at the dining room table and sat down beside her.

Food was brought to them and each one made an effort to eat, an effort wholly for the benefit of the other.

The first part of the meal was spent in complete silence, but eventually Donald Cornwall began to talk in a random manner about his family.

"I suppose I could say that Uncle Everitt was my favorite in the family. Father had two brothers and three sisters. I don't imagine you have met any of them."

Melicent shook her head. "No."

"Theodore is the other uncle and besides Hannah there are Alice and Lydia. Alice lives in Belgium. She has three children--cousins of mine--whom I haven't seen for years and years. They're all pretty gay, I guess. Alice's crazy about them and she spoiled them.

Then here's Lydia. She was a snobbish little chit in the 70s and 80s, or whenever she was a chit. She made grandfather Silas thoroughly peeved by marrying Grand Duke Vladamir Strong of Bortvia. Lydia was a born title-seeker and Silas was a democrat of the first water, so auntie went abroad to live and has stayed there pretty much of the time. I guess things have been tough in Bortvia since it became a republic, and Lydia and her husband and the prince regent are all living in exile in Egypt. That's everybody but Theodore.

Uncle Theodore is a crank. He's a vegetarian and about every two years he makes a big announcement of what he'll do with grandfather's money if he inherits it. His last idea was to build an endowed highway clear across the United States bearing the family name, and free to all people. No toll bridges and no grade crossings."

Donald Cornwall stopped and looked at Melicent, who was silent. Then he continued to talk. "All of them had ideas for disposing of that money. Aunt Hannah wants to start a Greek university, with everybody wearing togas, I think. Poor old dad had the only really sound plan of the bunch. He was interested in medicine and wanted to start a foundation to study tropical diseases. That's why we were in Dutch Guiana. But dad's gone and now Uncle Everitt's gone. Well, they're getting old and I suppose everybody gets old eventually." He put down his knife and fork as if he had given up all pretense of eating. "Funny, that electric light thing. Fairly common accident."

"I am terribly sorry," Melicent said quietly.

His answer came after an interval and it did not seem connected with what she said. He spoke speculatively. "The thing that puzzles me is that it must have been an accident. A pure accident. You could see how it all happened. He reached up to turn on the bracket light and touched the empty socket instead. I can't understand it."

To that Melicent made no reply. She knew what he could not understand. The young man from South America had been thinking his uncle was the victim of a murder.

And now that train of thought was upset because it was obvious that Everitt Cornwall had died by mischance.

People moved through the house upstairs. Servants, one or two officials from the small town of Williamsborough, and the coroner. After they left the dining room Donald joined the people on the floor above and Melicent was again left to the empty rooms and the silence. She had spent a day and a half and one night in the house, but already it seemed to her that she had lived through a month of empty and inactive silence. She dreaded the hour of bedtime.

Its approach was remorseless. Miss Cornwall descended the staircase and looked into the library. Her face was strained but her voice was firm. "We will retire now, Miss Waring."

Melicent followed the old lady up the stairs. No words passed between them and they carried out the ritual on which they had agreed. Miss Cornwall went into her room and locked the door. Melicent went into hers. She undressed and put on the long nightgown and lace cap. She waited and presently there was a knock on the door. They exchanged rooms. No word was spoken. The door was locked. Melicent moved through the dark to the great canopied bed.

When she lay down she realized that she was exhausted from the strain of that long and fantastic day. In the morning she had read the letter which voiced Donald Cornwall's suspicions. At noon Everitt Cornwall had arrived. Later in the afternoon his nephew had appeared and the lemon-colored roadster. Now Everitt Cornwall lay dead and his nephew was secretly mystified because the death was the result of accident and not of murder.

Those thoughts were merely fragments in her mind because superimposed upon them was a repetition of the terror of the night before. It crept through the dark like a cold, invisible mist. It penetrated corners of her mind with imagined episodes, in which she, lying in the antique bed, was mistaken for Miss Cornwall by somebody or the something which was, perhaps even at that moment, moving through the house carrying doom for three more venerable members of the family. She could even imagine that stalking thing was chuckling because one Cornwall had been eliminated by fate.

Lying in the dark, she heard the shuffling steps of officials come to confirm the fact that the death of Everitt Cornwall was accidental. Through the casement windows came the slam of doors and the hum of motors. Voices died. People ceased to walk through the house. Silence descended. She listened. The clock downstairs repeated its dull strikes at intervals, which seemed infinite. It was eleven o'clock, eleven-thirty, twelve, half-past twelve, one. Not a sound in the house. No one outside. Nothing but her fear, her tense waiting. She wondered if Hannah Cornwall was awake in the next room--awake and trembling. She wondered if Donald Cornwall was also awake and what he was thinking. His presence in the house lent her a mysterious reassurance, the reassurance always given to a woman who knows that her outcry will summon a man. She had thought that she would be able to sleep better because of his presence, but sleep was almost impossible to her.

At two o'clock she was dozing. At three she was awake again and heard the clock strike. Then, when the hours were their blackest, there descended over the whole house not restfulness but numbness. Melicent lay with her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell unevenly. The first dim ray of dawn came through the casement windows like the spreading of a slow stain. It made the bed and the girl dimly visible through the narrowly opened windows and across the floor, in a slow meandering stream, it dispersed and reformed. It rose higher in the room and touched the girl's face. At once she stirred. A second eddy of it, misty and unsubstantial, blew over her.

She opened her eyes. She drew in a sharp breath. It was smoke. Instantly she was on her feet. She ran toward the door that led to the hall. The aura of smoke was not there. It was not near the door which led into her own bedroom, where Miss Cornwall was asleep. Again she crossed the room. It was coming through the casement windows. Her eyes tried to pierce the grayness outside, but she could see no sign of fire. She listened. Finally she believed she could detect a crackling sound.

There was a fire somewhere in the house. Melicent shuddered at the realization of a new terror so swiftly come upon Blackcroft, but she acted quickly and definitely. She stuffed the lace nightcap under the sheets. Instinctively, with both hands, she pushed back her disheveled hair. Then she stepped to the door that led to Miss Cornwall's room. She knocked lightly. She heard a creak in response, then footfalls. The door was unlocked and opened slightly. A chain prevented the aperture from widening.