“You look tired,” Edith said with a return of her old crispness. “You’d better go to bed.”
“I’ll sit up and smoke for awhile.”
“You have to take better care of yourself, Andrew, keep more regular hours. I noticed you didn’t touch your salad tonight.”
“Don’t nag, Edith.”
“I wasn’t nagging.”
“Go to bed yourself.”
“I would, if I could sleep,” she said gratingly. “You’ll never give me anything to make me sleep.”
“It’s a bad habit.”
“It can’t be a habit if you do it once!” She knew that she was getting shrill and tried to stop herself, but too many things had happened to her today — the funeral, Janet, the diary, the migraine — she felt her control slipping away. “Other doctors give sleeping prescriptions! I’m your own sister and I have to lie awake night after night...”
“You’re the type who forms habits too easily,” he said quietly. “But rather than see you hysterical like this I will set aside my better judgment.”
Even though she was getting her own way she couldn’t stop talking at him. Her voice pursued him into the closet where he kept his medical supplies locked up, and into the bedroom where he poured out a glass of water.
“Here. Take this. It will begin to work in an hour or so. Now go to bed.”
He half-pushed her toward the door, glad to be rid of her finally, to be able to enjoy the peace and darkness of his own room.
At ten o’clock the maids came home, and went, twittering, up to the third floor. Shortly afterward Martin came to bed, and last of all, Polly. She had locked the house and put out the lights, and now she paused in front of Edith’s door and rapped softly.
“Who is it?”
“Me. Polly.”
“Oh. I’m in bed.”
“I saw your light on.”
“Well, come in. Don’t shout at me through the door!”
Edith was sitting up in bed. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes had a glaring sightless look. She wore a bed-jacket.
“I was just sitting here a moment before turning off the light,” she said.
One of her arms jerked nervously and the sleeve of the bed-jacket slid back and showed an inch or so of the black dress she’d been wearing. She covered it again quickly, but Polly had already seen.
“Well, I didn’t have anything special to say,” she said, her voice carefully blank. “Guess I’ll turn in. How’s your headache?”
“Headache? Oh, it’s all right.”
“Well, good night.”
“Good night.”
Their eyes met for an instant and passed on, like strangers on a dark street.
The door closed and Edith got out of bed and tore the bed-jacket from her shoulders. She put on a coat and tied a black scarf over her head and picked up the diary from underneath the bedclothes.
Then, a black shadow, she moved through the house, and went out into the street.
Chapter 13
“Good morning, Mr. Bascombe,” D’arcy said. “Mr: Sands has just come in. I was terribly sorry to hear you’re leaving us.”
Bascombe stopped, looked him up and down. “Yeah, I know.”
“We were all thrilled to hear you got a commission. I bet you’ll look swell in your uniform.”
“Ask me to take it off for you some time and see where it gets you.”
D’arcy looked pained. “That’s no way to talk. I thought you’d be nice to me at least on your last day.”
Smiling grimly, Bascombe strode into Sands’ office.
Sands looked up and said, “Good morning. How’s the Military Intelligence this morning?”
Bascombe saluted smartly. “I beg to report, sir, that A-56 of the Division of Lawns and Gardens, that is, myself, has discovered the existence of a pansy in your own office. A-56 recommends fertilization of the roots or complete extermination.”
Sands laughed. “Sit down. When do you leave?”
“It’s a military secret, even from me.”
“Ellen back?”
“Yeah. She’s pulling the gag about how-can-I-live-without-you-my-hero. I’ve signed the papers for her allotment, now I’m forgetting the whole thing.” He sat on the edge of the desk, swinging one foot. “I hope.”
“Got the jitters?”
“Some. Afraid I’ll pull a boner. What I’ve been doing around here seems like kid stuff compared to what’s in store for me.”
“I don’t think you have to be afraid. D’arcy says you have a truly great brain.”
“What the hell!” Bascombe swung himself off the desk, embarrassed. “Well, good-bye.” He held out his hand. “It’s been damn nice having a decent guy in this dump.”
Sands, too, was embarrassed. He got up, and they shook hands across the desk. “Good-bye and good hunting.”
“Thanks.”
Bascombe went out. In the outer office he saw D’arcy talking to a middle-aged woman. He noticed the woman especially because she was carrying an enormous leather handbag.
Well — what the hell — women, to hell with them...
“There now,” D’arcy said to the woman. “Now you can go in.”
She seemed distraught. “Thank you. I... it’s really urgent.”
“Just step in.” D’arcy opened the door of Sands’ office with a flourish. “Miss Green to see you, sir.”
“Good morning, Miss Green,” Sands said, and was surprised to see how agitated she looked. “What brings you here?”
“I can’t make head nor tail of it. Look.” She opened the big handbag and drew out a paper bag.
“Shut that door, D’arcy.”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
Janet Green put the paper bag on the desk. It had been stamped and postmarked, and Janet Green’s name and address had been written shakily in pen and ink.
“I just don’t know what to make of it,” she said. “This came this morning, a while ago. It’s a diary, and why anyone should send me a diary...”
Sands took the book carefully from the bag. The cover was tooled leather and across it, in gold letters, was printed “Mildred Scott Morrow.” He opened it. The ink was faded but still legible. “July 3, 1928. Today is my birthday and Edith has given me this lovely diary. I told her, what would I put in a diary, I never have anything interesting to say...”
“Why to me?” Janet cried in exasperation. “I thought, of course, as soon as I saw the name Morrow that Edith Morrow herself must have sent it. I don’t know any of the others at all. And yet I only met her yesterday.”
“Perhaps that’s why.”
“What is?”
“She could trust you because you have no ax to grind.”
“Yes, but there’s nothing in the book that I can see! And why not keep it herself? The strange thing is that someone has marked passages in it here and there. They’re mostly about Lucille.”
“Go on.”
“Well, as soon as I looked into the book I rang up Edith Morrow. At least I rang the house and whoever answered the phone sounded very peculiar. They said that Miss Morrow couldn’t come to the phone. Then they hung up, just like that.”
Before she had finished speaking Sands had risen. “Thanks for coming. I’ll keep this. I’m in a hurry.”
“You can’t leave me...”
“Sorry. D’arcy will see you out. I’ve got to leave.”
He went to the coat rack and slipped the diary into the pocket of his overcoat. Then with the coat over his arm he walked out.
When he reached the Morrow house the doorbell was answered by Annie.
She recognized him and said, “Oh!” and put her hand over her mouth.
“I’d like to speak to Miss Edith Morrow,” he said.