“You leave me alone, Mister, or else I’ll yell.”
“I’ll leave you alone after we’ve had our look, maybe,” I said, turning her around with my other hand on her shoulder. “So if you’re going to yell you can get started right now.”
She wasn’t willing to go back to her mistress’s room, but she didn’t make me drag her. Gabrielle Leggett was lying on her side in bed, sleeping quietly, the bedclothes stirring gently with her breathing. Her small white face, at rest, with brown curls falling over it, looked like a sick child’s.
I turned Minnie loose and went back to my room. Sitting there in the dark I understood why people bit their fingernails. I sat there for an hour or more, and then, Goddamning myself for an old woman, I took off my shoes, picked the most comfortable chair, put my feet on another, hung a blanket over me, and went to sleep facing Gabrielle Leggett’s door through my open doorway.
10
DEAD FLOWERS
I opened my eyes drowsily, decided that I had dozed off for only a moment, closed my eyes, drifted back into slumber, and then roused myself sluggishly again. Something wasn’t right.
I forced my eyes open, then closed them, and opened them again. Whatever wasn’t right had to do with that. Blackness was there when they were open and when they were closed. That should have been reasonable enough: the night was dark, and my windows were out of the street lights’ range. That should have been reasonable enough, but it wasn’t: I remembered that I had left my door open, and the corridor lights had been on. Facing me was no pale rectangle of light framed by my doorway, with Gabrielle’s door showing through.
I was too awake by now to jump up suddenly. I held my breath and listened, hearing nothing but the tick of my wristwatch. Cautiously moving my hand, I looked at the luminous dial—3:17. I had been asleep longer than I had supposed, and the corridor light had been put out.
My head was numb, my body stiff and heavy, and there was a bad taste in my mouth. I got out from under the blanket, and out of my chairs, moving awkwardly, my muscles stubborn. I crept on stockinged feet to the door, and bumped into the door. It had been closed. When I opened it the corridor light was burning as before. The air that came in from the corridor seemed surprisingly fresh, sharp, pure.
I turned my face back into the room, sniffing. There was an odor of flowers, faint, stuffy, more the odor of a closed place in which flowers had died than of flowers themselves. Lilies of the valley, moonflowers, perhaps another one or two. I spent time trying to divide the odor into its parts, seriously trying to determine whether a trace of honeysuckle was actually present. Then I vaguely remembered having dreamed of a funeral. Trying to recall exactly what I had dreamed, I leaned against the door-frame and let sleep come into me again.
The jerking up of my neck muscles when my head sunk too low aroused me. I wrestled my eyes open, standing there on legs that weren’t part of me, stupidly wondering why I didn’t go to bed. While I drowsed over the idea that there might be some reason why I shouldn’t sleep, if I could only think of it, I put a hand against the wall to steady myself. The hand touched the light button. I had sense enough to push it.
Light scorched my eyes. Squinting, I could see a world that was real to me, and could remember that I had work to do. I made for the bathroom, where cold water on head and face left me still stupid and muddled, but at least partly conscious.
I turned off my lights, crossed to Gabrielle’s door, listened, and heard nothing. I opened the door, stepped inside, and closed the door. My flashlight showed me an empty bed with covers thrown down across the foot. I put a hand in the hollow her body had made in the bed—cold. There was nobody in bathroom or dressing-alcove. Under the edge of the bed lay a pair of green mules, and a green dressing-gown, or something of the sort, was hanging over the back of a chair.
I went to my room for my shoes, and then walked down the front stairs, intending to go through the house from bottom to top. I would go silently first, and then, if, as was likely enough, I ran across nothing, I could start kicking in doors, turning people out of bed, and raising hell till I turned up the girl. I wanted to find her as soon as possible, but she had too long a start for a few minutes to make much difference now; so if I didn’t waste any time, neither did I run.
