Naturally, all that day I was like a hound on a leash about the hypodermic and still had to wait, what with the police there, to say nothing of Maud, Alexia and Nicky, and the maids cleaning the rooms.
Craig’s condition was good, so far as the wound went; but there was a kind of nervous, fine-drawn look about his mouth and eyes. He said little but lay there, watching the door.
The police did not question Drue again that morning; she told me that when I went, about eleven, to her room. She was very pale and there were faint blue marks under her eyes. She wore a fresh white uniform like a signal of defiance and had touched her mouth with lipstick and brushed her soft, shining curls upward with a clean, childish sweep from her temples, but she could not hide the look in her dark gray eyes. We talked until I had to go back to Craig, but without any real or helpful conclusion.
She asked about Craig and some of the shadow in her eyes seemed to lessen when I told her he was better. She sent no message, however.
About one-thirty, Soper came to tell Craig there was to be an inquest that afternoon and to ask him if he knew a Frederic Miller.
“Inquest?” cried Craig. “Look here, Miss Cable ought to have a lawyer’s advice before…”
“It’s only a formality,” snapped Soper looking sulky. “She’s not to be asked to testify now. The doctor’s the only necessary witness just now. And Nugent. What I’d like you to tell me now is, who is Frederic Miller? Your father has given him checks totaling fifteen thousand dollars in the last two years. You must know…”
“But I don’t! There’s nobody… See here, I don’t understand!”
“Never heard the name before?” The District Attorney’s eyes were little and suspicious.
“Never! And I don’t think my father knew anybody by that name!” Craig looked honestly perplexed. “Did you ask Alexia-Mrs. Brent?”
“Certainly. She knew nothing of it either. Haven’t any idea who it was that struck you that night?” His eyes were on the bandage still on Craig’s temple.
“No.”
“Are you sure it was anybody? You could have fallen.”
“But I didn’t,” said Craig. “I was in the hall. Somebody hit me and dragged me into the linen room. So it must have been a man.”
“Not at all. A woman could have done it easily. Good morning,” said the District Attorney and went away looking remarkably like a stuffed frog.
And as he left Nicky came. I remained, in spite of the look Nicky gave me, which plainly invited me to leave. He was still limping a little.
“Hurt your foot, Nick?” said Craig and Nicky said, “Someone dropped a flashlight on it, in the rucku? the other night. Accidentally, I hope,” and glanced at me and lowered his silky eyelashes so there was only a half-hidden but definitely malicious gleam back of them. I looked blank, as if I’d never heard of a flashlight and Nicky said, “Craig, look here. Oughtn’t we to do something?”
“Do something?”
“I mean-well, murder’s murder. There’s either a motive or it’s a question of a-a homicidal maniac. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and that’s my conclusion.”
“It’s in the hands of the police,” said Craig. “They’ll do everything they can.”
“But, Craig,” said Nicky, leaning forward suddenly, his pointed elegant face jutting into the light, “do you know who did it?”
“No,” said Craig. And added as bluntly, “Do you?”
“N-no,” said Nicky slowly. “That is-of course the police think it was Drue.”
“Thanks to your evidence against her.”
“I didn’t tell them everything I could have told them,” said Nicky slowly and in a curiously tentative way.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh. Their conversation, for instance. Conrad’s, I mean, and Drue’s, just before he died.”
Craig’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? I suppose you listened.”
Nicky shrugged; it was again tentative, only half-assenting.
“Well,” said Craig, “what did you hear?”
If the library door had been closed, I didn’t think he had heard anything, for it was extraordinarily thick and solid. Still, it might not have been quite closed. Certainly Nicky’s handsome face looked extraordinarily disingenuous, almost, indeed, naive.
Naive like a rattlesnake, I thought abruptly. And listened.
Nicky hesitated then lifted his elegantly squared and tailored shoulders again. “Think it over, Craig,” he said.
“You didn’t hear anything,” said Craig. “And if you did, it’s nothing to me.”
“Drue is nothing to you?” said Nicky softly.
“You heard me.”
Nicky’s bland face changed a little; his cruel lower lip protruded. He got up. “I see it’s no use to talk to you, Craig. Oh, by the way, your divorce is still in good standing, I presume?”
Craig’s straight, dark eyebrows made a line across his face. “What do you mean exactly?”
“Oh, nothing,” said Nicky airily. “Except Drue is in circulation again. Prettier than ever. I’d forgotten”-he stopped, laughed a little and said-“well, no-not quite forgotten. After all, she did leave you once and I daresay you remember why. So if she is absolutely free…”
Craig said shortly, “Drue is perfectly free. As you know, Nicky. Now get out.”
When he’d gone, somewhat hurriedly, Craig lay for a long time looking at nothing, with a very grim expression.
Late in the afternoon Alexia came. She looked very beautiful and not at all like a recently bereaved widow, in a handsome tea-gownish dress, emerald green and trailing. It seemed to me that Craig’s jaw set itself a little rigidly when he looked at her, but he promptly sent me away, which I must say was rather disappointing.
Drue was sitting at the writing table when I reached her room but wasn’t writing. Sir Francis lay like a little brown muff on the table beside her, his head on her arm.
“Sit down, Sarah. What happened? Did Dr. Chivery drive you away again?”
“Alexia, this time,” I said a little grimly.
“Oh, Alexia.” Her eyelids went down and she patted the little dog’s vigilant head. And said suddenly, looking at the dog, her voice quite clear but completely without expression, “He’s in love with her, you know. I suppose now-after a decent interval-they’ll marry.”
Well, if Alexia had anything to say about it, it was more likely to be an indecent interval. I repressed my evil nature to the extent of not saying it, and she went on, “I was wrong about everything. I thought if I saw Craig again-but I was wrong.”
I said, energetically if ambiguously, “Nonsense.”
“No. It isn’t nonsense. You see, I know. He’s still in love with her, Sarah. Nicky says so. Besides I-know…” She took up a pen and traced a circle with it slowly. “I’d better tell you, Sarah. I think that’s what started everything. Alexia and Craig, I mean. You see-Alexia was in the garden with Craig a few minutes before he was shot. Nicky told me. And I think”-mindful of the trooper outside her door, she whispered-“I think Conrad shot him.”
“Shot Craig!”
“Sh. He’ll hear you.”
“But-you mean Conrad was jealous?”
“Conrad made a kind of fetish of being old-fashioned,” she said slowly. “And he was in love with Alexia.”
“If his father shot Craig in a fit of jealousy and Craig knew it, he wouldn’t tell-that’s true.” I was struck by a sudden memory. “Was that why you told Conrad you had found his revolver in the garden?”
“Yes. I knew it was his revolver; at least I knew he had one. And I knew him. I didn’t know what had happened-I don’t really know now. But I thought-you see, I was afraid. For Craig. If his father had shot him in a fit of jealousy, I wanted him to realize, the horrible thing he’d done. Everyone else, I knew-Craig himself, and Claud and anybody else who knew or guessed the truth,-would try to cover it. Conrad was defiant; he said I couldn’t have found it where I did find it. He said I was trying to blackmail him into letting me stay. But I wasn’t-I really wasn’t, Sarah. I never thought of it.”