Odor of Violets Page 11

  “There’s no place to hide,” said Gil. “At least not with that wardrobe down on the floor.”

  “Ah!” The Captain reached down for Schnucke’s brace. “That’s what I wanted to know. Forward, Schnucke!” He followed her cautious course through the rows of machinery.

  The wardrobe had been turned up on one side, but its spilled-out contents lay strewn about on the floor.

  “Norma lay right here.” Cheli hesitated, then finally took the Captain’s hand. “Her head was here—her feet here. She was pinned down helplessly.”

  The Captain gave a few quick pats to the floor, then straightened up without comment and ran his fingers along the length of the fallen wardrobe. Schnucke watched him with a disapproving eye.

  “Norma must have been trapped in the corner,” Gil pondered aloud. “The forge was right behind her and when that wardrobe fell she couldn’t get out of its way.”

  “If she wasn’t hunting for somebody in here—why did she go near it?” asked Maclain.

  “I don’t see why she went near it anyhow.” Gil stared down at the mess of type and metal on the ground. “Most women would be scared stiff if they thought someone was hiding back of that thing.”

  “Unless,” Maclain suggested quietly, “it was someone she wasn’t afraid of—someone she knew.”

  “That’s it exactly, Captain,” said Cheli. “Norma told me she thought Bella, the housemaid, was down here raiding the storeroom. I hadn’t thought of it before.”

  “Good,” Maclain exclaimed. “I’ll talk with the girl.” He turned quickly to Gil. “Mr. Tredwill, what valuable plans are you keeping down here now?”

  “None.” Gil hesitated, then went on, “That is, none outside. The ones I have completed are in the safe—”

  “They were there night before last,” said Gil. “But it won’t take a moment to look and see.”

  He hurried off toward the drafting room. Cheli and the Captain followed more slowly. Maclain heard the turn of a combination and the clink of an opening safe door.

  “They’re all here.” Gil spoke with relief. “If anything happened to these—”

  “Quite,” said Captain Maclain. He held out his hands. “Before you return them, do you object to having them examined by me?”

  “But there’s nothing you can—” Gil left his statement unfinished.

  “No, Mr. Tredwill—nothing I can see.” The Captain snapped the rubber bands from the rolled-up sheets of Bristol board and spread them out on the drafting table in a pile.

  He found a heavy paperweight and placed it on one side of the sheets to flatten the springy curl. The other side he held down with his left hand.

  “Have you a piece of waste and some gasoline?” He extended his right hand, palm up. “I’m afraid my fingers aren’t very clean.”

  “They’re not,” said Cheli.

  “Right beside you, Cheli.” Gil pointed. “In the workbench drawer. Moisten it with some gasoline from that copper oilcan.”

  Cheli found the waste, moistened it, and wiped the Captain’s fingers clean.

  “You’ve wonderful hands,” she told him.

  “I’m fond of them myself,” he said, with a smile which brought out the humor in his sensitive features. “They’ve been very good friends to me.”

  He sobered instantly. For twenty minutes his fingers roamed swiftly over the Bristol board, front and back. One by one he lifted the sheets from the pile, rerolled them, and fastened them with a rubber band.

  Finally he lighted a cigarette, secured it more firmly in his holder, and drew a circle of smoke in the air. “What did you do with the tracings, Mr. Tredwill?”

  “There haven’t been any tracings,” said Gil.

  “Maybe not by you,” said Duncan Maclain. “I think we’d better go up. Somebody’s been eavesdropping on the basement stairs, but there’s no use running out. They’ve gone.” He picked up one of the rolls and held it to his nose. “I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Tredwill. I’m afraid your plans all smell of gasoline.”

  CHAPTER XIV

  NORMA STIRRED against the softness of her pillows. A weight was pressing down on the covers, binding them unpleasantly about her. She laughed when she recognized that the pressing weight was her untouched dinner tray. The laugh had a ring of hysteria.

