Yesterday he'd felt sorry for her; today, she made him mad. At the deliberate waste, the senseless negation.
And at the same time, facing this empty shell of a woman, he understood it.
He didn't want to stay in this house any longer than necessary, but he had questions to ask; he went on asking them. Mendoza had guessed right on one thing: it had been Mona Ferne who introduced Twelvetrees to the Kingmans and their Temple. She had met him through a small theatrical group-very careful to emphasize, not amateurs, but studio extras, bit players, that sort-"These brave young people, so ambitious and hard-working! I was one myself at one time, you know, and I realize how much it means, any little encouragement and support."
Now and then they put on shows, in a community theater they could rent cheap, near Exposition Park; it was at one of those she'd met Twelvetrees. He'd been a new member of the group then; this was four years ago, he'd have been here only a few months. "I saw at once he had talent-oh, he needed training and experience, but the essential thing was there. The work this splendid little group was doing was excellent for him, though the poor boy was impatient at the lack of recognition."
Did she (he didn't expect much on this one) remember any comments Twelvetrees had made about the Temple or the Kingmans, after his first visit there? Well, nothing specific; he had, of course, been tremendously impressed, as anyone would be. Such a spiritual atmosphere, and dear Martin so impressive in his robes.
"Yes. Do you happen to know whether Twelvetrees owned a revolver?"
"A revolver-heavens, I don't think so, did you find one, I mean in his apartment? Oh, I mustn't ask questions, of course, I'm so sorry! I don't think I ever saw him with-But there," she said with a coquettish little moue, "I'm telling a lie. I did. But I don't think it was his. It was when he was in a play they were doing, oh, all of a year ago it must have been-and he only had it on the stage, of course, it would have been a prop." She angled her new cigarette in its jeweled holder at him, in expectation; perversely he bent over his notebook, pretending not to notice, and let her light it herself.
"And if you don't mind, just for the record, Miss Ferne-were you at home on that Friday and Saturday night?-the thirtieth and thirty-first, that was."
She didn't answer immediately, and then she said, "Oooh, I will begin to think you suspect me! Was that when he was-? Do you know, I mean? I thought-the papers said-but you police are so clever, I expect you have ways of finding out things." And by now Hackett was unwillingly fascinated, at the apparent extent of the woman's faith in her private illusion. A pretty sixteen-year-old innocent on her first date might get by with such provocative glances and giggles, such arch wriggling girlishness; from this woman it should have been absurd, and instead was somehow horrible. "Wel1, let me see. Of course I know you have to ask, it doesn't mean you think I- As if I'd any reason, my dear Brooke-but I mustn't make a parade of feeling, one has to bear these things… Let me see. That was a week ago last Friday and Saturday? Oh, of course, on the Friday night I went to see Miss Kent. Janet Kent-do you want the address? She's an old servant actually, she was Angel's nurse, such a reliable woman, but she was quite old then and now she can't work anymore, and hasn't much to live on, poor thing. She's very proud, she won't take money, but I do give her clothes and things like that, you know, and-not to sound as if I'm praising myself or anything-I do go in as often as I can, if it's just for a minute or two, to cheer her up a little, you see. It's rather tedious sometimes-old people can be such bores, can't they?-but I try to do what I can."
"Yes. What time did you get there and when did you leave?"
"Well, it felt like eternity, I couldn't get away from her that night, she wanted to talk-she gets lonely, poor thing-and she does so love to play cards, I had to sit down and play with her. I couldn't tell you exactly when I got there, but I think it must have been about seven-thirty, because I left right after dinner here-and when I did get away, I felt so exhausted-such a bore-I thought it must be midnight, but it was only a quarter of eleven. I came straight home
… And the next night, of course, I was at the Temple for the service, as I am every Saturday night."
"Thank you," said Hackett, and stood up.
"Is that all you want to ask me? I do hope I've been of some help, though I don't see how I could tell you anything important."
"One more thing," said Hackett, and made himself smile at her, sound sympathetic, "I hope you don't mind a personal question, Miss Ferne, but-well, you'd been out with Mr. Twelvetrees socially quite a bit, and-er-well, was there anything like a formal engagement, or-er-?" He thought he'd done that quite well, the insensitive cop trying to be delicate.
"Ah," she said, clasping one hand to her cheek, lowering her eyes. "I-I shouldn't like to feel that such a private matter would go into your records, to be pawed over by anyone-" An appealing glance. He produced a very obviously admiring smile and murmured something about off-the-record. "I-1 can't say what might… But there were difficulties, you see? Dear Brooke was so proud, and of course I do have more money than he did. And there was a little difference in our ages, nothing to matter, but he-I'm sure you understand. But mostly, it was-Angel. I'm afraid the poor girl was quite foolishly in love with him-oh, quite understandable, of course, but utterly hopeless, naturally. Brooke never- She never said anything to show she was jealous, or-but I knew, and so did Brooke, of course. The way she behaved. I've seen her look quite-quite wild, sometimes, when we were going out somewhere together. These young girls… But it would have made difficulties. Brooke was so understanding, he hadn't said a word to me, yet, but we both knew-you do see what I mean?"
Hackett said he did. She added suddenly, a little nervously, "I do hope you won't have to question her, Sergeant-she's so odd, she never shows what she feels. Now I simply can't help it, a bundle of emotions, but then most women are, aren't we? But she hasn't been herself at all the last-well, since we knew, I expect it's been, though she's been very quiet and strange for a week or so. I really wouldn't like her upset further-"
"I don't think it's necessary." Hackett didn't know when he'd been more anxious to get out of a place; it was an unhealthy house, as if a miasma hung over it like that damned tree, darkening the spirit as the tree darkened the rooms. He went out to the entry hall, her high heels clacking sharp and light on the parquet floor there, behind him. And there was the girl again, swinging the door open for him, mocking, metallic…
"What, isn't he arresting you, Mother dear? What a disappointment!" He felt the hate like an invisible sword poised.
"Darling, you mustn't joke to the police, they might take you seriously. And I hoped you were lying down, you've not been at all yourself lately, you know."
"What d'you mean? I'm all right! What on earth-oh, I see, showing how solicitous you are of me! How ridiculous, I-" And she caught his glance, that held anger and pity because he couldn't help it, and suddenly, astonishingly, shamed color flooded her face. She flung around furiously and ran away from both of them, up the stairs.
"So difficult-young girls," murmured the woman. "So unpredictable. Quite wild, sometimes-she has always been- But I mustn't bore you with my troubles. I do hope you'll find whatever wicked person did this dreadful thing, soon. You've been so kind and understanding, Sergeant-"