He turned and went back into the dining-room.His coffee was still there, still hot. He sat down and drank it. Nosound came from Christine’s suite. Cobb noticed the letter on thefloor. He picked it up. He remembered seeing several like it on asmall secretary in the sewing-room last night. He decided to putthis one with its fellows. There were four or five other letters ina neat pile on the desk. He placed this one on top. Then somethingmade him browse through the others. They were all from Christopherin Kingston. They had come quite regularly. And, he assumed, eachone had brought on the “headache.”
He went back into the dining-room and took uphis post for the night. He thought that Miss Pettigrew would likelybe sedated and unaware of any peeping Tom, should one happen tocome.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Baldridge came outof the suite, and then did a strange thing. She reached in herapron pocket and pulled out a large key. She inserted it into alock on the door, and turned it. She put the key back in her pocketand came into the dining-room.
“I’ll take these dishes downstairs,” shesaid. “You can stay where you are.”
Cobb sighed. Now he was taking orders from alady’s maid.
Mrs. Baldridge reappeared and went to take upher own post outside Christine’s door. Out came the knitting. Cobbyawned. At ten o’clock, Mrs. Baldridge, without saying goodnight,got up and disappeared into her own quarters. Christine was allalone with her headache.
As Cobb drowsed, dreamt, and came awake, heremembered the dream he had had the previous night. And suddenly heknew what clue he had missed: the image of a laundry woman with awhite bag over her shoulder on the night of the first murder. Andhe thought about the regularity of those letters, and a scarf leftbehind in an alley. And then a cold shiver came up his spine. Hehad a wild, fantastic thought. And suddenly, he had toknow.
First he had to get the key. He went into alittle hallway off the drawing-room and, following the snores hecould hear, he soon found Mrs. Baldridge’s bedroom. The door waspartially open. He gave it a push. No squeak. He slipped into theroom, lit by moonlight from its sole window. Mrs. Baldridge wasasleep on a cot in a far corner. Her apron was draped over a chair.Cobb tiptoed across to it. He hit a squeaky board, and stoppeddead. The snoring hesitated, then resumed. Cobb reached the chairand felt about in the apron for the key. It was there.
He slipped back into the drawing-room andwent up to the door of Christine’s suite. He realized the danger inwhat he was doing. If he disturbed Christine from her sleep, shemight cry out before he could explain that he had heard a noiseoutside and was checking to see if she were all right. (He waspraying she didn’t realize she was locked in.) If the hue and crywere raised, however, he would have no plausible way of explaininghow he had come by the key. But he had to know.
He inserted the key and slowly turned it. Heeased the door open and put his head inside. What he could see,with moonlight through the windows, was enough to let him know hewas in an anteroom off the boudoir. There was a couch on the farside near a fireplace, but it was empty. He stepped into the room.The boudoir was to his right. He could see the small door leadingto it. Fortunately it was open. He went over to it and peekedinside.
The room was small, containing just a vanity,a tall wardrobe and a curtained bed. The curtains were drawn back.No-one was sleeping there, though someone had been. Cobbdecided to take a huge risk. Softly, he called out, “MissPettigrew? Are you here? Are you awake?”
No response. Not a breath of sound.
He went back into the bigger room andsatisfied himself that it too was unoccupied. What was he to think?The outer door was locked from the outside. Christine could havehad a key of course, but if she did, then why did Mrs. Baldridgebother to lock her in? Cobb knew he had dozed off a bit, but surelyhe would have heard the click of a lock. He went over to each ofthe windows and noted that neither had been opened that winter.
Where was she?
Then he remembered the tall wardrobe. She hadto be in there. He went back into the boudoir and over to thewardrobe. It opened easily. It seemed full of dresses and otherladies’ garments. He pushed at them, expecting at any moment to hitsomething solid. Then he pushed too hard and stumbled into thecupboard. He pitched forward and hit his head on the far wall.
It swung open.
It was actually a door, set in what had oncemost likely been a window. He crawled through it — into a cold,dark room. There was just enough light for him to realize that hewas in a milk shed, attached no doubt to the back of the stonehouse. Cobb shivered at the shock of cold air, but went across toan outside door and opened it. He was staring at the snow-coveredkitchen garden. A narrow path led off to the right, packed hard bythe tramp of servants. He couldn’t tell if anyone had come out heretonight. But he was now certain that someone had.
He went back inside. What to do? He made hisdecision. He went into the boudoir and sat down on the bed. Hehoped he knew what he was doing.
***
He didn’t have to wait long. About half an hourlater he heard the door to the milk shed bang shut. Then he heardthe secret door to the wardrobe open. He stood up, just as a heavylaundry bag was flung onto the boudoir floor. Then ChristinePettigrew herself came through. She had a knife in her hand.
Cobb lunged for the knife, but he wasn’t fastenough. He knocked it aside, but it swung back in a sharp arc andsliced through Cobb’s shirt. He heard the girl grunt with theeffort. With both hands he seized the arm wielding the knife. Shestrained to break free of his grip, and Cobb felt, and was amazedby, the strength in her. The girl’s rasping breath was in his ear.Finally Cobb brought the arm down on his knee, and heard the girl’scry and the knife hitting the floor.
“It’s all over, Christine,” he cried. “Giveit up.”
Suddenly all the fight went out of her. Sheheaved a big sigh and collapsed in Cobb’s arms.
Her cry brought Mrs. Baldridge to thedoor.
“What are you doing to my precious?” shedemanded.
“It’s what she’s done to me and others thatmatters,” Cobb said. “I’ve just captured the mad killer who’s beenterrorizin’ the town!”
Mrs. Baldridge acted as if she had notheard.
“Put her on the couch. I’ll get the smellingsalts.”
Cobb hauled the dead-weight of the girl overto the couch in the anteroom. He went back and picked up the knife.There was, thank God, no blood on it, his or anyone’ else’s. Thehunt had been unsuccessful this night.
Mrs. Baldridge retuned, propped Christine up,and applied the smelling salts. The girl woke up drowsily.
“Hello, Nanny,” she whispered in alittle-girl voice. “Oh, hello, Mr. Cobb. What are you all doing inmy room?”
“I think Christina’s been for a visit,” Mrs.Baldridge said.
***
“Whenever Christine has one of her headaches,Christina is likely to appear,” Mrs. Baldridge explained. Christinewas sitting up and merely looking bewildered. She apparently hadlittle or no memory of what she had just been doing. “And Christinais not a very well balanced lady, so I lock the room at night.”
“Christina is sometimes very bad,” Christinesaid.
“So you know about Christina, then?” Cobbsaid.
“Oh, yes. We talk often, and Christinadelights in telling me about her being naughty.”
“She sneaked out of the house?”
“Oh, yes. She had a secret door, didn’tshe?”
“I didn’t know anything about a secret door,”Mrs. Baldridge said. “I had no idea she was sneaking out at night.I always found Christine in bed in the morning, with the headachegone.”
“Christina has been goin’ out to Devil’sAcre, hasn’t she?” Cobb said.
“That’s what she’s been telling me,”Christine said.
“And why did she do that?”
“It was all Christopher’s fault. That’s whatChristina told me. He abandoned me, he was going to marry awitch!”