…”
“Where’s Hermione?” Dick asked. “She won’t let you fool around with guns. Any shooting that’s done around here she’ll do.” He seemed aware suddenly of the frozen stillness of their faces. “What’s wrong? What are you looking at me like that for? That gun …” He caught at Seabury. “Something’s happened. I can tell … Is it Hermione? That’s not my gun. I didn’t do it.”
Seabury snapped it up as a dog snaps up a bone. “Didn’t do what, Dick? What is it you didn’t do?”
Jim’s voice was angry and quick. “You can’t question him now. He doesn’t mean anything.…”
“What didn’t you do?” Seabury repeated.
Dick said clearly: “Is it Hermione? What happened? Was she hurt?”
“She’s dead,” Roy said.
Seabury whirled upon him. “I’m going to question Dick and do it in my own way.”
“Look out, Dick!” cried Jim, and caught him as he stumbled forward, his face like chalk, half-fainting, against a chair. He guided Dick into the chair and Dick put his face in his hands with a long, shivering sound like a moan.
Seabury wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Jim said: “We’ll get some coffee into him. He’ll be all right.”
“That’s a good idea.” Roy came to Nonie and took her hand. “The storm has about spent itself. As soon as there’s a lull, I’ll get you out of this. How about going out to the kitchen with Jim and fixing some coffee? It won’t hurt any of us. Seabury and I will do what has to be done.”
He wanted to get her out of the way. He wanted to protect her; it was like Roy. She rose and replied and went with Jim along the hall, to the door at the end that led to a wide, low-ceilinged kitchen, before the small irony struck her. She had wanted to talk to Jim alone and Roy himself had given her the opportunity.
However, she had only a moment alone with Jim, for they searched the house rapidly, thoroughly, at Seabury’s suggestion. They found no one and, again at Seabury’s suggestion, looked through Hermione’s room and her tiny office adjoining the kitchen. “Robbery,” Seabury said, “might have been the motive.”
But nothing was disturbed; the small wall safe was closed, the desk in order.
“What about her jewelry?” Seabury asked.
Jim shook his head. “What she had she kept in the safe.”
“Anybody but Hermione know the combination?”
“I didn’t. If that’s what you mean. I don’t think anybody knew it except Hermione.”
The bubbling coffee sent a warm and homely fragrance over the kitchen. Nonie went to the cupboard and got out cups and a tray. Roy was at the telephone. They could hear his voice. “Hello, Doctor—can you hear me? I am at the Shaw place. Hermione’s been shot …”
Seabury went back into the hall. As Nonie reached for a pad with which to lift the coffee pot, Jim came to her. “Have you told Roy?”
She shook her head. “There wasn’t time. Dick was there and Lydia.”
“You must tell him. It’s only three days.”
Roy said from the doorway. “Jebe’s coming, Nonie. He’ll take you home.”
“Here, I’ll do that.” Jim took the pad from her hand. She lifted the tray with its clinking cups and Jim followed her back into the hall, carrying the steaming coffee. She was aware then of the lull that, as Roy had predicted, had come. With the suddenness of tropical storms, the wind had hurled itself and the rain out to sea. Such a small island for it to cover, she thought; such a small island, so few people, yet murder had come to dwell there, too!
Jim poured coffee. “Drink it, Nonie,” said Roy. “Do you good. Jebe’ll be here in a minute in the station wagon. I’ll be home later.” He turned worriedly to Seabury. “I think it’s safe enough for her on the road in a car, don’t you?”
Seabury nodded tersely. And certainly whoever had crept through the thick, tropical night to shoot Hermione Shaw on her own doorstep would not linger along the roads. “There’s
“Where’s Hermione?” Dick asked. “She won’t let you fool around with guns. Any shooting that’s done around here she’ll do.” He seemed aware suddenly of the frozen stillness of their faces. “What’s wrong? What are you looking at me like that for? That gun …” He caught at Seabury. “Something’s happened. I can tell … Is it Hermione? That’s not my gun. I didn’t do it.”
Seabury snapped it up as a dog snaps up a bone. “Didn’t do what, Dick? What is it you didn’t do?”
Jim’s voice was angry and quick. “You can’t question him now. He doesn’t mean anything.…”
“What didn’t you do?” Seabury repeated.
Dick said clearly: “Is it Hermione? What happened? Was she hurt?”
“She’s dead,” Roy said.
Seabury whirled upon him. “I’m going to question Dick and do it in my own way.”
“Look out, Dick!” cried Jim, and caught him as he stumbled forward, his face like chalk, half-fainting, against a chair. He guided Dick into the chair and Dick put his face in his hands with a long, shivering sound like a moan.
Seabury wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Jim said: “We’ll get some coffee into him. He’ll be all right.”
“That’s a good idea.” Roy came to Nonie and took her hand. “The storm has about spent itself. As soon as there’s a lull, I’ll get you out of this. How about going out to the kitchen with Jim and fixing some coffee? It won’t hurt any of us. Seabury and I will do what has to be done.”
He wanted to get her out of the way. He wanted to protect her; it was like Roy. She rose and replied and went with Jim along the hall, to the door at the end that led to a wide, low-ceilinged kitchen, before the small irony struck her. She had wanted to talk to Jim alone and Roy himself had given her the opportunity.
However, she had only a moment alone with Jim, for they searched the house rapidly, thoroughly, at Seabury’s suggestion. They found no one and, again at Seabury’s suggestion, looked through Hermione’s room and her tiny office adjoining the kitchen. “Robbery,” Seabury said, “might have been the motive.”
But nothing was disturbed; the small wall safe was closed, the desk in order.
“What about her jewelry?” Seabury asked.
Jim shook his head. “What she had she kept in the safe.”
“Anybody but Hermione know the combination?”
“I didn’t. If that’s what you mean. I don’t think anybody knew it except Hermione.”
The bubbling coffee sent a warm and homely fragrance over the kitchen. Nonie went to the cupboard and got out cups and a tray. Roy was at the telephone. They could hear his voice. “Hello, Doctor—can you hear me? I am at the Shaw place. Hermione’s been shot …”
Seabury went back into the hall. As Nonie reached for a pad with which to lift the coffee pot, Jim came to her. “Have you told Roy?”
She shook her head. “There wasn’t time. Dick was there and Lydia.”
“You must tell him. It’s only three days.”
Roy said from the doorway. “Jebe’s coming, Nonie. He’ll take you home.”
“Here, I’ll do that.” Jim took the pad from her hand. She lifted the tray with its clinking cups and Jim followed her back into the hall, carrying the steaming coffee. She was aware then of the lull that, as Roy had predicted, had come. With the suddenness of tropical storms, the wind had hurled itself and the rain out to sea. Such a small island for it to cover, she thought; such a small island, so few people, yet murder had come to dwell there, too!
Jim poured coffee. “Drink it, Nonie,” said Roy. “Do you good. Jebe’ll be here in a minute in the station wagon. I’ll be home later.” He turned worriedly to Seabury. “I think it’s safe enough for her on the road in a car, don’t you?”
Seabury nodded tersely. And certainly whoever had crept through the thick, tropical night to shoot Hermione Shaw on her own doorstep would not linger along the roads. “There’s
Similar Books
