Rex Stout (20 page)

She had formed a resolution, impulsively but unalterably, and the immediate necessity was to communicate it to Alphabet Hicks, not so much to enlist his help as merely to communicate it. He was not in the hall. She went to a door at the end of it and entered the dining room, found it empty, and passed through to the kitchen. Mrs. Powell was there, pouring a cup of coffee for a man in a Palm Beach suit and a battered Panama hat.

Heather asked, “Have you seen Mr. Hicks?”

“No,” Mrs. Powell said, “and I don’t want to.”

“He’s all right,” the man said tolerantly, “except he’s batty. Why, do you want him?”

“Yes.”

“He went upstairs to see Dundee. Last door on the right.”

That would be Ross’s room. Heather took the back stairs. Her resolution quickened her step, and, on the upper floor, even caused her to omit the common amenity of knocking on the door of another’s room before entering. She turned the knob and went in, disregarded Dundee, who stopped pacing the floor to glare at her, confronted Hicks, who was straddling a chair, and told him:

“I can’t stay here. I can’t! I’m going to leave.”

“It would have been a good thing for all of us,” Dundee said harshly, “if you had reached that decision a week ago. Perhaps if you hadn’t been here—”

“Shut up,” Hicks said rudely. He got up to approach Heather. “Don’t mind him, he’s having a fit. Did the district attorney tell you you can leave?”

“No, but I’m going to. I can’t—”

“Okay, we’ll see. At least we’ll leave this room.” Hicks spoke to Dundee: “For God’s sake calm down a little. Put cold compresses on your head. Comb your hair.”

“He motioned Heather ahead and followed her out. Across the hall and down a dozen paces was the door to her room. When they were inside and the door was closed, Heather said:

“I can’t talk even in my own room. That’s why he was taking me to the district attorney. I was in here talking and Mr. Brager and a man were in his room and heard us, and Mr. Brager tapped on the wall to warn us—”

“Then talk low. Keep your voice down.” Hicks went and shut the window and came back. “Who were you talking with?”

“Ross Dundee. I was here and he came—”

“To ask about the sonograph plate?”

“No. At least—he didn’t. But I did. I asked him where he got a plate with my sister’s voice on it.”

“Which is what I told you—”

“I know you did. It came out before I knew it.”

“Keep your voice down. This should interest you. Cooper was murdered because he mentioned that plate. Maybe you realize now that I wasn’t talking through my hat. A man has got himself into a hole that he can’t get out of, but before he quits trying he’ll kill you and me too if he can manage it.”

They were standing, facing each other. Heather’s head was tilted so that her eyes, on a level with his chin, were looking straight into his. Her voice came out a whisper:

“What man?”

Hicks shook his head. “Maybe I know. Maybe I don’t. I came out here to increase my knowledge and ran into this. Was there ever a sonotel installed in this house?”

“Yes. There’s one now, in the wall of the living room.”

“That would amuse Corbett. He’d like that, doing his questioning in a room wired for sound. When was it installed?”

“It was there when I came, over a year ago. It was used for experimenting. About two months ago it was taken out and a new one was put in, a new model.”

“Who installed it?”

“I don’t know about the old one. Ross Dundee installed the new one.”

“Keep your voice down,” Hicks admonished her. “Today. About Cooper. You were at the laboratory with Brager when it happened?”

“Yes. He came and said George was there—no, he told me that when we were in the woods—”

“Tell me what happened at the laboratory.”

She told him. He took it in, asked a few questions, nodded as if satisfied, and said:

“Okay. That’ll do for now. We can cover some other points on our way to New York. The best—”

“To New York?”

“Certainly. You say you want to get away from here, which I can understand, and I have something to do somewhere else. So we might as well go together. The car you lent me is backed into the entrance of a pasture lane up the road about four hundred yards toward Katonah. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes. The other side of the old orchard.”

“There’s a house a short distance beyond.”

“Yes. Darby’s.”

“We’d better not try to leave here together. They won’t be keeping close watch on you, and if you’re any good you can make it. You know the ground. Circle around through the orchard and pasture. Are you afraid to try that?”

