She sank to the floor in a tumble of wrapper and flesh, weeping as if her heart were breaking. She wept soundlessly, which made her grief even more hideous. They could see the red cavern of her throat as she opened her mouth, the large beads of tears snaking down her face. On her knees, her huge wattled legs nakedly protruding from the wrapper, she rocked to and fro in a very ecstasy of bitter sorrow.
Mrs. Munn stepped cat-like from behind the bed and looked down at the gross, sobbing creature on the floor. The bestial expression had vanished from her hard, beautiful face. There was almost pity in her contemptuous gaze. The knife was still clutched, forgotten, in her hand.
“You poor slob,” she said to the woman on the floor.
They heard clearly.
Mrs. Constable stopped rocking. Very slowly she raised her eyes. And on the instant she scrambled to her feet, all swirling satin, holding her vast breast and staring at the blonde woman.
“I... I—” Then her stricken gaze went to the knife in Mrs. Munn’s hand and what color there was in her flabby cheeks ebbed away. She tried twice to speak; twice her vocal cords failed her. Then she babbled: “You... knife...”
Mrs. Munn looked startled. But when she saw what was frightening the fat woman she smiled and tossed the knife on the bed. “That! You needn’t be scared, Mrs. Constable. I’d forgotten I still had it.”
“Oh.” It was half a groan. Mrs. Constable began to fumble with the hem of her wrapper, her eyes nearly closed. “I guess I... must have walked... in my sleep.”
“You can cut the baloney with little Cecilia, dearie,” said Mrs. Munn dryly. “I’m one of the girls, too. So he took you over the hurdles, did he? Who’d have thought it?”
The fat woman moistened her lips. “I— What do you mean?”
“I should have known. You’re no more in her class than I am. Did he write to you, too?” Her hard eyes swept over the ugly, misshapen, middle-aged figure with the same mingled pity and contempt.
Mrs. Constable drew her wrapper more tightly about her. Their eyes clashed. Then she said with a sob: “Yes.”
“Told you to come up here pronto, hey? Pronto. That’s one of my dear husband’s favorite words.” Unaccountably, she shivered. “Said you’d get an invitation from Mrs. Godfrey, I’ll bet, and then sure enough it came. Just like that. Just as if she’d known you all her life, just as if you’d lapped charlotte russes together in pigtails... I know. That’s what happened to me, too. And you came. Boy, how you came! You were afraid not to.”
“Yes,” whispered Mrs. Constable. “I was afraid — not to.”
Mrs. Munn’s lips curled, her eyes flaming. “The damned...”
“You,” began Mrs. Constable, and paused. Her hand described an arc, mutely. “Did you do-all this?”
“Sure I did!” snarled the blonde. “Did you think I’d take it layin’ down? He made me suffer enough, the oily son-of-a-bitch! I figured it was my only chance. The copper’d gone to sleep...” Her shoulders sagged. “But it’s no use. They’re not here.”
“Oh,” whispered Mrs. Constable. “They’re not? I thought— But they must be! Oh, it’s unthinkable that they shouldn’t be! I couldn’t live — I thought at first you’d come and found them.” She seized Mrs. Munn’s shoulders, her eyes glazed with ferocity. “You’re not lying?” she croaked. “You’re not holding out on me? Please, please. I have a daughter of marriageable age. My son’s just been married. My children are grown. I’ve always been respectable. I... I don’t know what happened. I’d always dreamed of some one like — like him... Please tell me... Tell me you found them — tell me, tell me!” Her voice rose to a scream.
Mrs. Munn slapped the woman’s face, sharply. Her scream choked off and she staggered back, holding her cheek. “Sorry,” said Mrs. Munn. “You’d be raising the dead with that squeal of yours. The old guy is sleeping just next door — I got into his bedroom by mistake a while ago... Come on, sister, pull yourself together. We’re getting out of here.”
Mrs. Constable permitted her arm to be taken. She was crying naturally now. “But what am I going to do?” she moaned. “What am I going to do?”
“Sit tight and keep your trap shut.” Mrs. Munn surveyed the wreck, shrugging. “There’ll be hell to pay tomorrow morning when that copper comes up here and finds this mess. We don’t know anything about it; understand? Not a thing. We slept like little lambs.”
“But your husband—”
“Yeah. My husband.” The blonde woman’s eyes hardened. Then she said abruptly: “He’s snoring his head off down the hall. Come on, Mrs. Constable. This room ain’t — isn’t healthy.”
She reached for the switch. The lights blinked out. A moment later the men at the window heard the door click.
“Show’s over,” said Ellery, getting to his feet with some difficulty. “Here, you get back to that bed of yours, young man. Do you want to catch pneumonia?”
Judge Macklin picked up his quilt and without a word made his way along the narrow balcony to the window of his room. Ellery followed him through and went directly to the door, which he opened a little. Then he closed it and unconcernedly turned on the lights.
The old gentleman was perched on the edge of his bed, deep in thought. Ellery lit a cigaret and with relief sank into a chair.
“Well,” he murmured at last, eying the still figure of his companion quizzically, “what’s the verdict, your honor?”
The Judge stirred. “If you’ll tell me what’s happened since I’ve been out of circulation, my son, I’ll be able to rationalize a little more clearly.”
“Very little. The big news is that Mrs. Godfrey has told all.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Wife confesses infidelity to husband in moonlit garden. Detective gets sore ears listening in.” Ellery shrugged. “At that, it was illuminating. I knew she’d crack eventually, but I didn’t think it would be to Godfrey. Amazing chap, Godfrey; he’s got something. Took the news beautifully, all things considered... She confirmed what we had discussed earlier — had never met either Mrs. Constable or the Munns, she said, before inviting them to Spanish Cape. Moreover, it appears that it was Marco who forced her to tender the invitations.”
“Ah,” said the Judge.
“And Mrs. Constable and the Munns — at least Mrs. Munn — were apparently as embarrassed by the situation as she.”
The old gentleman nodded absently. “Yes, yes. I see.”
“However, the really critical revelation was cut off by the unexpected intrusion of Mrs. Constable. Not,” sighed Ellery, “that it mattered. But I should have enjoyed hearing it from Mrs. Godfrey’s own lips.”
“Hmm. You mean that she had been holding something back above and beyond these other revelations?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“But you know what she meant to tell Godfrey?”
“I believe,” said Ellery, “I do.”
The Judge unwound his long legs and went into the bathroom. When he emerged his face was buried in a towel. “Now,” he said in a muffled voice, “that I’ve witnessed that little drama next door, I believe I do, too.”
“Bully! Let’s collaborate. Your diagnosis?”
“I think I understand Stella Godfrey’s type.” Judge Macklin hurled the towel away and lay down on the bed. “No matter what Godfrey may be as a sociological specimen, his wife at least is a victim of that well-known disease of the bluer blood known as ‘pride of caste.’ She’s a Ruysdael, you know, by birth. You’ve never read any scandal about one of them. First-family-of-Manhattan business; the genuine article. Not especially favored in worldly goods, modern economic conditions being what they are, but veritable nabobs when it comes to Rembrandts, Van Dycks, Dutch antiques, and tradition. It’s in her blood.”