I was half-way between the second and first floors when I saw something move below—or, rather, saw the movement of something without actually seeing it. It moved from the direction of the street-door towards the interior of the house. I was looking towards the elevator at the time as I walked down the stairs. The banister shut off my view of the street-door. What I saw was a flash of movement across half a dozen of the spaces between the banister’s uprights. By the time I had brought my eyes into focus there, there was nothing to see. I thought I had seen a face, but that’s what anybody would have thought in my position, and all I had actually seen was the movement of something pale.
The lobby, and what I could see of the corridors, were vacant when I reached the ground-floor. I started towards the rear of the building, and stopped. I heard, for the first time since I had awakened, a noise that I hadn’t made. A shoe-sole had scuffed on the stone steps the other side of the street-door.
I walked to the front door, got one hand on the bolt, the other hand on the latch, snapped them back together, and yanked the door open with my left hand, letting my right hang within a twist of my gun.
Eric Collinson stood on the top step.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked sourly.
It was a long story, and he was too excited to make it a clear one. As nearly as I could untangle it from his words, he had been in the habit of phoning Doctor Riese daily for reports on Gabrielle’s progress. Today—or rather yesterday—and last night, he had failed to get the doctor on the wire. He had called up as late as two o’clock this morning. Doctor Riese was not at home, he had been told, and none of the household knew where he was or why he was not at home. Collinson had then, after the two-o’clock call, come to the neighborhood of the Temple, on the chance that he might see me and get some word of the girl. He hadn’t intended, he said, coming to the door until he saw me looking out.
“Until you did what?” I asked.
“Saw you.”
“When?”
“A minute ago, when you looked out.”
“You didn’t see me,” I said. “What did you see?”
“Somebody looking out, peeping out. I thought it was you, and came up from the corner where I was sitting in the car. Is Gabrielle all right?”
“Sure,” I said. There was no use telling him I was hunting for her, and have him blow up on me. “Don’t talk so loud. Riese’s people don’t know where he is?”
“No—they seem worried. But that’s all right if Gabrielle’s all right.” He put a hand on my upper arm. “Could—could I see her? Just for a second? I won’t say anything. She needn’t even know I’ve seen her. I don’t mean now—but can’t you arrange it?”
This bird was young, tall, strong, and perfectly willing to have himself broken into pieces for Gabrielle Leggett. I knew something was wrong. I didn’t know what. I didn’t know what I would have to do to make it right, and how much help I would need. I couldn’t afford to turn him away. On the other hand, I couldn’t give him the low-down on the racket—that would have turned him into a wild man. I said:
“Come in. I’m on an inspection trip. You can go along if you keep quiet, and afterwards we’ll see what we can do.”
He came in, looking and acting as if I were St. Peter letting him into Heaven. I closed the door and led him through the lobby, down the main corridor. So far as we could see we had the joint to ourselves. And then we didn’t.
Gabrielle Leggett came around a corner just ahead of us. She was barefooted. Her only clothing was a yellow silk nightgown that was splashed with dark stains. In both hands, held out in front of her as she walked, she carried a large dagger, almost a sword. It was red and wet. Her hands and bare arms were red and wet. T
here was a dab of blood on one of her cheeks. Her eyes were clear, bright, and calm. Her small forehead was smooth, her mouth and chin firmly set.
She walked up to me, her untroubled gaze holding my probably troubled one, and said evenly, just as if she had expected to find me there, had come there to find me:
“Take it. It is evidence. I killed him.”
I said: “Huh?”
Still looking straight into my eyes, she said:
“You are a detective. Take me to where they will hang me.”
It was easier to move my hand than my tongue. I took the bloody dagger from her. It was a broad, thick-bladed weapon, double-edged, with a bronze hilt like a cross.
Eric Collinson pushed past me, babbling words that nobody could have made out, going for the girl with shaking outstretched hands. She shrank over against the wall, away from him, fear in her face.
“Don’t let him touch me,” she begged.
“Gabrielle,” he cried, reaching for her.
“No, no,” she panted.
