"—about someone," he stumbled.
"Who?”
"Not Grandy " he lied quickly. He dared not make that mistake now. "Not Oliver," he added. He saw her mind scrambling behind the silver eyes. And in his need was able to follow it. She gave him the cue herself. "Someone else," he said lamely. There was only one person else, and her face was lighting up. "Help me," he begged. "I can't tell you more now. It would spoil what I want you to say."
"Me to say!"
"Listen." He took her hand. "Life is a needle. It writes on wax. Your memory s got a record. And I want to play it back. Will you try, Althea?"
"My memory?"
"Only you," murmured Francis. "And that's a bit ironical, isn't it?" He gave her his self-mocking look. "It means a good deal to me," he confessed. "Something I've got to know."
He thought, I'll mystify her. I'll give her romance. I'll give her drama.
Althea raised her shoulders from the pillow. "I thought there was something queer between you and Tyl. I thought she didn't seem—you didn't seem— What is it? What did you find out?"
Francis turned his face away to keep it an enigma in the face of this.
"Maybe she didn't go to Africa," whispered Althea. It was venomous. "I thought the whole thing sounded phony. The little fraud! People with one eye and all that junk!"
Francis wondered what to do now, with this thrust of her imagination in the wrong direction. Use it. Use it, if he could.
He said, "It's the morning Rosaleen died. I want you to go back and remember. Everything. Whether the phone rang. Did you hear a sound? Did anyone come to the house?" He threw ideas at her. Mix her up. Never mind what she thought. Make her talk. There wasn't much time. She had to talk tonight, in this hour.
Althea said, "But that hasn't anything to do with—"
"You mean, she was drowned by then?" said Francis bitterly.
Althea's brows drew together. He got up and poked the fire. Let the woman think any wild thing, only let her tell him.
She said very meekly, "I don't understand. What is it you want me to do?" She tilted her head back to lengthen her long white throat.
He told himself, Go easy. Forget that any minute somebody from the house may come down to see where we are. Pretend there's time. Make the most of this chance. She was willing, for this moment, and she was thrown off the real track by her jealous wish that Mathilda be somehow damaged. But she wouldn't go deep enough or carefully enough unless he held her to the detail he wanted.
"Do you remember getting up that day?"
"Yes"
"Breakfast?"
"Yes"
"With whom?"
"Grandy, Oliver, Rosaleen."
"What did you have to eat?"
"Good heavens, Francis—"
"You can remember, if you try. I want you to try. Because of something later."
"Because of what?"
"I can't tell you until afterward," he evaded.
"But there isn't anything," she said.
He leaned down, took both her hands. "Althea, please."
"All right. Coffee, toast, marmalade. That's what we had for breakfast."
"Go ahead. Play the record for me. Then what?"
Althea closed her eyes. Her fingers tightened on his. "Breakfast," she murmured. "Then it was Oliver's turn to do the dishes. I did the downstairs. Rosaleen made beds. Grandy ordered on the phone. Rosaleen came down and went into the study with him. Is this what you want?"
"Go on. Little things."
"Oliver went downtown. He kissed me and went out by the front door. He had galoshes on. One of them flopped." She was smiling, exaggerating the details. Good, let her. "Let me see. I vacuumed. I had the radio going."
"What program?"
"News," she said.
"What station?" Radio gives times. His pulse was faster.
"Heavens, I don't know. But then the Phantom Chef came on. He talked about bread. I wanted some. I went out to the kitchen and got out his book—"
"Got out his book," droned Francis.
"Had a pencil," she went on dreamily. "Checked the recipe. Got out a bowl, flour in the canister on the table. I was looking in the icebox for what it took."
"Did the light go out?" He held his breath.
"Go out? Light? Oh, the icebox light? Yes, it was out."
"You didn't see it go out?"
"No, but it was out. How did you know?"
"Go on."
He'd broken the spell. Maybe a mistake.
"Grandy came out of the study," she said slowly, still puzzling over that accurate guess. "He was talking over his shoulder to Rosaleen. He couldn't hear."
"Why couldn't he hear?"
"The radio" she said impatiently. "I had it up loud."
"Radio in the living room?"
"Yes, the kitchen end. I turned it down. He said what he had to say, and she answered."
"You heard her voice?"
"Yes." His heart sank. "No," said Althea. "Why?"
Was she defensive? Be careful.
"It was her voice, I mean."
"What?"
"No, no, I'm wrong. Not then." He struck his forehead. "Of course not, because Grandy was there. Wait now. Rosaleen answered or you thought she answered."
“I thought she answered," said Althea carefully, "and she did answer, because Grandy said to her, That's it, dear.'"
"Then?"
"I went back."
"You were still at the radio?"
"Yes. I turned it up again." Her thoughts seemed to stick at something. Francis dared not interrupt her now. A log fell in the fire, Flames murmured over it. "Burn tenderly," said Althea.
"What—was that?"
"Burn tenderly," Althea smiled. "That's exactly what he said. It sounded so silly, blurted out loud without the context. He's pretty precious, anyhow. He can't do it the way Grandy can; although, of course, he tried to imitate."
"Who?"
"The man on the radio."
"Who said, 'Burn tenderly'?"
"The Phantom Chef. He did. That's the way he talks."
"He said 'Burn tenderly/" said Francis gently. "Go on. Grandy had just, what?"
"Closed the study door." She shut her eyes again. "I said, I'm making bread.' I don't remember every word we said."
"Doesn't matter."
"I showed him the icebox light. He said it was the bulb. He'd fix it"
"Did he?"
"Fix it? Yes, I guess he did "
"Did he go down cellar?"
"To get the apples?"
"Yes"
"Yes, he got the apples. Oliver came home. We put the dough together."
Francis thought, Don't let her see the trail. Don't let her see the point. Don't let her realize what she's told me.
"Now!" he said breathlessly, and she tensed. "Did the phone ring?"
"No. No-o."
"Any bell?"
"No."
"Did you—was there a draft?"
"Draft?"
"Current of cold air."
"I don't think so."
"Someone came in the front door?"
"I don't know."
"Might have?"
"If it wasn't locked," she said.
No need to keep on with this any longer. He'd got what he wanted and covered it up enough.