“Afraid? Of course not!”

“Good for you. I’ll join you as soon as I can. I have a little errand to do here before I leave, and it’ll be harder for me to get away. They’ll miss me. Be patient and take a nap in the back seat. Change to a dark dress and don’t try taking any luggage. In case of a slip-up—wait a minute.”

Hicks frowned. “I’ve got the key to the car. Is there another one around?”

“Yes, in a drawer in the dining room.”

“Can you get it?”

“Of course.”

“You’re a wonder. When you grow up and get big like me you’ll be President.” Hicks sat down and untied a shoelace and removed the shoe. He put the shoe on his lap and got his wallet and a memo book from a pocket. From the wallet he extracted a baggage check and glanced at it, then wrote something on a page of the memo book, tore it out, handed it to Heather, slipped the baggage check into the shoe, and put the shoe back on.

“There,” he said, “keep that in a safe place. Your shoe will do. It’s the number of the check for something I left in the parcel room at Grand Central. In case anything regrettable happens to me, here’s what you do. Get Dundee’s wife, Mrs. R. I. Dundee,
and go with her to Inspector Vetch of the New York police, and both of you tell him everything you know. Everything. Don’t hold out on him. Give him the number of that check and tell him to get it. Vetch is a good guy, once you get used to his mannerisms. You’ll like him.”

“But what—” Heather was gazing at him. “Why do you think anything—”

“I don’t. But this individual we’re after has apparently got a screw loose. Getting Cooper like that in broad daylight! He’s so scared there’s no telling what he’ll try next, so just to fool him we make these little arrangements. By the way, I should warn you, when you meet Mrs. Dundee you’re going to get a shock. Be prepared for it.”

“A shock? Why a shock?”

Hicks patted her on the shoulder. “You’ll understand when you meet her. Go ahead and change your dress—or wear that long dark coat you had on last night—”

“I’m not going to meet her,” Heather said, “unless you—unless something—”

“Right. So the chances are you’ll never have the pleasure. I’ll explain further on our way to town. Probably—”

The door swung open and R. I. Dundee barged in.

“Irving’s here. My lawyer,” he snapped.

“Coming,” Hicks said. He smiled at Heather. “See you later.”

He followed Dundee out.

Heather had scornfully repudiated Hicks’s suggestion that she might be afraid.

She would certainly have denied that it was fear that made her heart beat faster when she entered the kitchen and found that Mrs. Powell was still there, washing up, and a state policeman in
uniform was standing by the corner cupboard, drinking coffee. Mrs. Powell glanced at her, saw the long dark coat, and asked:

“Going out?”

“Just for a breath of air,” Heather said.

From the corner of her eye she saw that the policeman was looking at her, and, though he said nothing, she was convinced that if she started for the door he would stop her. She hesitated, became acutely aware that she was acting unnaturally, and turned and made for the door to the dining room, where she had just come from after getting the extra car key. She stood there a moment, berating herself as a coward and a ninny, and then went on through to the side hall. Without a glance at a man on a chair by the door to the living room, she opened the outer door and was on the terrace, and felt her heart start thumping again at the sight of another state policeman standing in a ray of light from a window. That made her mad. She addressed him without regard for the fact that she was interrupting something he was saying to Ross Dundee:

“If anyone wants me you can call,” she said. “I’ll be around within hearing.”

“Very well, Miss Gladd,” he replied, in a tone not only acquiescent but positively sympathetic.

Lord, I’m a simple-minded fool, she thought as she rounded the shrubbery and stepped onto the lawn.

She had decided on her route: straight back to the vegetable garden, around to the rear of the garage, on through the birches to the upper corner of the orchard. In the vicinity of the house there was enough light to go by, but farther on she found that clouds were obscuring the stars and it was so completely black that she barked her shin on a wheelbarrow someone had left at the corner of the vegetable garden. She went more cautiously, skirting the berry patch and threading her way through the slender birches.

She was in the orchard, towards the middle of it, when, stopping by a tree to decide whether to bear more to the left she heard a noise behind her. Her head whirled around and her heart stopped.