  Each piece of familiar furniture in her bedroom stood out harsh and unnatural, with deep, clearetched lines. Usually they blended into a harmonious picture, comforting and secure. Now they clashed—had clashed all day. Dr. Trotter’s so-called sedative had made her bed and bureau ugly; had given her a daytime nightmare of resting in the window of a secondhand furniture store.

  She reached out beside her and rang for Pierce, then closed her eyes and lay motionless until the butler’s knock aroused her. He came in and said, “Perhaps I’d better call Dr. Trotter again, madam,” when he looked at the tray. “Or can I get you something else? You’ve had nothing but tea all day.”

  “I’ll be all right, Pierce, if they’ll let me alone. Is there any word from Babs?”

  “Nothing, madam.” He started out with the tray.

  “Pierce.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “This blind man, Captain Maclain? Thaddeus said he wanted to talk to me.”

  “It can wait, madam. It’s nothing important, I’m sure.”

  “He’s a detective, isn’t he?”

  “I believe so, Mrs. Tredwill. He has two dogs with him—one which guides him and another one called Dreist.”

  “You’ve fed them, haven’t you?”

  “They’re being taken care of by Cappo, the Captain’s colored chauffeur.” The butler moved toward the door.

  “Pierce.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “I’ve decided to see him now. That interview’s worrying me. Ask him to come up, please.”

  “Alone, madam?”

  “Yes, alone.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Tredwill. Just as you say.”

  Norma stopped him again at the door. “Before I talk to Captain Maclain, Pierce, there’s something I’d like to know.”

  The butler waited expectantly.

  Norma pulled her negligee closer about her shoulders. The unconscious movement sent a twinge of sharp pain up her injured arm.

  “Pierce, do you think anyone could have gotten into this house last night or after I left here yesterday?”

  “I don’t know about yesterday, madam. The servants and I were in Hartford all afternoon. Miss Scott said we might go. Dominick drove us in in the big car. Bella was the only one here—she stayed to fix supper for Miss Scott. I hope you don’t mind, madam. We had some shopping to do.” Pierce shifted the weight of the tray.

  “Not at all, Pierce. Go ahead and ask Captain Maclain to see me.”

  “Yes, madam. As to anyone getting in here last night—frankly, madam, I don’t know.”

  “Where is Bella now, Pierce?”

  “She’s lying down, madam. The police questioned her this morning and she’s had a headache all day. I sent her to her room.”

  “She’s a little too inquisitive, Pierce—and a little too fond of the Tredwill jam.”

  “I’ll speak to her, madam.” He went out and softly closed the door.

  Norma settled herself more comfortably and stared at the patterned wallpaper close to the ceiling. There was no point to involving herself and Babs in Paul’s murder. Some man had already confessed. Babs was bound to learn about it shortly and reappear with some plausible explanation as to why she went away.

  It was better to talk with Captain Maclain immediately and avoid any suspicion of reticence. She had managed, so far, to keep her trip to New York a secret. It was true Thad had learned from Stacy about Babs’s appointment for dinner. But Norma had no intention of saying more; of breaking down the last doubt which Thad could cling to—a comforting doubt that Barbara had kept her date with Paul. If it was possible to fool the police and her husband’s family, Norma reflected, she certainly had nothing to fear from this
blind man, Captain Maclain.

  Her voice was determined and free of worry when she called “Come in!” to his knock. The dog came first, a beautiful German shepherd with lolling tongue. The Captain followed and paused just inside the door.

  “Mrs. Tredwill?”

  “Yes.” Norma stopped, touched with self-consciousness, wondering if she should direct him to a chair. The dog saved her the embarrassment by guiding Maclain directly to one near the bedside.

  “I’m Duncan Maclain.” He touched the chair with a movement almost too swift to follow, found it free of encumbrances, and sat down. “And this is Schnucke.” The German shepherd acknowledged mention with a friendly wag of her tail.

  Norma was silent, lost in the fascination of watching the Captain smile. Somehow she had formed an idea that blind men moved clumsily, and were generally shoddy. Duncan Maclain, quick and at ease, fitted the picture not at all.

