"Oh, yes, Isabel. A result of her nervous shock. So they say. A slight paralysis there."
"I thought so," said Fred. "She whines, kind of."
"Is there anything the matter with Gertrude's voice?" demanded Duff. He looked alert. He didn't move, but there was a gluiting eagerness in his eye.
"Guess not," said Fred.
"Rather a pleasant voice, in fact," the doctor said with relief, as if it were good to be able to speak admiringly of a Whidock. "Very pleasant. She used to sing a little. I don't suppose she sings any more."
"Never heard her sing out," said Fred, "but her voice is O.K."
Duff bowed his head in thought. He was limp in the chair, and his hands, resting palms down on either chair arm, grasped nothing and did not twitch. Concentration surrounded him like a cloud. He was gone from the doctor's sitting room. He was absent, and it was important not to bring him back. Fred and the doctor felt that. They dared not disturb him. His thinking was a presence in the room and kept them silent.
Finally he looked up and smiled. "I can see Gertrude," he said, "the eldest princess, with her drawing-room accomplishments, her china painting, her singing, her proper elegance. But what did Maud do?"
"Do?" said the doctor. "Why, I don't know that Maud
did any of those things. Maud was . . . well, rather more the hoyden. She had no accomplishments."
"Bet she had a hammock," Fred said.
The doctor looked at him queerly. "Yes," he said.
"And Isabel?"
"Let me see. Isabel was always busy. But I'm sure I can't tell you . . . She collected stamps at one time. It seems to me that she had quick enthusiasms that didn't last."
"Say," said Fred eagerly, "could I ask hun something?"
Duff looked pleased and interested.
"I wondered if Maud's still mad at you," Fred said. "I had a kind of crazy idea that maybe she pushed that lamp over thinking it was you down below. I guess it's crazy, but I wondered, just die same."
The doctor looked distressed. His eyes rolled. "I don't thmk . . ." he began.
Duff said, "No, Fred, she isn't that mad at him. Not any more."
"How do you know?" said a startled Fred.
I>uff's eyes were on the doctor's face. "I daresay she carries on the old antagonism, but not seriously, Fred. A woman isn't angry enough to murder the suitor who jilted her twenty-five years ago."
"Certainly not," said the doctor, gasping.
"Especially since she's . . . er . . . had . . ." Duff stopped.
The doctor said, "Who told you!"
"You did," Duff said, "or at least you confirm my suspicion. As a matter of fact, Fred and Alice told me. Also, Josephine."
The doctor took off his glasses and polished them frantically. "I tell you, Mr. Duff, she said things to me the other night that made me sick to my stomach. Terrible! A terrible woman. Lustful, horrible, disgusting. No moral starch in her."
"I don't care for Maud, myself," murmured Fred, "but for God's sake . . ."
"She taunted me!" the doctor said. "Dear God, as if I cared!"
"Josephine touched her cross," said Duff. "I wonder, do her sisters know?"
Fred looked illuminated, and then grim. "They can smell, can't they?" he said.
The doctor looked greenish-white.
"But I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Duff," said Fred. "What those two don't want to know, they don't let themselves know they know."
"I think," said Duff, "you've put your finger on it. Yes, I think you have."
"I have!" said Fred, amazed.
A man in the dark clothes of a minister came up the front walk from the gate.
"Here's Foster with a job for me, I suppose," said Dr. Follett. "The Methodist preacher, Mr. Duff. Our only Protestant Church. Wait. I'll... er ... send him away."
Duff rose and stood quite still. "Do the Whidock girls go to church?"
"No, no, but they're members. They used to be. Stephen . . ."
"How I would like to ask that man three rude and prying questions," Duff said, "and I can't."
He stood still, and the doctor bristled. "I think you can." He rose to the challenge in Duff's manner. "He's a friend of mine, and he doesn't gossip. Nether he nor I can afford it. Let me speak to him. I think I can guarantee you your answers."
The doctor bustled importantly to the door and spoke with an air of great confidence to the sad-eyed man in the black suit. Fred would have winked, but Duff was looking with mild pleasure at a flowering tree visible through the window.
. "Dr. Follett tells me you have three questions," said the Reverend Mr. Foster. "Please feel free to ask them. Anything I can do. Of course, there are some secrets . .."
The man of God braced himself.
Duff smiled his charming smile. "My questions aren't too shocking," he said. "This is the first one: Does Miss Gertrude Whitlock contribute generously to the upkeep of your church?"
The minister looked judicious. He smacked his lips. "She contributes regularly," he said, "a sum which seems to me quite proper. Certainly, I appreciate her faithful support, and . . ."
"A gcx)d answer," said Duff warmly. "Now does Miss Maud Whitlock contribute generously, and so forth?"
"Miss Maud has been very generous on occasion," said Mr. Foster, upon taking thought. "She does not contribute regularly, but I have at times mentioned a special need to her and known her to empty her purse. Yes. Why . . ."
"Thank you very much," said Duff with a gleam in his eye. "Does Miss Isabel Whidock, and so forth, and so fordi?"
The minister said stiffy, "She has not contributed since I have been in Ogaunee. Of course, I cannot say what she may or may not . . ."
"You are very kind," said Duff, "and I must keep my word and not keep you. Thank you, doctor, for your help. I am most grateful for it."
The doctor blushed with pleasure. Duff could give pleasure. His thanks were sincere. But the minister looked rather baffled and disappointed. His sad eyes followed them as they left.
"Mrs. Innes's house," Duff said, in the car.
Fred chuckled. ''He coulda gone on."
Duffs eyelids crinkled. "And on," he said. "An articulate man in a small town full of inarticulate people. Poor fellow. Well, he interrupted us, but perhaps to some benefit. We haven't time to wait him out, Fred. We are hot on the trail."
"You don't say," said Fred with delight. "Of what?"
"Lunch," said Duff.
17
Killeen, entering Innes's bedroom, sensed crisis in the air, and he walked softly. "I'm ready now, Innes. Shall I come back later?"
"No," said Innes angrily, "come in now." He looked at Alice and spread a benign smile over his irritation. "Alice has got the colly-wobbles," he said.
Alice faced him with an indignant murmur.
"But I know," said Innes, holding up his hand in a traffic cop's stop gesture, "that no matter what she says, she is a friend of mine."
Alice said, "That's true, of course."
"So she'll do something for me," said Imies, keeping the third person, as if he were talking to a child, "she'll run down and fetch Josephine and Mr. Johnson."
"Of course I will," said Alice, "if you want them. Innes, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to sign my will," he snapped, "and they're going to witness it."
"You can't."
"On the contrary." Innes was cold and his mouth was thin. "You don't seem to realize that your girlish doubts are interfering with a plan for my safety."
"I have no doubts," said Alice, "girlish or otherwise."
"I don't care whether you have or not. I intend to stay alive."
Art Killeen was giving a good imitation of a deaf mute.
"You have my permission," said Alice dryly, "to stay alive."
"We mustn't quarrel," cried Innes, melting suddenly into panic. "Alice, don't you see! Here I am helpless, in bed! And you know what I'm afraid of. I had it all worked out, this scheme. To make it worth their while to protect me. And I'm going on with it. You shan't stop me. You have no right to stop me!"
"Please don't upset yourself," Alice said quietly. "I'm not stopping you."
"Helpless . . . helpless . . ." Innes tossed as much as he was able. "Now . . . now, when I need your support, when I need your loyalty . . . you choose this moment. . ."