The house was very quiet. Ready. Waiting for a wedding.
Dorothy had forgotten Blanche, Bart, Dick, every Bartee. "Emily—" she whispered to the empty hall.
She snatched the phone book to hunt for a number.
"Miss Callahan? Do you remember two girls who came with Johnny Sims?"
"You must be the blonde." Kate recognized her voice.
"Yes. Please tell me. Do you remember Clinton Mc-Cauley's sister's name?"
"First name? Edith, I think it was."
"Oh. Well, can you remember what she looked like?"
"That's kinda hard. She was shorter than me. Kinda thin. I can't see her face no more."
"Then—tell me, how old was the baby?"
"About three. Clint was sure crazy about that baby.''
"After the trial, the aunt took her?"
"She sure did."
"Do you know where?"
"No, dear, I don't. Nobody does. See, she was going to change their names . . ."
"Oh, she was?"
"And, you know, disappear? Give the little kid a chance, she said. Poor little thing. Of course," Kate said, "I guess Clint would know where she is. The baby's own father."
Dorothy saw movement through the glass of the front doors. "Thank you very much," she said and hung up quickly. She moved away from the phone. She didn't know what to think-
Dick Bartee came in. "Hi, beautifull Where's Nan?"
"Asleep."
"Blanche?"
"Blanche is upstairs, too. Your grandmother is resting.''
"Kind of the Enchanted Castle," he said, standing close. In the quiet of the big house, intuitions of many things began to pulse between them. Dorothy closed her eyes. "Dick," she said faintly, "please don't marry Nan tomorrow."
"Dear Dorothy," he said caressingly, in a moment. "But it is all arranged."
Her eyes flew open. She tested this man with every tendril for understanding she could send out of her brain or her heart. "Do you love Nan?"
His eyes shone. But they had no depth. "Sweet Dorothy." He touched her cheek with his forefinger, the hghtest tap. "Of course, I do. Why else would I be marrying her to-1 morrow?"
Dorothy, from some deep interior caution, now, willed ..her face to change, fo seem to awaken to a new thought. She put hands to her had. "OhI Dick, will you lend me your car?"
"But how can I?" he said. "Nan and I must go to the : doctor's office and then to the license place."
"Would Blanche? Would anybody?" Dorothy danced away.
"Why?" He pursued her.
Dorothy was into the guest-closet to snatch her coat.
"Where do you want to go?" he persisted.
She danced away and started for the stairs. "I'll ask Blanche. Oh, wait, here's Bart."
"What's up?" Bart said in his pleasant way. He smiled up at her where she stood on the third step.
"She wants a car," Dick said, '^but she won't tell why.''
"Take mine," Bart said, pulled out keys so promptly that it made a vote of confidence.
"I don't know what I've been thinking of all day," Dorothy cried. "Nan cant get married tomorrow." (She paused, on purpose. Without eyes, but with all her other senses, Dorothy inquired of Dick Bartee, his true reaction.) "I'm not
going to let her get married," cried Dorothy girlishly, "without a wedding present from me!"
She knew Dick Bartee now breathed, who had not been breathing.
"My purse," muttered Dorothy and flew up the stairs. (Now she knew there must be a terrible secretl She had to get to Johnny!)
Below, Bart turned. "That's right. Weddings mean presents. What would you like?"
Dick let out his breath in a sigh. "Oh, half the business will do."
"A bit difficult to tie in ribbons," Bart said genially. He went into the study. He sat down at his father's desk. When he was alone, his head bent into his hands.
Dorothy came flashing down again. "Oh, Dick, tell Blanche, will you please? If I don't make it back by dinner time, nobody worry?"
He didn't answer.
When she had gone, he went upstairs. Blanche was standing near the back bedroom door. "Who ran downstairs?"
"Dorothy."
"Everything is ready for tomorrow, I think." Blanche's manner was polite but not afraid. "Shall I call Nan for you?"
"What's wrong with Dorothy?" he asked her. Some animal sense had been touched to alarm.
"Nothing." Blanche was surprised.
"Yes, there is something."
"I suppose she tliinks the wedding is happening too soon. That's all I can imagine . . ."
'That's all?"
"Of course, Dorothy's confused about McCauley. That John Sims, you know. He believed some sob story McCauley told him. Of course, Dorothy did say—"
"McCauley told him?" Dick repeated.
"When John went to talk to him, I suppose John believed the man. That's been the whole trouble."
"Talked to him? To McCauley?"
"So Dorothy said. In the prison, of course."
Dick turned away.
"Nan may be napping," Blanche said. "Shall I see?"
"I'U wake her," Dick said.
'1t seems a shame to wake her."
"It will have to be done," he said, rather grimly.
Downstairs, Bart was on the telephone. "Mr. Harris? I believe my nephew was in to see you last week? About a rather laige loan? Could you tell me what security he was offering?"
"I don't think I can," said the voice. "Sorry. Ask him."
"I only wondered," said Bart smoothly, "whether he was proposing to raise money against his fiancee's inheritance, a month ago?"
Silence on the other end. The voice said finally, "Sorry, Mr. Baitee, but if I tell my cUent's business I'd soon have 1 no clients. You know that."
"Thank you," Bart said.
Late afternoon, Johnny's phone rang. It was Marshall. 'TL.ike I to talk to you," the lawyer said.
So Johnny went out to his car and drove to the lawyer's I office.
First, Marshall apologized again for nearly blowing Johnny
»
I up.
Johnny brushed this off. He had thought of one more check [ to make. He said, "The night that Christy was killed, you ^ were at home, weren't you?"
"Right. Until McCauley caUed me from the jail."
"He called you?" Johimy sat up. "When was that?"
"Oh, one-thirty. Close to. I went right down."
"Got up, did you? Went to see him?"
"Of course," said Marshall. "Although, I hadn't been to bed so I didn't have to get up."
"Wait," said Johimy. "Now, slowly. One-thirty a.m., and you were not in bed?"
"I'd got involved in a bogk," Marshall said. "My wife died many years ago. I sometimes don't sleep too well."
"You were reading?" gasped Johnny. "Not in the dark, then?"
"Hardly. What's the matter^'
"Where were you reading?"
"In my den."
"With the Hght on?"
"Of com-se."
"The door closed?"
"Door of my den? That's never closed."
Johnny said, "You'll swear to that?"
"Yes, I will. What's the matterr
"I think you just broke Dick Bartee's second-string alibi and broke it good."
So Johnny talked. A girl is awakened by sand on her windowpane. She sneaks downstairs in a dark house. Her father mustn't be aroused. She creeps out to the back porch. The boy shows her his watch. "Midnight," he says. Perhaps he says, "Only midnight, see?"
"But Blanche would have known if your den hghts were on?" Johnny demanded.
"She couldn't have missed them," Marshall said soberly. "Blanche—and quiet all these years."
"So Dick Bartee was not there at mignight!"
"My house wasn't dark until after one that night," said Marshall, "and I can swear to it."
So Johnny said, "He fooled her. If once, then possibly, twice." He talked about the breaking in to Kate's place.
Marshall said, "This . . . What are you going to do?"
"Call San Francisco."
Johnny called Copeland's house. Mr, Copeland, a woman's voice told him, was not in and could not be reached, and the woman didn't like it, at all, because they had a social engagement.
Johnny eased himself oflF the phone.
Marshall said, "Come home with me now, and we'll eat and kick it around. The legal side. What can you take to a judge? You've got no proof 1"