The Case of the Weird Sisters Page 20

  She shook her head.

  "After that," said Duff, ''you tried a fourth time to kill your brother Innes. But he's safe."

  He took the aspirin bottie from his pocket and shook it, lightly. "The poisoned pill's in here," he said. He put the bottle down on the bedside table.

  Gertrude said, with a ghostly indignation, forceless, perfunctory, "Mr. Duff, you realize you are speaking of my sister?"

  "Yes," said Duff, "to your sister, who is a murderess. Miss Whitiock. Because you are blind and Maud could hear. Therefore, I know. Understand, Miss Isabel? I am sure. Your sister Maud could hear. She heard and she was curious, and so she died."

  Isabel said, "Maud! MaudI"

  "Alice," said Duff quietly.

  Alice found her voice a little one, weak, in the back of her throat. "Pm here," she said, sounding meek and childish. "I'm still here."

  Isabel's one hand clutched the footboard, and she leaned on that arm.

  "It reaUy doesn't matter," Duffs voice went on, dreamy again. "No, it really doesn't matter that you got the wrong person. You killed her. You moved the chest and you put out the lights. Coming along the hall in the dark, one would grope for the door one knew came just beyond that chest. This door. But it wasn't this door. Oh yes, you are guilty.

  "Why, Miss Isabel? Why did you do it? Because you couldn't let go? You thought you were going to get a quarter of a million, roughly. And you couldn't let it go. Not for enough to keep you in comfort for the rest of your life. Not for anything less. You never took your losses, did you? And your gains are no good, either. Because nothing is ever enough. There must be more and more, until you lose everything. Strange you couldn't see how inevitably you'd lose it all."

  Isabel said!, "I never meant anything. I never meant anything at all. I. . . Somebody else must have moved the chest . . ."

  "No," said Duff.

  "But I . . ."

  "You had the key to the old porch door. You had a thousand keys."

  "But I . . ."

  "You kept things," said Duff.

  "I only called Alice because I. . ."

  "No," said Duff.

  "I was worried about Innes."

  "To be sure, you had to know that he hadn't got the poisoned pill yet."

  "She felt my pulse," said Fred.

  "Yes," said Duff. "You see?"

  "But I . . ."

  Alice, on the edge of the bed with Fred's arm around her, saw the queer eyes lick out, this way and that, for an opening. Saw her find it.

  Gertrude was as white as death in her chair, and her sightless eyes were closed. She moaned. The sound called Duff. The light went with him, brightening that comer and letting shadow fall on the rest.

  Isabel picked up the aspirin bottle.

  Fred jumped, but Alice's dead weight followed him and entangled him.

  The ghastliest sight she ever saw, thought Alice, was Isabel, in the half-dark, shaking the aspirin bottle into her open mouth with her only hand.

  Fred said, "Well, she got it. It was poison, ail right."

  Duff looked down.

  "What is justice?" he said, "I don't know, do you? Perhaps they'd call her mad."

  "I guess this is justice," Fred said grimly, "or a facsimile of same."

  Art Killeen came charging in. "Alice. Alice, I thought ... I thought. . ."

  "Did you think it was me?" she said without much emotion. "How funny! I thought it was you." He looked at her and shook his head, puzzled, without comprehension. ''No percentage," said Alice.

  "Look out," cried Fred. "Put her head down."

  When Alice, lying on the bed, heard a woman scream, she felt scarcely able to take an interest. She turned her head, idly. Women were always screaming, and this was only Susan Innes, shocked, in the door.

  "I saw the lights ... I had come . . . Oh, Mr. Duff, what happened?"

  But Gertrude answered. The straw-colored woman, brittle and shining and weak, like straw. Her voice was clear, and the bell tones were sad. She held herself stiffly, and the syllables tinkled mourning. "Poor Maud," she said. "Poor, poor Isabel. Oh, Susan, there has been a dreadful tragedy. Isabel moved the chest in the hall. And poor Maud was deceived in the dark. Maud fell out the old porch door. She's dead. And Isabel"—Gertrude's face was frozen—"Isabel, in her remorse . . ." the voice was cool . . . "over the accident. . ." said Gertrude.

  "Oh, my dear!"

  "Yes, I shall be alone," said Gertrude. "Well, I shall never be a burden." She stood up and moved lq her uncanny way. She went out the door and down the hall. She paused at the open outer door, the one that led to nothing.

  But she went on. The feet found the stairs easily in the dark.

  "So that's her version," muttered Fred.

  "Forever," said Duff sadly.

  Killeen was stroking Alice's hair. "Be quiet. Just rest."

  "Where's everybody?"

  "You're in your own room. They're . . . attending to things. Darling . . ."

  "I wish you'd get over that," said Alice crossly. "Where's Mr. Duff? Where's Fred?" It was as if she'd said, "Where are my friends?"

  Innes was calling, somewhere.

