the cup. His eyes warmed. “I love you,” he whispered. “Remember…”
No one could possibly have heard. He turned away. It was several moments before Rue became conscious of Madge’s oddly fixed and thoughtful regard. She looked at Madge, and Madge stared back at her, steadily and inimically. But she couldn’t have heard what Andy said. And suppose she had, what of it? If there was no affection between Rue and Brule, there could, at least, be honesty. But nevertheless that cold stare in Madge’s dark eyes made her uneasy.
They could all hear Alicia’s silken excuses over the telephone. She put it down at last. “She’ll never believe me again,” she observed to no one but so they could all hear it. “I felt perfectly well when I left her house this afternoon — just before I came here — and Winifred Sidney knows it.”
It was said a little too carefully. Brule glanced at her quickly, and Andy said:
“Oh, you came straight on here from Sidneys’?”
Alicia nodded. “I arrived just at the time the thing occurred. I came to see Madge. She hadn’t got home yet, and as I settled down to wait for her I heard something like a scream. So naturally I went to see what had happened. The door to Rue’s room was open. Rue was bending over the nurse. I thought at first, of course, she’d only fainted.”
Andy looked at Rue, and Rue put down her cup. “Yes, I — I think I screamed. And Alicia came in just after Julie died. But I didn’t know Alicia was in the house —”
Alicia continued quite as if Rue had not spoken at all.
“I trust this interest in my doings doesn’t mean that I am suspected of having anything to do with the death of a girl I never even saw before.”
Steven looked up.
“You’ve seen her, Alicia,” he said mildly. “Lots of times. When Crystal was sick.”
The jet-and-white line of Alicia’s eyelids rose and fell once rapidly.
“Oh yes, I suppose I saw her then. But I wouldn’t have remembered the girl. I assure you I didn’t put poison in her tea, if that’s what you mean. Let me have some coffee, Brule.”
“I didn’t mean that, Alicia,” said Steven apologetically. “You know it wasn’t in my thoughts at all.”
“A synthetic poison,” said Brule thoughtfully, pouring coffee for Alicia. “That can mean anything.”
“How can they prove it’s murder?” said Andy hopefully. “They can’t.”
But Brule shook his head. “Those letters, Crystal’s death — now this nurse’s death the instant police inquiry opened about Crystal. No —”
Andy said: “You think yourself that it’s murder. Is that right, Brule?”
“I don’t know what to think,” said Brule. “But I’d like to know exactly who wrote those letters to the police. I want to know because I’d like to ask why.” He said it on the whole rather mildly, looking at a sandwich in his hands. The mildness seemed out of place; then Rue understood it.
He meant that if anyone in that room had written letters to the police, telling them Crystal had been murdered, Brule was giving that person a chance to confess it, to tell him why he’d urged a police investigation.
And there appeared suddenly two corollaries to Brule’s meaning. One was that all the people close to Crystal and to Brule were in that room. And the second corollary was worse. That was, of course, that if Crystal was murdered, if Julie was murdered, then someone close to them all had murdered both women. It had to be someone close to them; casual acquaintances don’t walk up to you and give you poison. And besides, there was opportunity to take into consideration: opportunity and motive.
Murder has to rise from intensely personal and intensely important motives. It is a last and dreadful resort of urgent emergency. Who then had to get rid of Crystal? Who had to kill Julie before Julie could tell the thing that she’d said she knew? And had said that Rue knew also.
But Rue knew nothing: she’d searched her mind and her
No one could possibly have heard. He turned away. It was several moments before Rue became conscious of Madge’s oddly fixed and thoughtful regard. She looked at Madge, and Madge stared back at her, steadily and inimically. But she couldn’t have heard what Andy said. And suppose she had, what of it? If there was no affection between Rue and Brule, there could, at least, be honesty. But nevertheless that cold stare in Madge’s dark eyes made her uneasy.
They could all hear Alicia’s silken excuses over the telephone. She put it down at last. “She’ll never believe me again,” she observed to no one but so they could all hear it. “I felt perfectly well when I left her house this afternoon — just before I came here — and Winifred Sidney knows it.”
It was said a little too carefully. Brule glanced at her quickly, and Andy said:
“Oh, you came straight on here from Sidneys’?”
Alicia nodded. “I arrived just at the time the thing occurred. I came to see Madge. She hadn’t got home yet, and as I settled down to wait for her I heard something like a scream. So naturally I went to see what had happened. The door to Rue’s room was open. Rue was bending over the nurse. I thought at first, of course, she’d only fainted.”
Andy looked at Rue, and Rue put down her cup. “Yes, I — I think I screamed. And Alicia came in just after Julie died. But I didn’t know Alicia was in the house —”
Alicia continued quite as if Rue had not spoken at all.
“I trust this interest in my doings doesn’t mean that I am suspected of having anything to do with the death of a girl I never even saw before.”
Steven looked up.
“You’ve seen her, Alicia,” he said mildly. “Lots of times. When Crystal was sick.”
The jet-and-white line of Alicia’s eyelids rose and fell once rapidly.
“Oh yes, I suppose I saw her then. But I wouldn’t have remembered the girl. I assure you I didn’t put poison in her tea, if that’s what you mean. Let me have some coffee, Brule.”
“I didn’t mean that, Alicia,” said Steven apologetically. “You know it wasn’t in my thoughts at all.”
“A synthetic poison,” said Brule thoughtfully, pouring coffee for Alicia. “That can mean anything.”
“How can they prove it’s murder?” said Andy hopefully. “They can’t.”
But Brule shook his head. “Those letters, Crystal’s death — now this nurse’s death the instant police inquiry opened about Crystal. No —”
Andy said: “You think yourself that it’s murder. Is that right, Brule?”
“I don’t know what to think,” said Brule. “But I’d like to know exactly who wrote those letters to the police. I want to know because I’d like to ask why.” He said it on the whole rather mildly, looking at a sandwich in his hands. The mildness seemed out of place; then Rue understood it.
He meant that if anyone in that room had written letters to the police, telling them Crystal had been murdered, Brule was giving that person a chance to confess it, to tell him why he’d urged a police investigation.
And there appeared suddenly two corollaries to Brule’s meaning. One was that all the people close to Crystal and to Brule were in that room. And the second corollary was worse. That was, of course, that if Crystal was murdered, if Julie was murdered, then someone close to them all had murdered both women. It had to be someone close to them; casual acquaintances don’t walk up to you and give you poison. And besides, there was opportunity to take into consideration: opportunity and motive.
Murder has to rise from intensely personal and intensely important motives. It is a last and dreadful resort of urgent emergency. Who then had to get rid of Crystal? Who had to kill Julie before Julie could tell the thing that she’d said she knew? And had said that Rue knew also.
But Rue knew nothing: she’d searched her mind and her
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