"It makes me wonder," said Duff, "whether the person who turned those dampers used the storm for cover. Synchronized sounds. Waited for a blast."
"Maybe," said Fred.
"Then was it Maud?"
"The deaf can feel a storm," Innes said.
"I believe you are right. But would the deaf expect the noise of a damper turning?"
"How could it be Gertrude?" said Fred. "How could she read those labels on the pipes? How could she find all those dampers? I don't think she could."
Duff shrugged. "And Isabel?"
"Isabel . . ."
"Couldn't have washed the greasy.stain we know must have been acquired, from her own one arm."
"She could have taken off a stained sleeve, though.''
"We must find out whether she did."
"It would be her sleeve," insisted Fred, "because, look, how could she roll up her sleeve? You try it."
"She could slip out of it," Alice said, shaking one shoulder so that her dress fell low.
Innes said, "I don't follow."
"I do," said Fred. "The others could have washed their bare arms, so their clean sleeves wouldn't mean anything. Is that your point, Mr. Duff?"
"Of course that's the point," said Alice, "isn't it?"
"Ah, but wait," Duff said. "Would Gertrude know her arm or sleeve was dirty?"
"Hm."
"She wouldn't," said Alice, "unless she could feel grease on her bare skin. She certainly doesn't know about the spots on her vest. Oh, Innes, this is too bad."
"Well, they're a rum bunch," said Fred gloomily.
"Never miad that," said Innes tensely. "Now what, Mr. Duff? What's next?"
"May Fred run me down to the doctor's office?" Duff said. "And perhaps elsewhere? I shall return after lunch and give myself that pleasure of calling on your sisters. Alice, my dear, I shall want you to help me then."
"Good," said Innes.
"Meanwhile . . ."
"I shall sign a new will," Innes said, "in about fifteen minutes. After that, I think I shall be able to relax."
"I truly hope so," said MacDougal Duff gendy.
When they were alone, Alice tidied Innes's bedside table. She emptied his ash tray, brushed off crumbs. He watched her happily.
But Alice was not happy. She had realized for the first time what he was about to do and what it meant to her. Yesterday, she had thought only that it meant Killeen was coming. But now Killeen was here, and that meeting had happened. She began to see that if Innes made a will now, in her favor, she was committed to this engagement as she had not felt committed before. In a peculiar way, she.felt it would bind her. And she knew that here and now the last decision must be made and the step taken or not taken. If she let him do as he planned she was bound, as her mere promise did not bind her. And Alice was unhappy.
She saw that the bitterness that had made her cynical about the whole thing was now less strong. Somehow, the excitements she had been through had weakened it. Or maybe it was just that time had passed. She was beginning to recover, not from the blow to her heart, but from the blow to her own balance. Being Innes's fiancee was not much fun in itself. Being Innes's wife wouldn't be much fun, either. A million dollars, prestige, and as much security as a million would buy in the suffering, changing world was worth a good deal. She was sensible of that. Her brain told her so still. But we do not hve by brain alone, she thought, wistfully paraphrasing the old line.
It was worth a good deal to be Alice Brennan and the hell with it.
As she patted Innes's pillow, her mind raced to a decision. She would not feel right until she had put herself right. At the very least, Innes must know why she had promised to marry him. If he knew that clearly and believed it and still wanted her, well and good. She would still be Alice Brennan and could stand by herself. But he must know. It wasn't a question of the morals involved or the ethics or whatever the word was. It was a question of being comfortable. She was uncomfortable in that lie. Very uncomfortable. In fact, it was unbearable. She couldn't help that, whatever the moral was. Maybe she was, if not sweet and good, at least dumb but honest. Well, if she was, then that's what she was. Damn it, thought Alice.
She stood below the footboard and met Innes's eyes. She said, "You mustn't sign that will, Innes."
"Don't be silly," he said.
"I told you I was marrying you for your money. Innes, I meant that."
"I don't understand," he said. "I'm making a new will because I want you to have that . . ."
"But you mustn't until ... I mean, unless you realize just why . . ." Alice began to flounder. "I never said I was in love with you, and, Innes, I'm not."
His face changed. Pink lines grew, and the flush spread. "But you . . ." He stopped.
"I know. I let you assume that," she said unhappily. "And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. I wanted you to propose, Innes. And I wanted to marry you."
"Don't you still?" he said thickly.
"For your money," she said.
Innes looked stupid.
"I'm not sweet and good. I'm selfish as a cat," she cried. He looked at her. "So we'U call it off, shall we?" she added hghdy and turned away.
"What's happened?" he said. "Who is it?"
"Who?"
"Yes, who? You did care for me, Alice. You can't tell me . .. Why, you . . . you've been . . ."
Alice shrugged. Then she said, more softly, "Innes, I don't dislike you. I like you quite well. It's only that I can't let you sign that will still thinking what isn't true."
Innes said, "I don't understand you."
"I'm sorry."
"Are you breaking our engagement?"
"You're to do that."
"But, Alice . . ."
"Oh, do it," she cried, "and get it over!"
She couldn't leave. Someone had to be with him. He was in danger. She turned her back. She wished she'd waited to speak until Fred was available. Someone knocked on the door.
She opened it for Art KiUeen.
Fred pulled the car up at the dcxitor's dcx)r, shoved his cap back on his head, and setded as if to wait.
"Want to come in?"
"Do I?" Fred jumped. "Say, thanks. Listen, Td bust sitting out here. You've got me going, Mr. Duff. I want to know, myself."
"Curiosity is useful for us detectives," Duff said. "It makes us nibble away at impossible problems. We shall now poke around in the attic, as it were, of Dr. Follett's memory. Something might turn up, eh?"
"Come on," said Fred.
The doctor was in and waiting for them. He seemed to have recovered a normal reticence, and he hid behind a bland show of pohte welcoming small talk. Duff oudasted these prehminaries by being perfectly reticent himself. The doctor was forced to say, at last, "Well, Mr. Duff, I wonder what I can do for you?"
"I think," said. Duff, "you can tell me about the Whitlocks. Innes Whitlock has asked me to do what I can to find out whether or not his bad luck has been entirely accidental." The doctor looked uncomfortable. "And the present roots in the past," said Duff.
"I don't know what I can tell you. I haven't been in that house for twenty-five years, until the day before yesterday. I suppose you already know why not?"
"I understand that your marriage offended Miss Maud."
'!It did. Yes, it did. But that was years ago, sir, and surely it can't have a thing to do with what's going on up there now."
"I don't suppose it has," Duff said. "But still, I'd like to hear your version of it."
"She thought I was courting her. Maybe I was. Although I thought not. I mean to say, my calls there may have made it seem that I was more interested in her than I actually was. I don't know. I don't know."
"Tell me," said Duff, "do they use the phrase 'going with' m Ogaunee?"
"Oh, yes, yes. Yes, they do."
"And if a young man is 'going with' a girl, it means he's serious?"
"It. . . yes, it does. But the Whidock giris . . ."
"Go on."
''They ought not," said the doctor, ''to have been so simple-minded."
"You mean you wouldn't have expected the village convention to hold in their case?"
"I wouldn't. And I didn't. You see, they were different."