“Yes, Peet,” said Aunt Lallie. “You would do well to consider carefully before you speak!”
“Well, I’ll be double-jiggered,” murmured Prin. “Uncle Slater’s will has hardly been mentioned, let alone probated, and already we’re on notice that we’d better live on tiptoe around here or we’ll be thrown out on our ears.” Although the way Prin pronounced the last two words, it might have been “our rears.”
“It may be,” Brady said darkly, “that she will be in no position to throw anybody out of any place.”
“What do you mean by that, Brady?” Aunt Lallie demanded. “Are you implying that I am somehow vulnerable?”
“I don’t mind saying that it’s something to think about,” Brady grinned. “After all, we mustn’t forget that Uncle Slater was murdered. It looked as if there was no reason for any of us to have done it — in fact, just the reverse. But now it appears that one of us did have a reason all along, and I won’t bother at this time to mention the name.”
“Brady O’Shea,” said Aunt Lallie, “you’re a degenerate, and I’ve always known it! You’ll be sorry for what you’ve just said.”
“Oh, but,” Twig said, “Uncle Slater’s real will wouldn’t have made any difference to Aunt Lallie if she didn’t know about it. And you didn’t, did you, Aunt Lallie?”
“No, indeed,” said Aunt Lallie, giving Twig a look of benign gratitude. It was evident that Twig was well on his way to becoming her court favorite.
“Of course not,” said Twig. “And besides, how would a lady like Aunt Lallie know anything about poisoning people? Or, even if she wanted to, know where to get some?”
“Well, Prin works in a drug store,” Peet said, in her uncompromisingly logical way. “Prin, did you steal some of Mr. Free’s whatever-it-is for Aunt Lallie to poison Uncle Slater with?”
Grundy, studying the procession of expressions shuttling over Prin’s face, was aware of a compulsion to go over to her and put an arm about her comfortingly. But it was a guilty compulsion. His sympathy was in conflict with his suspicions, which had already taken the shape of Peet’s question. So he simply sat there in uneasy surveillance.
Then Prin was standing straight as a drum majorette, and she spoke with outraged pride and throbbing scorn.
“I will tell you all something,” she said, “and I don’t care one little whoop-de-doop whether you believe me or not. I have not stolen any whatever-it-is, or any other drug or poison, at the instance of or at the instigation of or in the interests of Aunt Lallie, or anyone else, in order to poison Uncle Slater. I have been sitting here listening to you all, and it’s made me ill. Uncle Slater has been murdered, and you have been talking and talking about which one of us might have killed him, or helped kill him, and the significant thing is that each of you doesn’t doubt for one second that any of the rest of us is perfectly capable of it, the only question being who had something to gain and who didn’t. You are all even worse than I thought you were, which was bad enough to begin with. Maybe I’m not much better, when all is said and done, but at least I’m sorry Uncle Slater’s dead, and I truly hope whoever killed him is even sorrier in the end. You have talked and talked and talked, and not one of you is any good — any good whatever — and moreover you have made accusations in the hearing of Lieutenant Grundy, a policeman, which makes you fools, besides. Now I have said what I wanted to say, and I’m going out for some fresh air, unless I am under some kind of detention, because I don’t want to hear any of you or see any of you for the present, or ever again if I can help it.”
And when it became evident that detention was not in Lieutenant Grundy’s mind, Prin O’Shea walked out holding her little chin high. She had been gone for most of a minute before anyone recovered.
“Well,” gasped Aunt Lallie. “I have never in my born days witnessed such a disgusting display. I will say, however, that Prin was quite right in one respect, Lieutenant. It was unforgivably rude of you, not to say boorish, to take advantage by listening in on a family consultation. You should have had the good grace to leave the room. I believe I shall report you for not having done so.”
“I suggest the Chief of Police,” Grundy said wearily. “Now if you will excuse me? At the risk of offending again, I’ll be seeing you all soon, very soon.”
As he was about to climb into his car, Grundy caught sight of Prin O’Shea striding away in the direction of downtown. She gave the impression of purpose. He thought of offering her a lift to wherever she was going, but then he put Satan behind him. And so he passed her on the street, a slim swift-striding figure who did not even glance his way, and Lieutenant Grundy drove on with a distinct feeling of personal loss.
11
When Prin left the house she had no other intention than to get away. But she was no sooner outside in the diminishing afternoon than she felt such a need for the sight and sound of Coley Collins that it was like a crampy pain, and she turned her steps at once toward town. She could not remember if Coley was on duty at the taproom this evening or not, everything had been so disrupted and confused since Uncle Slater’s death. She decided to try the hotel first.
She walked under darkened trees whose upper branches were still touched with light, imparting to the leaves an illusion of undersea translucency. The air was alive with cicadas and peepers crying their wares — altogether, Prin thought, too lovely an ending to a day made ugly by death and deviltry. What she had to do, and quickly, was to find Coley; and then things would seem not quite so bad as they indubitably were. Her pace quickened, and soon she came to the hotel and made for the taproom.
But Coley was not on duty.
At first Prin felt lost and betrayed, all hope dissolved in the instant. But then she took hold of herself. She was being absurd. What she must clearly do was to go on to the house where Coley lived — where he most likely was this very moment. She left the hotel and headed for Grantlund Street.
The number was 2267; and since she turned into Grantlund Street on the 900 block, she had thirteen blocks to walk. By the time she reached the 2200 block it was too dark to read the house-numbers; but 2267 must be toward the end of the block, so Prin hurried along.
It was not a good block, even charitably regarded. The houses were mostly tiny one-family units in need of paint and repairs, with scratchy little six-by-six gardens, most of them tall with weeds. Then Prin spotted a larger house just off the far corner, and that was obviously the house, because it was the only one that seemed to have room for even a small apartment to rent. So she went up onto the porch and peered at the number on the door, and it was 2267, sure enough.
She hesitated. She did not know if the whole house was rented, or only part of it; if the owner happened to live downstairs, it might not be discreet to ring the bell and ask the way to a young man’s apartment — although, from the looks of the neighborhood, this was a question that might not be considered unusual or objectionable. On the whole, she decided, it would be better simply to go in and up the stairs; so she did. No one stopped her, Coley’s door had his name tacked to it, and there was no problem.
Prin knocked, and heard movements beyond the door. Now that there was only a door between them, she became desperately eager. She meant to throw her arms around Coley and kiss him without shame or ceremony the moment he was within reach, and she had this so strongly in mind that she almost did it in spite of the fact that it was not Coley who opened the door.
The door opener was a very small young man who would have necessitated stooping if the kiss had been executed. The top of his head, which was blond and burred, came approximately to Prin’s chin; and Prin thought in the first traumatic instant of recoil that he was not a young man at all, but a boy, which had not been true for a good many years. He was wearing heavy glasses that, on his tiny face, conveyed the immensity of racing goggles. Below a button nose lay a pinched mouth, so that Prin’s third impression, after those of the young man and the boy, produced a composite old-young man-boy. Which was, although she could not know it, remarkably close to the fact.