I walked into his arms, my body between him and her, facing him, pressing him back with a hand against his chest, growling at him: “Be still, you.”
He took my shoulders in his big brown hands and began pushing me out of the way. I got ready to rap him on the chin with the heavy bronze dagger hilt. But we didn’t have to go that far: looking over me at the girl he forgot his intentions of forcing me out of his path, and his hands went loose on my shoulders. I leaned on the hand that I had on his chest, moving him back until he was against the wall; and then stepped away from him, a little to one side, so I could see both him and her facing each other from opposite walls.
“Be still till we see what’s happened,” I told him, and turned to the girl, pointing the dagger at her. “What’s happened?”
She was calm again.
“Come,” she said. “I’ll show you. Don’t let Eric come, please.”
“He won’t bother you,” I promised.
She nodded at that, gravely, and led us back down the corridor, around the corner, and up to a small iron door that stood ajar. She went through first. I followed her. Collinson was at my heels. Fresh air hit us when we went through the door. I looked up and saw dim stars in a dark sky. I looked down again. In the light that came through the open door behind us I saw that we were walking on a floor of white marble, or pentagonal tiles that imitated white marble. The place was dark except for the light from behind us. I took my flashlight out.
Walking unhurriedly on bare feet that must have found the tiled floor chilly, she led us straight to a square grayish shape that loomed up ahead. When she halted close to it and said, “There,” I clicked on my light.
The light glittered and glistened on a wide altar of brilliant white, crystal, and silver.
On the lowest of the three altar steps Doctor Riese lay dead on his back.
His face was composed, as if he were sleeping. His arms were straight down at his sides. His clothes were not rumpled, though his coat and vest were unbuttoned. His shirt was all blood. There were four holes in his shirt-front, all alike, all the size and shape that the weapon the girl had given me would have made. No blood was coming from his wounds now, but when I put a hand on his forehead I found it not quite cold. There was blood on the altar steps, and on the floor below, where his noseglasses, unbroken, on the end of their black ribbon, lay.
I straightened up and swung the beam of my light into the girl’s face. She blinked and squinted, but her face showed nothing except that physical discomfort.
“You killed him?” I asked.
Young Collinson came out of his trance to bawl: “No.”
“Shut up,” I told him, stepping closer to the girl, so he couldn’t wedge himself between us. “Did you?” I asked her again.
“Are you surprised?” she inquired quietly. “You were there when my step-mother told of the cursed Dain blood in me, and of what it had done and would do to me and those who touched me. Is this,” she asked, pointing at the dead man, “anything you should not have expected?”
“Don’t be silly,” I said while I tried to figure out her calmness. I had seen her coked to the ears before, but this wasn’t that. I didn’t know what this was. “Why did you kill him?”
Collinson grabbed my arm and yanked me around to face him. He was all on fire.
“We can’t stand here talking,” he cried. “We’ve got to get her out of here, away from this. We’ve got to hide the body, or put it some place where they’ll think somebody else did it. You know how those things are done. I’ll take her home. You fix it.”
“Yeah?” I asked. “What’ll I do? Frame it on one of the Filipino boys, so they’ll hang him instead of her?”
“Yes, that’s it. You know how to—”
“Like hell that’s it,” I said. “You’ve got nice ideas.”
His face got redder. He stammered: “I didn’t—didn’t mean so they’ll hang anybody, really. I wouldn’t want you to do that. But couldn’t it be fixed for him to get away? I—I’d make it worth his while. He could—”
“Turn it off,” I growled. “You’re wasting our time.”
“But you’ve got to,” he insisted. “You came here to see that nothing happened to Gabrielle and you’ve got to go through with it.”
“Yeah? You’re a smart boy.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ll pay—”
“Stop it.” I took my arm out of his hands and turned to the girl again, asking: “Who else was here when it happened?”
“No one.”