  His evening clothes were faultless. The neatness of his crisp black hair, and the insouciant touch to his white tie, attested to his chauffeur’s additional skill as a valet.

  Nothing overshadowed his smile. It brought his face to life with a striking animation which called for response. Caught by its charm, Norma realized that most people wore masks through life. Maclain’s features spoke, showing character and pleasure, thought and ability, warming her with their pleasant glow.

  “You wanted to talk with me, I believe,” Norma began. “I’ll be glad to tell you all I can.”

  “That’s awfully kind of you. I’m up here trying to help Mr. Tredwill locate his daughter. I’m wondering if her disappearance had any bearing on what happened to you.”

  “To me?” she parried. Her trip to New York was uppermost in her thoughts. How much did this man know?

  One of Maclain’s long fingers reached down to touch the dog beside him. Norma watched it, wondering if he’d noticed perturbation in her tone.

  “Last night,” he said, “when that wardrobe was pushed on you.”

  “Pushed on me?” She raised a hand to her forehead. “I’ve been puzzled about that all day. At first I thought it just fell.”

  “It couldn’t have,” he assured her gravely. “Someone was hiding behind it and took the only chance of escaping discovery. Who did you think was there?”

  She was silent for a while, finding the unfathomable blankness of his eyes disconcerting. The longer she kept him on her adventure in the workshop, the longer he’d postpone questions about what happened during the day.

  “I thought it was one of the maids,” she said at last. “Something happened when I came in from the Carters’.”

  “Tell me about it, please. There are many things I need to know.”

  He sat unmoving while she related the incident of her glove in the downstairs hall. It was only necessary to remember that she had been at Bunny’s—not in New York. There was nothing implicating after she got home. Her story flowed easily.

  “You say you were playing bridge with the Carters?” he inquired casually when she was finished.

  “Yes.” Norma began twisting at the edge of the spread. “I didn’t get home until very late. They wanted me to spend the night on account of the storm, but Cheli was here alone.”

  Maclain got up abruptly and Schnucke stood up beside him. Under her guidance he crossed to the windows. The draperies were drawn, but the Captain found them and pushed them aside. With his back to Norma he had the appearance of a man with sight staring out into a dark world covered with snow.

  “You mentioned a package. I suppose that was a Christmas present from the Carters to you.”

  “Yes,” said Norma. “I think that’s what Bella wanted to peek at down in the hall.”

  “This was after two?”

  “It was very late. It must have been well after two.”

  “Were you asleep when Stacy telephoned?”

  “No. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Why? You must have been upset about something to lie awake after such a long evening.”

  “Too much bridge, I guess.” It was like answering some impersonal machine that couldn’t even see her smile.

  “Stacy phoned about half-past four?”

  “Maybe later.” Norma made an effort to sound thoughtful and sincere. “I can’t be sure.”

  “Then Bella might have dropped your glove any time between two and half-past four.”

  “Yes,” said Norma. “I suppose so.”

  “That would give her plenty of time to open the package and look in it,” said Maclain. “Did she?”

  Norma pressed her fingers hard above her eyes. Did the girl look in the package? What had that to do with it? He never followed a single line. What was he getting at now? She said: —

  “Really, I don’t know.”

  “You said you missed the glove when you picked up the package to bring it upstairs. I can tell in a moment, by feeling the wrappings, if it’s been opened before.” His friendly voice was lowered when he added, “If the package is here.”

  “I put it away.” That sounded frightfully weak to her. She said more firmly, “It doesn’t make any difference, does it, Captain Maclain?”

  “No.” The Captain turned and rested himself against the edge of the window sill. “Why, after leaving your gloves and package downstairs for two hours and a half, did you decide to bring them up when you answered Stacy’s call?”

  Norma put a hand to her throat, feeling it would help her to answer steadily. “I saw that the glove was gone.”