  "Hadn't you better trot?" said Alice. "Don't you hear him calling you?"

  He said, "Good-by, darling."

  "But she is blind," Fred said, later, "physically bhnd, I mean?"

  It was nearly morning. The doctor was in the house. He had looked at the dead and comforted the living. He was with Gertrude now. Duff and Fred had come to Ahce's room. They were all three sitting in a row on the bed.

  "Yes, I'm sure of it," Duff said. "She knew you m the dark, Fred. When Isabel didn't. How do the blind recognize people? They do, you know. With all their other senses. Somehow, and we who can see are never sure quite how, they can tell one of us from another. The dark was no barrier to her. She knew you. And she knew Alice was there too."

  "She passed the pillbox test," said Alice.

  "Yes. She did."

  "But Maud was a fraud," Fred grinned. "Hey, that's a rhyme. Must I speak of the dead nothing but good?"

  "Not these dead," said Alice grimly. "Go on. Maud was a fraud. But how did that prove it was Isabel?"

  Duff drew his algebra problem out of his pocket. "A stands for attempt, b for blind, c for crippled, d for deaf. And things equal to the same thing are equal to each other. Therefore, when three of you identified the same sound as the sound you'd each heard separately, it was the same sound, all along."

  "And that told you Isabel did everything?"

  "Say it confirmed me in my suspicion," said Duff. "Isabel fitted. Yes, it told me I was right. It checked. If Maud could hear, and if Gertrude was blind, then Isabel was the active murderess. Because if Gertrude was really blind she could have been fooled by the witch hazel and a bedroom slipper. And that's how the stain came off Isabel's arm. And if Maud could hear, why, she rested her alibi for Isabel on what she heard, of course. She really thought Isabel had gone through her room at about eleven. Why? Not necessarily because she had noticed the clock. Maud was never time-conscious."

  "Just mealtimes," said Fred.

  187

  "But I had said to Alice that Susan put the time of her call at eleven. Maud heard me, do you see? And Maud heard the phone. Or, if she didn't, still she heard us say that Isabel had come upstairs immediately after the phone call, the phone call was at eleven . . . She rested her evidence on hearsay."

  "When do you think the telephone really rang?"

  "Qose to twelve," said Duff. "When Fred was in the bathroom. Isabel had been downstairs the whole time. In the cellar at work, perhaps soon after eleven thirty. She answered the phone. She got Gertrude to wash her arm. She came upstairs, triumphant. She went through Maud's room to avoid Fred. Maud would never notice the time, thought she. Anyhow, what did the time matter? Isabel didn't know that Alice knew or noticed heat still coming up at eleven fifteen. Isabel wasn't so very clever. After all, she never got her victim, though she tried four times. She never got her
prize. She murdered the wrong person. And she had to die her way out of it."

  "But I still . . . What does this mean?" Alice picked up the piece of paper.

  "It told me that Isabel had made the first two attempts. Without doubt. It convinced me that she had also made the third. Therefore, it prepared me to beUeve that, whatever might be done tonight, Isabel would do it. And I was frightened for you, Alice. Because she, alone, of the three would rather kill you and Innes both than give up the fortune she had begun to think of as hers. Gertrude had enough with the allowance. She would have her particular brand of prestige, the thing she'd buy. Maud, too, had what she wanted. You can buy only so much candy, so many peanuts. The love of things, you see, is the root. Isabel loved things, just to pK>ssess them, and there are never enough things, as I told her." Duff fell silent.

  "But how did it tell you?" insisted Alice.

  "Look. Attempt nmnber one. The falling lamp. Not Maud. That we knew. Maud was in the parlor whether she was deaf or not. Fortunately, we had that double check on Maud for attempt number one. Now, suppose Gertrude dropped the lamp and made the httle sound. Then, when we come to number two, we see that it must also have been Gertrude, and it wasn't. Why must Gertrude have done

  both, if she did the first? Because Maud and Isabel both had something wrong with their voices. No range. No control. No flexibility. Neither could have imitated that sound. Either of them could have made it, understand, but not copied it from hearing Gertrude make it. So, if Gertrude dropped the lamp she also did everything else. But she couldn't have gone down the road and moved the detour sign. That leaves Isabel. Number one. Isabel. Dear?"

  "O.K. Go ahead."

  "Attempt number two, the sign moved. The car cracked up. Not Gertrude but—see, children—not Maud either. Because Maud didn't do number one, and therefore would have had to imitate Isabel. And she couldn't Therefore, attempt number two was made by Isabel."

  "Just what I said," said Alice.

  "Go on," said Fred.

  "Attempt number X. The poisoned pill. Same as number two."

  "Is it?"

  "Exactly."

  "But Gertrude could have felt those ridges on the blue bottle," said Alice.

  "How could she teU which smooth bottle held the phenobarbital? It has no odor."

  "Oh."

  "Not Gertrude. Not Maud, because she stiU can't imitate."