I played my light around, on the corpse and altar, all over the floor, on the walls, and saw nothing I hadn’t seen before. The walls were white, smooth, and unbroken except for the door we had come through and another, exactly like it, on the other side. These four straight whitewashed walls, undecorated, rose six stories to the sky.
I put the dagger beside Riese’s body, snapped off the light, and told Collinson: “We’ll take Miss Leggett up to her room.”
“For God’s sake let’s get her out of here—out of this house-now, while there’s time!”
I said she’d look swell running through the streets barefooted and with nothing on but a bloodstained nightie.
I turned on the light again when I heard him making noises. He was jerking his arms out of his overcoat. He said: “I’ve got the car at the corner, and I can carry her to it,” and started towards her with the coat held out.
She ran around to the other side of me, moaning: “Oh, don’t let him touch me.”
I put out an arm to stop him. It wasn’t strong enough. The girl got behind me. Collinson pursued her and she came around in front. I felt like the center of a merry-go-round, and didn’t like the feel of it. When Collinson came in front of me, I drove my shoulder into his side, sending him staggering over against the side of the altar. Following him, I planted myself in front of the big sap and blew off steam: “Stop it. If you want to play with us you’ve got to stop cutting up, and do what you’re told, and let her alone. Yes or no?”
He straightened his legs under him and began: “But, man, you can’t—”
“Let her alone,” I said. “Let me alone. The next break you make I’m going to sock your jaw with the flat of a gun. If you want it now, say so. Will you behave?”
He muttered: “All right.”
I turned around to see the girl, a gray shadow, running towards the open door, her bare feet making little noise on the tiles. My shoes made an ungodly racket as I went after her. Just inside the door I caught her with an arm around her waist. The next moment my arm was jerked away, and I was flung aside, smacking into the wall, slipping down on one knee. Collinson, looking eight feet tall in the darkness, stood close to me, storming down at me, but all I could pick out of his many words was a “damn you.”
I was in a swell mood when I got up from my knee. Playing nursemaid to a crazy girl wasn’t enough: I had to be chucked around by her boy friend. I put all the hypocrisy I had in
to my voice when I said casually, “You oughtn’t to do that,” to him and went over to where the girl was standing by the door.
“We’ll go up to your room now,” I told her.
“Not Eric,” she protested.
“He won’t bother you,” I promised again, hoping there’d be more truth to it this time. “Go ahead.”
She hesitated, then went through the doorway. Collinson, looking partly sheepish, partly savage, and altogether discontented, followed me through. I closed the door, asking the girl if she had the key. “No,” she said, as if she hadn’t known there was a key.
We rode up in the elevator, the girl keeping me always between her and her fiancé, if that’s what he still was. He stared fixedly at nothing. I studied her face, still trying to dope her out, to decide whether she had been shocked back into sanity or farther away from it. Looking at her, the first guess seemed likely, but I had a hunch it wasn’t. We saw nobody between the altar and her room. I switched on her lights and we went in. I closed the door and put my back against it. Collinson put his overcoat and hat on a chair and stood beside them, folding his arms, looking at Gabrielle. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at my feet.
“Tell us the whole thing, quick,” I commanded.
She looked up at my face and said: “I should like to go to sleep now.”
That settled the question of her sanity, so far as I was concerned: she hadn’t any. But now I had another thing to worry me. This room was not exactly as it had been before. Something had been changed in it since I had been there not many minutes ago. I shut my eyes, trying to shake up my memory for a picture of it then; I opened my eyes, looking at it now.
“Can’t I?” she asked.
I let her question wait while I put my gaze around the room, checking it up item by item, as well as I could. The only change I could put my finger on was Collinson’s coat and hat on the chair. There was no mystery to their presence; and the chair, I decided, was what had bothered me. It still did. I went to it and picked up his coat. There was nothing under it. That’s what was wrong: a green dressing-gown, or something of the sort, had been there before, and was not there now. I didn’t see it elsewhere in the room, and didn’t have enough confidence in its being there to search for it. The green mules were under the bed.