An apple falling, she thought.

She could see no movement, nothing whatever.

This is one on you, my fine brave girl, she thought. You’re scared stiff. An apple falling.

She went on, bearing to the left, walked faster, tripped on
something and recovered her balance without falling. Still she went faster, walking straight into a low-hanging limb. Had someone enlarged the darned orchard? No, at last, here was the stone fence. She climbed over, deciding that she wasn’t so scared after all since she was carefully avoiding the poison ivy, and started across the meadow. Soon she came to the lane and turned right on it; and, stopping for a look to the rear, saw something moving.

A cow. No. There were never any cows in here; they mooed. It continued to move; it was coming closer! now she could hear it. Her legs were running, she was running. No, she wasn’t, she was standing still. She made her legs stop running.…

A voice said, “It’s me. Ross Dundee.”

She was stunned, speechless with rage.

“If you call this around within hearing,” the voice said, from a face now near enough to be a blotch in the darkness.

“You—you—” Heather choked with fury.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you. I didn’t—”

“I’m not an utter coward,” she said contemptuously. “Will you let me alone? Will you stop following me around?”

“Yes. I will.” The face was near enough now so that it was a face. “I’ll stop following you around when you’re back inside the house. But I want to know where you got the fantastic idea that I had a sonograph plate of your sister’s voice.”

“I’m not going back. I’m never going inside that house again.”

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“You’re leaving like this? At night? Walking? Without your things? Running away? No. You’re not. By God, if I have to carry you—”

“You try carrying me! You try! I’m walking to the road. I’m walking there now. You touch me!”

She turned and walked, not precipitately, with sufficient care on the ridge between the ruts of the lane. Without looking back she followed the lane to the bars in the fence gap, straddled the lower bar to get through, bumped into the rear of the car that was parked there, went around to the front door, and climbed in behind the steering wheel. As she banged the door shut the opposite one opened, and Ross Dundee was there beside her.

She felt suddenly, overwhelmingly, that if she wasn’t terribly careful and terribly strong she would cry. She might anyway.
She wanted to order him to get out, in a tone of calm and concentrated disdain, but she didn’t dare to try to speak. In a moment she would.…

He said, incredibly, “This car happens to be the property of R. I. Dundee and Company.”

That fixed her. There was no longer any necessity for crying.

“I suppose,” she said, in precisely the tone which only a moment before had seemed out of the question, “I can’t get rid of you without telling you what I am going to do. Mr. Hicks drove this car here. Since he is working for your father, I presume he is using the car with his permission. I am going to wait here for him and we are going to drive to New York.”

“You and Hicks?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know him! What do you know about him? Listen, for God’s sake—”

“I’m not going to listen. About that sonograph plate, I shouldn’t have asked you. I don’t understand about it and I don’t expect you to tell me. I don’t understand anything about all this awful horrible business. If I stayed in that house another night, sitting there and lying there not understanding anything, I’d go crazy. I think Mr. Hicks understands it, or he’s going to. I don’t think that dreadful district attorney would ever find out anything. Whether anybody finds out anything or not, I can’t stay there and I’m not going to, and I won’t talk about it. Now you can go back to the house and tell the police, and they can come and get me. I’ll be right here.”

Heather was looking, not at Ross, but straight ahead through the windshield into the darkness. He was gazing at her profile. He told it:

“That’s a fine, noble, generous thing to say. Me telling the police. You have no right to say a thing like that, even to me.”

“You can tell them if you want to.”

“Thanks. I don’t want to. Anyway, I can’t, because I won’t be seeing them. I’ll be going to New York with you and Hicks.”

“You will not!”

“I will. But I’ll settle that with Hicks. You said you won’t talk about all this awful business, and I don’t expect you to, but I’ve got to ask you one question and I hope you’ll answer it. About that sonograph plate. Do you mean the one that was in with those other unmarked plates?”

“Yes.”

“Then you did keep those plates.”

“No, I didn’t. I kept only one. I kept that one because it was my sister’s voice and I didn’t understand how you got it.”