  "Yes, I see. Go on."

  "Attempt number three. The coal gas and the dampers. Now if one and two were done by Isabel, number three can't be Maud either. She still can't imitate that sound."

  "Gertrude could."

  "Yes, Gertrude could. Gertrude had a flexible voice. She had keen ears. She might have done so. The only trouble is," said Duff, "why would Gertrude, who sleeps on the first floor, come upstairs outside of Alice's door in the middle of the night, having done a crinunal deed, having completed it, having nothing further to do up here that would lead to its success—why, I say, would she come up here and laugh? Just to laugh? Just to make the little sound? The imitated soimd? Why? To incriminate Isabel? Did she know Alice was awake to hear it? If so, how? Did she know it had been heard before? If so, how? People don't often do things for no reason at all. There wasn't even a wrong reason.

  "So I was convinced that it must have been Isabel, herself, going by your door soon after twelve. So, you see, I had to figure out why Maud gave her an alibi.

  ''It became plain that Maud could have done so, honestly, only if she could hear. If she heard our mistake. Her clock was accurate. Would Maud alibi her sister just for loyalty's sake?"

  "No," said Fred.

  "I thought not, myself. So I couldn't disregard Isabel's alibi as a plain lie by Maud. A good chance she was honest How, then, could she have been mistaken? If she gave the time by hearsay. She did give us the time by hearsay. Must have. You see now?" He crumpled up the paper.

  "Yeah," said Fred slowly.

  "You always thought it was Isabel by intuition. ... I mean, by the other way?"

  "Isabel scarcely let her right eye know what her left eye was doing," said Duff.

  "Well, Gertrude survives. What's the moral?"

  "The moral is," said Fred, "you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your relatives."

  "The moral is . . . Never mind," said Alice. "It's all over."

  Duff said with a light in his eyes, "So it is. I am going down and talk to Mr. Johnson."

  "Good morning, Alice." Innes smiled at her with sheepish cheer from his pillows in Papa's bed. He reached for her hand, and she let him have it. After all, he was still alive and deserved congratulations.

  "My dear," he said, "you look lovely. You're such a lovely person, Alice. You never meant to break our engagement, did you? I thought over what you said. I think you were simply being terribly honest." His eyes appealed to her. "But now, when we've been through so much together, I feel I know you better than ever and need you more. And you wouldn't leave me. Alice . . ."

  "No," said Alice kindly. "No, please. I'm sorry. You'd better change that awful will. Innes, I was going to marry

  you for your money, but now I don't want the money. Please change it, Innes. Because I'm not going to marry you. Really I'm not. I just don't want to."

  Innes closed his eyes in pain. "I thought, when we'd been through so much . . . Alice, how can you leave me now?"

  Because you're a whining, weak, silly man, thought Alice. "Oh," she said aloud, ''you'U get over it, Innes. And I'd like to resign as your secretary, too."

  He looked at her, incredulously, she thought. Or was it timidly? Or was it suspiciously? Was there a sly fear?

  She marched to the door and flung it open. Somebody must hear this. There was only Fred, coming out of the bathroom with his hair wet and slicked down.

  "Come in here, Fred."

  Fred came in.

  "I want you to be a witness," said Alice loudly. "I have just told Mr. Whitlock that I won't marry him. I am breaking the engagement. If I ever been a suit for breach of promise, you can teU about this. Also, I quit my job. There."

  "Alice," said Innes pitifully.

  But she left the room.

  "Anything you want, Mr. Whitlock?" said Fred, respectfully.

  "Nothing," said Innes. "Nothing . . . nothing . . ." He blew a little breath through pursed lips, and it puffed his cheeks out. They collapsed with a sigh.

  Alice heard Fred coming after her as she ran downstairs. He caught her at the bottom.

  "What do you mean, you quit your job?" he said fiercely. "Are you nuts?"

  "I guess so," she said.

  He was very angry. "Are you going to get married? Is that it?"

  "I hadn't thought of it," said Alice, "but I'd like to."

  Fred shook her. "To that Killeen? That's it, isn't it?"

  "Uh uh," she said, shaking her head as if her tongue was tied.

  "Then what's this about getting married?"

  "You started it."

  "Look," said Fred, "if they won't take me in the Army,

  I'm still a darned good mechanic. I can get a job . .." "You're wonderful," said Alice and closed her eyes. "We're crazy," said Fred. Then furiously, "You don't want to marry me!" "I do, too," said Alice.

  Diiff looked dreamily over the sunken pit. "Your grandfather," he said, "was he a chief?" Mr. Johnson spat. "Or a medicine man?" "Naw."

  "What did he do?"

  "Lived aroimd here," said Mr. Johnson. "Then he died."

  "Sums up most of us," Duff said provocatively.

  "Sure," said Mr. Johnson.

  Duff sighed. The mystery was as thick as ever.

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