“Terribly.”
Mr. Goodwin knew then that he had achieved success. He hastily wrote it down on the back of a bill for Dental Services, Dr. Gratton, fifteen dollars, please remit.
He was interrupted by the breathless arrival of Isobel Seton. Isobel was looking rather worn. When she saw Goodwin her face sagged with relief.
“Thank God,” she said. “You’re all right?”
Mr. Goodwin was fine and said so, feeling extremely pleased at Isobel’s reaction to this announcement.
“I thought you were dead,” she explained. “I mean Miss Rudd came in with your tie and I thought, we thought — maybe you were strangled.”
“Strangled?” said Mr. Goodwin, shaken.
Isobel drew in her breath and began again. “I mean, Miss Rudd came to me with your tie and we didn’t see... Oh, the hell with it!”
She flounced over to a chair and sank into it. “Here, take the thing,” she said, flinging his tie to him. “And for heaven’s sake hang on to your clothes.”
“Who let her out?” Joyce said.
“Gracie Morning.”
“Oh,” Joyce said thoughtfully. “Why?”
“Humanitarian reasons,” Isobel said grimly. “You figure it out.”
“She’s all right, is she? Not homicidal or anything?”
“Not yet.”
“What’s she doing?” Joyce asked.
“Reading. Reading some papers. She stole the papers from Floraine’s desk and brought them as a present to Gracie. And please don’t ask me any more questions, Miss Hunter, because I can’t answer them.”
Joyce said huffily, “Well, if you can’t, who can? You’ve been tearing up and down the hall upstairs all night.”
“Mr. Crawford and I found the bus driver’s coat under the coal.”
Joyce’s eyes gleamed for an instant. “You did? What did Mr. Crawford do with it?”
“Put it in the closet in the hall.”
“May I see it?”
“Why?” Isobel said.
“Can’t I do some snooping as well as you?”
There was a lively argument on snooping powers which ended in Joyce’s going out to look at the coat.
She came back looking cross. “It’s not there,” she announced. “Miss Rudd must have beat us to it.”
8
Maudie Thropple awoke with the strong conviction that somebody was chasing somebody else through the hall. There was the scuffling of feet and several small squeals, followed by a thud and the sound of feet going violently down the steps. Under normal circumstances Maudie might have had hysterics at these odd noises, but she had lived through a great deal today. Her cup was full, and anything more that happened to her was bound to be an anticlimax.
So she merely raised herself from the pillow and nudged Herbert in the back with her elbow.
She said in the frail voice required of a woman who has fainted twice in one evening: “Herbie. Herbie dear, wake up.”
Herbie dear tried his best not to wake up, but Maudie had a sharp insistent elbow which she used with unerring accuracy. Herbert groaned aloud.
Maudie felt that the groan was an insult to her status as an invalid. She abandoned the frail voice for something more compelling.
“You might at least wake up when I tell you to, after what I’ve been through, Herbert. There’s someone fighting in the hall.”
“You’ve been dreaming,” Herbert said hopefully. When a cold silence greeted this remark he sat up on the bed and listened. The hall was quiet. He said, “You’re just excited. Lie down again, angel. Take it easy.”
Maudie could think of no reply scathing enough. She looked across at the man with whom she had chosen to spend the rest of her years. Chosen. No compulsion about it.
Herbert did not measure up. Perhaps in a cosy restaurant, wearing a dinner coat and nicely shaved and combed with a little talcum to tone down the highlights in his bald spot — perhaps...
But seen in the light of an oil lamp, swaddled in moth-eaten blankets, Herbert failed to meet the test. His hair seemed to sprout above his ears, not like hair at all but like a strange fungus growth. His eyes were half-closed and there was none of that steely glint in them that proclaimed: Here is a man.
I have made, Maudie thought, Another Mistake. She shuddered.
“Cold, angel?” said Herbert.
“Get up,” Maudie said. “Go and look in the hall. And don’t call me silly names.”
Herbert knew this mood well. He hastily disentangled himself from the blankets and went to the door. The hall was very dark and he might have missed Miss Rudd entirely if she had not opened the conversation by saying, “I pinched Harry.”
“You did, eh?” Herbert said nervously. “Well, well.”
Behind him Maudie’s voice said anxiously, “Who is it?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Herbert said. “Nothing much.”
Miss Rudd was sitting on the floor in the hall. She had had a big night and was looking tired but happy.
“I pinched Harry,” she said, “and he pushed me and ran away down the steps. What a coward!”
“Shut that door,” Maudie hissed. “Shut it! It’s her again!”
Herbert said, “Well, good night,” and shut the door.
“She’s loose,” Maudie said. “Someone let her loose.”
“She seems to be all right, though,” said Herbert, who could spot a silver lining miles away. “She’s not into anything. Might as well let her alone.”
“You’ll have to do something!”
“What can I do? She wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”
“We can’t just stay here.”
The problem was solved by the rather breathless arrival of Paula Lashley.
She said, “Mr. Crawford thinks we should all get up and go downstairs and stay together. It’s six o’clock anyway, and most of the others are down there.”
“They left us alone up here,” cried Maudie with a tragic gesture.
“Nonsense,” Paula said coolly. “Chad and Mr. Hunter are right across the hall.”
She went out again, passing Miss Rudd who gazed at her brightly but said nothing.
She rapped on Chad’s door. She could hear someone getting off the bed and soon Chad came and opened the door. He had just wakened up and his eyes were soft and the scowl hadn’t appeared on his face yet.
She said softly, “Hello.”
He smiled at her gently, and for a minute everything was all right. Then Miss Rudd stirred, and Paula lowered her eyes.
“The others are downstairs. Mr. Crawford thinks we should go down, too.”
“Paula...”
“Don’t say anything. I don’t want to talk about anything.”
“You never do!” He gripped her shoulders tightly. “You’re an awful coward.”
“Take your hands off me.”
He released her shoulders.
“You can’t solve everything by force,” Paula said levelly. “You’d better wake Mr. Hunter. I’m going down.”
“I could solve it by force if I wanted to, but I’m beginning to think you’re not worth the trouble. You want to go back, all right go back. Only don’t write me any sniveling little notes asking me...”
“You won’t get any notes.” She turned and walked stiffly down the stairs.
Chad went back into his room and found Mr. Hunter sitting up with every appearance of having enjoyed the snatch of conversation.
“Women,” he said sadly, “are difficult to understand, my boy. Even a man of my years occasionally finds himself at a loss.”
This was a plain case of understatement, but Mr. Hunter was unaware of it and Chad didn’t care to point it out. He growled something in return and started to smooth down his hair.
“If there’s anything I can help you with,” Mr. Hunter said, “anything requiring experience in these matters such as I...”