  “But you said you didn’t see that until you picked up the package. Why were you bringing that package upstairs, Mrs. Tredwill, after you answered the phone?”

  “Does it make any difference?” Norma began to cry.

  “None,” said Maclain. “Young Stacy is a most observant boy. The description he gave me of his vanished sister included a pair of galoshes that she wore into New York yesterday. Those galoshes are in her closet now. How did they get there, Mrs. Tredwill? The police will certainly want to know, and lying will weigh heavily on your conscience if that girl should die.”

  Where hardness would have only stiffened her resistance, she broke completely under his sympathetic tone. The truth came sobbingly, but the welcome relief of telling it left her apathetically calm.

  “You say your husband saw that notice in the paper yesterday morning?” he asked her when she was through.

  “I think so. The paper was open to the column when I picked it up downstairs.”

  “That’s strange,” said Maclain. “I thought he learned about that notice from me. I think I’ll go upstairs, Mrs. Tredwill, and talk with that servant girl.”

  CHAPTER XV

  DARKNESS AND blackness.

  The blackness of the deepest mine, the lack of light which drives weak men mad in dungeons, was the world of Duncan Maclain.

  There was no light in Norma’s room; no light in the hall; no light in the great house built on a Connecticut hill. Neither were there night and day—just time, and sound, and feeling, and sometimes taste and smell.

  There were trust in a dog, footsteps to count, voices to remember, and the tingling feel of fabrics when sensitive fingers brushed against a wall.

  Twenty paces.

  Twenty yards.

  Sixty feet.

  “Left here, Schnucke!”

  You remembered it the next time. If you forgot it, then Schnucke warned you—or, by yourself, you risked barked shins and a nasty tumble. You had to remember. It wasn’t nice when a blind man took a fall.

  Paces and faces and talks and walks and what was said in Norma’s room—you had to remember it all. The faces you built by the voice, of course, because you couldn’t see. The talks were always clear: —

  “I’d better send for Pierce, Captain Maclain. The servants’ quarters are upstairs in the other wing. The door leading in there is the last to the left at the end of the hall.”

  “I can find it, Mrs. Tredwill, thank you. I prefer to go alone. I went upstairs wi
th the state policeman this afternoon.”

  “Bella’s room is the second to the right at the top of the service stairs.”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Tredwill. My dog can see. If I need something I can call.”

  The talks were always clear, like that one with Colonel Gray: “The last war blinded you, Maclain—this one may end your career!”

  God, how careful you had to be—“I’m sorry, Mr. Tredwill. I’m afraid your plans all smell of gasoline.”

  Twenty paces.

  Twenty yards.

  And three times twenty is sixty feet.

  “Left here, Schnucke!

  “Good girl, you’re right again! This is the door to the servants’ wing.”

  Through it and close it and listen.

  “Nobody here, eh, Schnucke?”

  Thirty-two paces and then the stairs.

  Darkness. Blackness. Silence. The carpet is thick. The kitchen’s below. See that rattle of dishes. See that smell of cooking lingering from the day.

  Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two.

  Five steps up and a landing.

  Turn right.

  Seven steps up and a landing.

  Turn right.

  Ten steps up and you’re there. Or was it nine?

  Watch your step at the top, Maclain! Next time you’ll remember—twenty-one, or twenty-two. It’s careless to confuse them with those thirty-two steps in the hall.

  “Thank you, Schnucke. It’s twenty-one, not twenty-two!”

  Darkness. Blackness. Silence. The carpet is thick. Bella sleeps in the second room to the right at the top of the stairs.

  One. Two. Three.

  That’s the front door, and it’s open. Feel that change in the air?

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  “Right here, Schnucke. Bella’s door is open. The light would shine in. If she’s sleeping, it must be dark here in the hall. I’ll call her softly.

  “Bella!

  “Steady, Schnucke, and forward! What are you trembling for?”

  One step onward and listen.

  “Schnucke, my ears are better than yours. Quit your whining and balking. I’ll call her again.