“You stop that,” said the old man with irritation. “I’m getting sick and tired of you. Come on, Ellery. The MacClures are going with us.”
“Say, don’t go, Eva,” said Terry quickly, barring her way. “You’re all in. Why don’t you amble home and—”
“No,” said Eva drearily. “I want to pick up some of my — some of my mother’s things.”
“You can do that to-morrow!”
“Ring,” said Dr. MacClure.
“But—”
“Please let me pass,” said Eva coldly.
Terry dropped his hands and shrugged.
20
The white maid, O’Mara, admitted them to the house in Washington Square. She wore her old expression of sullenness; her stupid eyes were stormy.
“Say, how long you going to keep me here?” she demanded on seeing the Inspector. “You ain’t got no right to keep me here. My boy-friend says so — he works for a lawyer. And who’s going to pay my wages — huh? Answer me that!”
“You mind your tongue,” said the Inspector mildly. “It won’t be long now, if you’re civil.”
“I’ll pay the girl’s wages,” said Dr. MacClure.
“Oh, then it’s all right,” said the girl instantly, smiling at the doctor.
“Where’s Kinumé?” inquired the old man.
“Somewheres around.”
They went upstairs in silence and found Detective Ritter dozing on the sitting-room couch. “Where’s the Jap woman, Ritter?”
“Huh? Ain’t seen her, Inspector.”
“Well, go find her.”
Ritter departed yawning and Eva took a timid step towards the bedroom. The Inspector said in a kindly voice: “It’s all right, Miss MacClure. Go on up if you want to.”
“I’ll go with you!” said Terry.
“I’d rather be alone, Terry.” Eva vanished through the door leading to the attic stairs. They heard her dragging herself up to the attic, slowly, and yet with determined steps.
“Poor kid,” said the Inspector. “It’s certainly hard on her, Doctor. If there’s anything we can do—”
Dr. MacClure went to the window and looked out over the garden. “Inspector. What will be the disposition of Esther’s body?”
“There’s nothing the law wants of her any more, Doctor.”
“I want to make arrangements for her funeral.” He paused. “And for Karen’s, too, of course.”
“Certainly... Ah, come in, Kinumé.”
The Japanese woman stood timorously in the doorway, her oblique eyes luminous with apprehension. Ritter loomed majestically behind her, cutting off escape.
“One moment, Inspector.” Dr. MacClure turned around, went to Kinumé, took her wrinkled ochre hands. “Kinumé.”
Kinumé mumbled: “’Lo, Dr. MacCloo.”
“We know all about Karen, Kinumé,” he said gently. “And about Esther.”
She looked up at him, frightened. “Esther she die. Esther long time die in big water.”
“No, Kinumé. You know that isn’t true. You know Esther lived in the little room upstairs. You see, it won’t do any good to lie, Kinumé.”
“Esther die,” said Kinumé stubbornly.
“Yes, Kinumé. Esther is dead. But she died only a few days ago. The men of the police have found her body in another city, not far away. You understand?”
For a horrified instant the old woman stared up into his eyes; and then she burst into tears.
“You need not lie for anyone’s sake any longer,” said the doctor in a murmur. “Kinumé.” She kept weeping. “Only Eva is left to you, Kinumé. Only Eva. Do you understand, Kinumé? Only Eva!”
But the old woman was too drowned in her sorrow to catch the subtleties of Occidental suggestion. She could only moan: “Missie die. Now Esther die. What becoming Kinumé?”
Terry muttered to Ellery: “It’s no use. She doesn’t get it.”
The Inspector beamed approval; he permitted Dr. MacClure to lead her to the couch and to sit her down, whereupon she began to rock to and fro in her grief.
“Don’t you worry about what will become of you, Kinumé,” said the doctor insistently. “Would you like to take care of Eva?”
Kinumé nodded suddenly through her tears. “Kinumé take care Eva’s mother. Now Kinumé take care Eva.”
“Protect her?” whispered the doctor. “Say, do nothing to bring her harm? Yes, Kinumé?”
“I take care Eva, Dr. MacCloo.”
The doctor straightened up and returned to the window. He had done all he could.
“Kinumé,” said Ellery. “It was Miss Karen who told you never to say anything about Miss Esther’s being alive in this house?”
“Missie say no tell, I no tell. Now Missie dead, Esther too!”
“Do you know who killed your Missie, Kinumé?” murmured the Inspector.
She raised her tear-stained face in bewilderment. “Kill? Who kill Missie?”
“Esther.”
Kinumé looked from one to another with her mouth slightly open; it was evident that this intelligence was too much for her. She began to weep again.
From the door Eva said faintly: “I can’t... I can’t touch a thing up there. It’s so — quiet. What’s the matter with me?”
“Come here, kid,” began Terry. “Don’t—”
But Eva went steadily to Kinumé and sat down, putting her arms around the weeping Japanese. “Don’t worry, Kinumé. We’ll take care of you.”
“Look,” said the Inspector, sitting down on the other side of the old woman. “Do you remember Monday afternoon, Kinumé? When Miss Karen sent you downstairs for some paper to write on? You remember?”
The gray head nodded; her face was hidden against Eva’s breast.
“Do you know why Miss Karen sent you for writing-paper? For surely she knew that in the attic-room there was much paper. Do you remember, Kinumé? Did she say?”
Kinumé sat up, showing her face. It looked blank and haggard in its yellow age. The three men standing held their breaths. So much depended on Kinumé. So much...
“Missie no can going Esther’s room,” said Kinumé.
So they had failed. Everything for nothing. On the couch Eva sat stonily, waiting with folded hands as a prisoner waits for sentence of death.
“She couldn’t go—” began the Inspector in a puzzled way. Then he stopped. He looked around at them. They were all so still. Terry Ring — he was actually not breathing. Dr. MacClure — so like a dead man. Ellery, so quiet and tense. Eva MacClure... so resigned.
He shook the old woman’s arm with sudden violence. “What do you mean she couldn’t go to Esther’s room? Tell me, Kinumé! Why couldn’t she? The door was open, wasn’t it?”
Poor Kinumé was deaf to overtones. The thought that was beating through the air — Yes. Say it was open. Say it was open — did not reach her. She rocked a little more and said: “The door it stuck. We no can opening.”
“Which door? Show me!”
Kinumé rose a little eagerly, as if anxious to reveal now how cooperative she could be, and plodded into the bedroom to the open doorway leading to the attic. She pressed her wrinkled fingers against a panel; and to Eva, rooted to the couch, it was just like a finger on an electric button. This time, she thought dully, there was no possible intervention This time, she knew, was the end.
Inspector Queen quietly filled his chest with air. “Stuck, eh? This little bolt here — it would not push?”
“Stuck,” nodded Kinumé. “Missie try open — cannot. Kinumé try — no can. We try and try; no strong enough. Missie mad. She say Kinumé go down, bring liting-paper — she want lite letter. Kinumé go.”
“This was just before Miss Eva came, was it not?”
“Eva coming then. Soon as Kinumé bring up liting-paper.”