by asking: "Has Mr.
McFadden left for work already? I realize it's rather early to come
calling, but we have good reason."
"Yes, he left a few minutes ago," Frances said, rising from her
seat by the window. "I believe we should still have some hot
coffee. Would you like some? And shall we all sit at the
table?"
I glanced at Michael, eager to have him gone. My motives were
perhaps not as pure as one might have wished; whether he knew that
or not, he did take the hint.
"I've heard," Michael said in his most suave manner, which is
suave indeed, "that your husband has one of the finest libraries in
the City. I am a connoisseur of books. If I might examine the
library, while you ladies talk . . . ?"
"Of course]" Frances agreed with alacrity, "Though where you can
have heard such a thing I cannot imagine. Jeremy is far from a
scholar. I believe he purchased the books from someone's discarded
library, merely to fill his shelves."
"Precisely," said Michael, "from a great manor house in Ireland
that was torn down, or so I've heard. And I would dearly love to
examine these books."
I wondered if this was true, as Michael is perfectly capable of
making such a thing up on the spur of the moment. In any event,
Cora was summoned-and appeared so quickly that she must have been
listening right outside the door--and was dispatched to show
Michael to the library and to bring coffee to us all.
Frances resumed her seat by the window, and I took the one
nearest, perching on the edge of the seat. I was too excited to
relax; anyway the chair was rather farther away than I would have
preferred, but too heavy to move. After taking a moment to compose
myself I inquired: "Did you see this morning's paper?"
She shook her head. "Of course not. Mr. McFadden belongs to the
old school and doesn't want his wife reading newspapers. But I can
guess why you're here. She's been found, hasn't she?"
I nodded wordlessly while watching my friend with care and some
amazement. She, who had been so upset three days previously, was
now far calmer than I. She made no query or comment about my not
having called the police that fateful day. She seemed almost . . .
illuminated. Transfixed. As if she were the one who had died and
was on her way to heaven.
"Who was it?" she asked.
"I'm sure they don't know yet; there has scarcely been
time!"
"No, I mean who was it that found her?"
"Oh. It was Patrick. His last name, I learned from the
newspaper, is Rule."
Now it was Frances's turn to nod without saying anything.
"Thank goodness," I said fervently, "Mrs. Locke had a seance
scheduled for yesterday evening, or she might be lying in that
bedroom yet. Frances, I simply could not bring myself to report it.
I hope you understand."
She gave a barely perceptible nod.
I went on: "Three days for the body to be found-I thought I
should go mad with the waiting!"
Frances darted her eyes to the doorway and visibly stiffened her
spine, which I took for a warning, and sure enough Cora came
through with a tray of coffee. "We'll serve ourselves," Frances
told the maid. "Just leave the tray on the table."
Cora raised her eyebrows and nodded her head once in a skeptical
manner, as if to say, I know what you're about. But
she left the room. And a few moments later, when I wandered over
with a steaming cup of coffee in my hand, on the pretense of
looking at apicture by the door, I found that she had taken the
hint and disappeared entirely.
"Now, Fremont," Frances prompted as we resumed our seats with
cups and saucers balanced on our knees, like ladies at a tea party,
"you were saying?"
"I was saying that I found the waiting difficult, considering
what we knew. I must say, you appear remarkably serene in the
circumstances, Frances."
"I am receiving help," she said, and two spots of pink bloomed
beneath her cheekbones. "It is a great comfort to me, though it
comes from a . . . you might say, a far and lonely place."
"I beg your pardon?" I paused with the cup partway to
McFadden left for work already? I realize it's rather early to come
calling, but we have good reason."
"Yes, he left a few minutes ago," Frances said, rising from her
seat by the window. "I believe we should still have some hot
coffee. Would you like some? And shall we all sit at the
table?"
I glanced at Michael, eager to have him gone. My motives were
perhaps not as pure as one might have wished; whether he knew that
or not, he did take the hint.
"I've heard," Michael said in his most suave manner, which is
suave indeed, "that your husband has one of the finest libraries in
the City. I am a connoisseur of books. If I might examine the
library, while you ladies talk . . . ?"
"Of course]" Frances agreed with alacrity, "Though where you can
have heard such a thing I cannot imagine. Jeremy is far from a
scholar. I believe he purchased the books from someone's discarded
library, merely to fill his shelves."
"Precisely," said Michael, "from a great manor house in Ireland
that was torn down, or so I've heard. And I would dearly love to
examine these books."
I wondered if this was true, as Michael is perfectly capable of
making such a thing up on the spur of the moment. In any event,
Cora was summoned-and appeared so quickly that she must have been
listening right outside the door--and was dispatched to show
Michael to the library and to bring coffee to us all.
Frances resumed her seat by the window, and I took the one
nearest, perching on the edge of the seat. I was too excited to
relax; anyway the chair was rather farther away than I would have
preferred, but too heavy to move. After taking a moment to compose
myself I inquired: "Did you see this morning's paper?"
She shook her head. "Of course not. Mr. McFadden belongs to the
old school and doesn't want his wife reading newspapers. But I can
guess why you're here. She's been found, hasn't she?"
I nodded wordlessly while watching my friend with care and some
amazement. She, who had been so upset three days previously, was
now far calmer than I. She made no query or comment about my not
having called the police that fateful day. She seemed almost . . .
illuminated. Transfixed. As if she were the one who had died and
was on her way to heaven.
"Who was it?" she asked.
"I'm sure they don't know yet; there has scarcely been
time!"
"No, I mean who was it that found her?"
"Oh. It was Patrick. His last name, I learned from the
newspaper, is Rule."
Now it was Frances's turn to nod without saying anything.
"Thank goodness," I said fervently, "Mrs. Locke had a seance
scheduled for yesterday evening, or she might be lying in that
bedroom yet. Frances, I simply could not bring myself to report it.
I hope you understand."
She gave a barely perceptible nod.
I went on: "Three days for the body to be found-I thought I
should go mad with the waiting!"
Frances darted her eyes to the doorway and visibly stiffened her
spine, which I took for a warning, and sure enough Cora came
through with a tray of coffee. "We'll serve ourselves," Frances
told the maid. "Just leave the tray on the table."
Cora raised her eyebrows and nodded her head once in a skeptical
manner, as if to say, I know what you're about. But
she left the room. And a few moments later, when I wandered over
with a steaming cup of coffee in my hand, on the pretense of
looking at apicture by the door, I found that she had taken the
hint and disappeared entirely.
"Now, Fremont," Frances prompted as we resumed our seats with
cups and saucers balanced on our knees, like ladies at a tea party,
"you were saying?"
"I was saying that I found the waiting difficult, considering
what we knew. I must say, you appear remarkably serene in the
circumstances, Frances."
"I am receiving help," she said, and two spots of pink bloomed
beneath her cheekbones. "It is a great comfort to me, though it
comes from a . . . you might say, a far and lonely place."
"I beg your pardon?" I paused with the cup partway to
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