Amy groaned. “Then, if it wasn’t you, after all, we’re right back where we started — except that I like you better.”
“Because I came to your rescue?”
“You seem like another person.” What she had thought sardonic was now simply quizzical; what she had thought rash was now attractively daring.
“We’ve made some progress, in more ways than one.” He was smiling. “For one, I think that conversation did take place at the Gregorys’, just because it’s more likely you got a telephone number you thought you gave than a wrong number. Is there any detail that doesn’t fit?”
Amy leaned her aching head in her hands. “One phrase: ‘Where is the Nembutal?’ That sounds to me as if Esther were here in the waiting-room keeping watch, while the man was in Allan’s office getting the drug.”
“Not to me. No criminals would linger to discuss plans in a place where they’ve just stolen something. More likely, the man came here alone to get the Nembutal and took it back to Esther in her own home, where they could talk more freely. Anything else?”
“The man’s voice. Why was it so hoarse? No friend of Esther’s that I know has such a voice. Was it the man’s normal voice? Or had some physical cause affected it temporarily? An allergy?”
“Allergy!” Payne struck the steering wheel with one fist. “That does it, Amy!” It was the first time he had called her ‘Amy’. “Tomorrow I must talk with Murchison.”
“The police won’t be interested. They think Sharpe was killed by Allan’s mare.”
“They did at first,” retorted Payne. “But Murchison told me this morning that their lab man said the blow couldn’t have been inflicted by the kicking or trampling of a horse — not enough weight back of it. There was a human fist holding that horseshoe. And a human brain that didn’t know how nicely the weight behind a blow can be calculated from a wound.”
As Payne started the car and turned it, a swath of light swept over the gravel. Amy was jolted forward as he stopped suddenly. “Look!” Spotlighted on the gravel lay a small, still heap of fur.
“Houri! She belonged to Allan’s housekeeper! She was alive a moment ago. Oh, Matt! Why? And how?”
Payne shut off the engine and left the car. “Knife.”
“Could anyone stab a Siamese without being clawed?”
“Perhaps. If the knife were thrown. Certain branches of the Army taught a lot of men all about knife-throwing. And strangling.” Payne turned the cat’s body over with his foot. “The knife isn’t here.”
There was a wicked spark of anger in his eyes as he came back to the car. Somewhere in the depths of Amy’s mind a small voice whispered: Certain branches of the Army... or the OSS... She pushed the thought out of her mind.
“Amy,” Payne was saying, “tomorrow night you shall hear that hoarse voice again. The one you overheard on the telephone.”
“You mean at the Gregorys’ dinner?”
“It’s the only way. And there is time to get things ready — a whole day tomorrow. I shan’t tell you more now. You might lose your nerve. And you must find the nerve to identify that voice tomorrow... Why the tears?”
“Only three people knew where I was this evening: Esther and you and — Allan.”
“Esther might have told someone else.”
“Then Allan isn’t involved in this?”
“Of course Allan is involved.” Payne’s glance strayed toward the sprawling house, glittering white in the glare from the headlights. “Building is expensive these days. Even in a fashionable summer resort a doctor doesn’t make enough in a year’s practice to pay for that new wing, plus a stable and a thoroughbred saddle horse.”...
Amy was the first to arrive at the Gregorys’ that evening. Esther was in the living-room alone. A collar of amethysts clasped her white throat. Her dress, glossy as her dark hair, was a Parma-violet color, falling in stiff folds and deep dimples that the rosy firelight flushed with orchid. Amy looked at the amethysts, suddenly conscious of the tulle that hid bruises on her own neck.
“A sore throat? My dear, I’m so sorry!” Esther’s apparent concern gave Amy a giddy sense of unreality.
Curtis came into the room, his face still and unsmiling. “Payne told me you were attacked, Amy.”
“Attacked?” Esther’s thin brows climbed.
“A strangler. What they call a ‘mugger’ in New York. But you don’t expect that in Oldport. She was leaving Allan’s house.” Curtis sat by the picture window, his profile silhouetted against a wide view of the evening sky. “You’re not very gay,” he said to Esther.
“Should I be?”
“This party’s for you.” His voice was toneless. Heavy brows shadowed his eyes. Something disturbed him. Could it be that his first, faint doubt of Esther was growing to intolerable proportions?
She spoke bitterly: “The party was your idea, not mine, and—” She broke off with a start that was almost guilty. Payne stood in the doorway.
“Come in, Matt!” Uneasiness made Esther curt.
Payne crossed the room with a loping, loose-hipped walk as Southwestern as his slight drawl. “A charming dress, Esther,” he said, halting beside her.
“Thank you.” She was in no mood for compliments.
Amy heard the purr of tires on gravel. A car door slammed. Allan’s voice was loud and cheerful as he came into the room: “Hello, Esther — Amy.” He nodded to Curtis and Payne. “Why are you all so solemn?”
“Amy doesn’t feel well.” Malice flashed into Esther’s eyes. “She claims some maniac tried to strangle her last night when she was leaving your house!”
“I didn’t say it was a maniac,” murmured Amy.
“You’re serious?” Allan was shocked.
“Yes.” Involuntarily Amy put a hand to her throat. “And he was sane enough to lure me outside by blowing a fuse or causing a short circuit, so the house was plunged in darkness.”
“There was a short circuit when I got back.” Allan stood under the light from the chandelier. For the first time, his gray eyes looked bleak and calculating to Amy. “Did you report this?”
“What’s the use?”
“But you should! He must be the same fellow who knifed poor Houri last night. That does look like mania.”
A second car purred into the driveway. Through portieres, Amy saw her mother and Kate going upstairs in outdoor wraps. Peter waited at the foot of the stairs until they came down again.
“Esther, dear!” Natalie came in briskly. “I think you’re splendid to go through with this. Of course, it’s perfectly clear to me that the man who attacked Amy is either a psychotic or a hoodlum from New York, but—”
“Why is it perfectly clear?” asked Payne quietly.
Natalie fluttered a little. “Well, the hoodlum technique. Mugging, you know. Who else had anything to gain by it?”
Curtis intervened: “Here come the cocktails. Let’s talk about something more pleasant, shall we?”
Kate had not uttered a word. Her eyes seemed larger than ever in her small, immature face. As the maid served cocktails, Amy made her way to Kate’s side. “Anything wrong?”
“Just Peter. And Esther. How is it going to end?”
Peter approached. “Not drinking, Kate?”
Her smile was sickly. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Oh?” He looked at her oddly. Just then someone choked.
It was Curtis Gregory. He set down his glass. Esther flashed him a lightning glance. Anguish? Despair? The choking became a cough, hacking, uncontrollable. He held a handkerchief to his lips. His eyes were red and watering.
“Swallow the wrong way?” Allan moved swiftly to his side.
Curtis shook his head, the handkerchief still masking his face.
“Aspirin, then. Hold the tablet in your mouth until it dissolves. It will check this at once.” Allan’s grip on the shaking shoulder was firm. “Don’t try to talk, old man. Come upstairs.”