“Digitalis, wasn’t it?” Gentry encouraged her.
“Tincture of digitalis. He’s been taking twelve drops in hot chocolate milk for years for his heart condition.”
“Tell me exactly what you did that night. Was there anything different from any other night?”
“N-o-o. That is, Mr. Peabody wasn’t always sitting with him, of course. I got the thermos from the dining table where Mrs. Blair always left it, and came up through this room and into the connecting bathroom where I picked up the medicine bottle. And I went in John’s room where he and Mr. Peabody had finished their business and were chatting, and set the cup and thermos beside John’s bed and measured out twelve drops in the cup.
“Then I told Mr. Peabody he’d have to go, and he told John goodnight and I filled the cup and John drank it.”
“Did you realize how important it was to measure the dose carefully?”
“Oh, yes. Exactly twelve drops and not a single one more. That’s why I insisted I should always do it myself, because Dr. Evans said even one or two extra drops might be bad for John, his heart being like it was.”
“All right. He drank the milk straight down?”
“Well, it was pretty hot, and I guess he took a sip or two until it got cool enough to drink it down in a couple of gulps.”
“So it was a few minutes after Peabody left that he actually drank it?”
“Not more than five minutes, I’m sure.”
“What did you do then?”
“Well, he settled back in bed and I stayed to… talk to him until he dropped off to sleep. He liked me to do that.”
“Did you… kiss him goodnight or anything like that?”
She lowered her eyelids a moment and clenched her hands tightly together in her lap, and then demanded angrily, “Why do you beat around the bush about it? I’m a grownup married woman. Those two detectives you sent out kept prying around the same way. You want to know whether we had sexual relations, don’t you? Because that old fool of Dr. Jenson had the nerve to warn him that he shouldn’t marry a younger woman for fear this heart might give out in the excitement of the sex act. Well, we didn’t that night,” she spat out. “In that way it was different from most nights. He did begin loving me up, if you must know, and I thought he wanted me to get in bed with him, but then suddenly he kind of stiffened and began breathing fast and I got frightened and… and that was it.”
“All right,” said Gentry stolidly. “Thank you for being frank with me.” He got to his feet. “Are you going ahead with your husband’s funeral as planned?”
“I think so. If you don’t object.”
“Why should I object?”
“Charles thought… well, he said that maybe after you read Marvin’s note you would think that was a reason for ordering an autopsy on John. But I told him you couldn’t do it if I didn’t give my consent, and I’d never in the world do that.”
“Why, no,” said Gentry. “Go right ahead with the funeral if you want. I have no objection whatsoever. But you understand that an autopsy on your brother will be mandatory. The law requires it in a case like his.”
She said listlessly, “I understand about that and I guess I can’t stop you. Although I do think it’s utterly barbarous and indecent.”
Gentry said, “I’m sorry,” and the three men left the room together.
15
Marvin Dale’s body had been taken away, and Detective Donovan had gone downstairs to join Petrie and the chauffeur in the study. They found the city detectives seated in chairs near the door, with Charles sullenly lounging in a deep chair at the other side of the room.
Gentry strode in flatfootedly and crossed to stop directly in front of the chauffeur. He deliberately extracted a black cigar from his inner pocket, bit off the end and spat it on the floor, struck a match and held it to the other end, inhaled deeply and thrust his blunt jaw out. His features and his voice were granite-hard as he said,
“Don’t get the idea I’m buying any of this, Morton. I’ve got a pretty good notion about the sort of games you’ve been playing with your employer’s child-bride behind his back, and I think it’s just too bad that her pants got so hot last night that she couldn’t let you go to bed alone.
“But your sex life is no concern of mine except as it has a bearing on murder.”
Charles said, “Marvin committed suicide, if that’s what you’re talking about.”
“Did he?”
The chauffeur shrugged stolidly. “I didn’t see him drink the poison, if that’s what you mean.”
“It’s too bad somebody didn’t,” grated Gentry. “Because I’m telling you right now I don’t picture Marvin Dale as the sort of moral character who’d be so shocked to discover his sister’s infidelity that he’d sit down and swallow strychnine. Nor do I believe for one moment that he hasn’t known all along what you and Mrs. Rogell were up to.”
“Why tell all this to me?” flared Charles.
“Because I want you to know you’re still in trouble, and this investigation isn’t closed by a long shot. Don’t try to leave town.” The police chief turned on his heel and strode toward the door, jerking his head at Petrie and Donovan to follow him.
Shayne went out in the hall behind him with Rourke, and told the reporter, “Why don’t you ride back with Will, and write your story on Marvin? I’ll be along later.”
Rourke grinned amiably. “Going to stick around and chaperone the widow?”
“Something like that.” Shayne watched them go out the front door, and then went back to the kitchen where he found Mrs. Blair seated at the table drinking a cup of coffee.
She offered him one and he thanked her and told her he would drink it black, and sat down opposite her with a cigarette, and asked, “Did you see the suicide note Marvin left?”
She shook her head. “Nobody showed it to me.”
“Just how flagrant were Charles and Mrs. Rogell about their affair before her husband’s death? “
She compressed her lips firmly and met his gaze across the table. “It’s not for me to gossip about people in the house where I work.”
“You won’t be working here long,” Shayne said flatly. “You certainly know that John Rogell left you fifty thousand dollars in his will.”
“I know he told me he was going to.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” she returned with spirit. “He had plenty and we’ve been friends a long, long time.”
Shayne said, “Friends?”
“Maybe you don’t know that he and Miss Henrietta roomed at my boarding house in Central City, Colorado, when he was just a prospector.”
“I know all about that. And how he came back there after your husband died and brought you here to be his housekeeper… and installed you in the adjoining suite until he married Anita and you had to move up to the third floor. And now he’s left you a fortune. Were all of those just friendly gestures?”
She said without rancor, “You’ve been listening to Henrietta. She’s got a nasty mind and always has hated me since she went to law against John and I got on the witness stand and told the plain truth about how generous he was to her.”
“Are you denying that you and Mr. Rogell were more than just friends?”
“I shan’t waste my breath denying it,” she said with simple dignity. “I don’t think you’ve any right to sit in my kitchen and say such things with the funeral not more than an hour away.”
Shayne said, “Wouldn’t you want to see his murderer caught… if he was murdered as Henrietta thinks?”
“If he was murdered,” she said with emphasis. “But I never have believed that one minute. Who’d have a reason?”
“Suppose he had become suspicious of Anita and Charles?”
“I swear he never was. He thought the sun rose and set in that girl. And I must say she made him a real good wife.”
“Do you know that Marvin is supposed to have taken poison because he surprised her out in Charles’ bedroom last night?”