'Would you care for anything, Mr Bigger?' she asked.
'A drink? Coffee? Whatever?'
'Bigg, ma'am,' I said. 'Joshua Bigg. No, thank you.
Nothing for me. Just a few minutes of your time if you're not busy.'
'All the time in the world,' she said, laughing gaily.
She was wearing a brightly printed shirtwaist dress with a wide, ribbon belt. The gown, the pumps, the makeup, the costume jewellery: all too young for her. And the flickering eyes, warbling voice, fluttery gestures gave a feverish impression: a woman under stress. I felt sure she was aware of what was going on.
'Mrs Stonehouse,' I said, 'I wish I had good news to report about your husband, but I'm afraid I do not.'
'Oh, let's not talk about that,' she said. 'What's done is done. Now tell me all about yourself.'
She looked at me brightly, eyes widened. If she wasn't going to talk about her vanished husband, I was stymied.
Still, for the moment, it seemed best to play along.
'What would you like to know about me, ma'am?'
'You're a Virgo, aren't you?'
'Pisces,' I told her.
'Of course,' she said, as if confirming her guess. 'Are you married?'
'No, Mrs Stonehouse, I am not.'
'Oh, you must be,' she said earnestly. 'You must listen to me. And you must because I have been so happy in my own marriage, you see. A family is a little world. I have my husband and my son and my daughter. We are a very close, loving family, as you know.'
I looked at her helplessly. She had deteriorated since I first met her; now she was almost totally out of it. I thought desperately how I might use her present mood to get what I wanted. 'I'm an orphan, Mrs Stonehouse,' I 293
said humbly. 'My parents were killed in an accident when I was an infant.'
Surprisingly, shockingly, tears welled up in those milky eyes. She stifled a sob, reached to grip my forearm. Her clutch was frantic.
'Poor tyke,' she groaned, then lunged for her glass of sherry.
'I was raised by relatives,' I went on. 'Good people, I wasn't mistreated. But still. . So when you speak of a close, loving family, a little world — I know nothing of all that. The memories.'
'The memories,' she said, nodding like a broken doll.
'Oh yes, the memories. . '
'Do you have a family album, Mrs Stonehouse?' I asked softly, and, to my surprise, she responded by producing the album with unexpected rapidity.
What followed was a truly awful hour. We pored over those old photographs one by one while Ula Stonehouse provided running commentary, rife with pointless anecdotes. I murmured constant appreciation and made frequent noises of wonder and enjoyment.
Wedding Pictures: the tail, gaunt groom towering over the frilly doll-bride. An old home in Boston. Glynis, just born, naked on a bearskin rug. Childhood snapshots.
Powell Stonehouse at ten, frowning seriously at the camera. Picnics. Outings. Friends. Then, gradually, the family groups, friends, picnics, outings — all disappearing.
Formal photographs. Single portraits, Yale, Ula, Glynis, Powell. Lifeless eyes. A family moving towards dissolution.
When Mrs Stonehouse leaned forward to refill her glass, I rapidly removed a recent snapshot of Glynis from the album and slipped it into my briefcase before she sat back again. 'Remarkable,' I said, as if I were riveted to the book. 'Really remarkable. Happy times.'
She looked at me, not seeing me.
'Oh yes,' she said. 'Happy times. Such good babies.
Glynis never cried. Never. Powell did, but not Glynis. It's over.'
I didn't dare ask what she meant by that.
'Emanations,' she went on. 'And visits beyond. I know it's over.'
'Mrs Stonehouse,' I asked anxiously, 'are you feeling well?'
'What? she said. 'Well,' she said, passing a faltering hand across her brow, 'perhaps I should lie down for a few moments. So many memories.'
'Of course,' I said, rising. 'I'll call Olga.'
I found her seated at the long dining room table, leafing through Popular Mechanics.
'Olga,' I said, 'I think Mrs Stonehouse needs you. I think she'd like to rest for a while.'
'Yah?' she said. She rose, yawned, and stretched. 'I go.'
In the kitchen Effie was at the enormous stove, stirring something with a long wooden spoon. Her porky face creased into a grin.
'Mr Bigg!' she said. 'How nice!'
She put the spoon aside, clapped a lid on the pot, and wiped her hands on her apron. She gestured towards the white enamelled table and we both drew up chairs.
'Effie,' I said, 'how are you? It's good to see you again.'
That was true, and it was a comfort to be honest again.
She was such a jolly tub of a woman.
'Getting along,' she said. 'You look a little puffy around the gills. Not sick, are you?'
'No,' I said, 'I'm okay. But I've been talking to Mrs Stonehouse. I'm a little shook.'
'Yes,' she said, wagging her head dolefully. 'I know what you mean. Worse every day.'
'Why?' I asked. 'What's happening to her?'
She frowned. 'I don't rightly know. Her husband disappearing, I guess. Powell moving out. And the way 295
Glynis has been acting. I suppose it's just too much for her.'
'How has Glynis been acting?'
'Strange,' Effie said. 'Snappish. Cold. Goes to her room and stays there. Never a smile.'
'Is this recent?' I asked.
'Oh yes. Just since your last visit.'
She looked at me shrewdly. I decided to plunge ahead. If she repeated what I was saying to Glynis, so much the better. So I told Effie what I knew about the arsenic. She listened closely, then nodded when I had finished.
'Are you a detective?' she asked.
'Sort of,' I said. 'Chief Investigator for the legal firm representing Professor Stonehouse.'
'You don't suspect me of poisoning him, do you?'
'Never,' I lied. 'Not for a minute.'
'Glynis?'
We stared at each other. I wondered if her silence was meant to imply consent, and decided to act as if it did.
'I must establish that Glynis had the means,' I said.
'You just can't go out and buy arsenic at Rexall's. And to do that, I need the name of the medical laboratory where she worked as a secretary.'
'I'd rather not,' she said quickly.
'I was going to ask Mrs Stonehouse, but she's in no condition to answer questions. Effie, I need the name.'
Once again we stared at each other.
'It's got to be done,' I said.
'Yes,' she agreed sadly.
After a while she got up and lumbered from the kitchen.
She came back in a few minutes with a slip of paper. I glanced at it briefly. Atlantic Medical Research, with the address and phone number.
'I had it in my book,' Effie explained, 'in case we had to reach her at work.'
'When did she stop working there?'
She thought a moment.
'Maybe June or July of last year.'
About the time Professor Stonehouse became ill.
'Did she just quit or was she fired?'
'She quit, she told us. Said it was very boring work.'
'Effie, did you ever hear her mention a man named Godfrey Knurr? He's a minister.'
'Godfrey Knurr? No.'
'Is Glynis a religious woman?'
'Not particularly. They're Episcopalian. But I never thought she was especially religious. But she's deep.'
'Oh yes,' I agreed, 'she's deep all right. Before her father's disappearance, was she in a good mood?'
Mrs Dark pondered that.
'I'd say so,' she said finally. 'She started changing after the Professor disappeared and in the last week she's gotten much worse.'