“That’s a strange attitude for you to take, Miss Gladd.”
“I see nothing strange about it.”
“I do.” Corbett gazed at her. “It’s more than strange. We are investigating the murder of your sister, whom you say you were fond of. But instead of helping us you hinder us. You deliberately and defiantly withhold information. You say it is a private matter! If the dead could speak I would like to ask your sister you were so fond of whether she agrees that it is a private matter.”
“I won’t—” Heather’s chin was quivering. She made it stop. “I won’t listen to things like that.” She stood up. “You can’t make me listen to things like that. I won’t listen to you and I won’t talk to you.”
She started for the door. A policeman moved to get in her path, and, making no attempt to detour, she stopped. For a brief second it was a tableau, a drama in suspense; then, just as Corbett piped, “Let her go, officer,” the door burst open and Ross Dundee marched in, with an angry and expostulating individual coming for him from behind. In the confusion Heather slipped around them and through to the hall.
She had formed a resolution, impulsively but unalterably, and the immediate necessity was to communicate it to Alphabet Hicks, not so much to enlist his help as merely to communicate it. He was not in the hall. She went to a door at the end of it and entered the dining room, found it empty, and passed through to the kitchen. Mrs. Powell was there, pouring a cup of coffee for a man in a Palm Beach suit and a battered Panama hat.
Heather asked, “Have you seen Mr. Hicks?”
“No,” Mrs. Powell said, “and I don’t want to.”
“He’s all right,” the man said tolerantly, “except he’s batty. Why, do you want him?”
“Yes.”
“He went upstairs to see Dundee. Last door on the right.”
That would be Ross’s room. Heather took the back stairs. Her resolution quickened her step, and, on the upper floor, even caused her to omit the common amenity of knocking on the door of another’s room before entering. She turned the knob and went in, disregarded Dundee, who stopped pacing the floor to glare at her, confronted Hicks, who was straddling a chair, and told him:
“I can’t stay here. I can’t! I’m going to leave.”
“It would have been a good thing for all of us,” Dundee said harshly, “if you had reached that decision a week ago. Perhaps if you hadn’t been here—”
“Shut up,” Hicks said rudely. He got up to approach Heather. “Don’t mind him, he’s having a fit. Did the district attorney tell you you can leave?”
“No, but I’m going to. I can’t—”
“Okay, we’ll see. At least we’ll leave this room.” Hicks spoke to Dundee: “For God’s sake calm down a little. Put cold compresses on your head. Comb your hair.”
“He motioned Heather ahead and followed her out. Across the hall and down a dozen paces was the door to her room. When they were inside and the door was closed, Heather said:
“I can’t talk even in my own room. That’s why he was taking me to the district attorney. I was in here talking and Mr. Brager and a man were in his room and heard us, and Mr. Brager tapped on the wall to warn us—”
“Then talk low. Keep your voice down.” Hicks went and shut the window and came back. “Who were you talking with?”
“Ross Dundee. I was here and he came—”
“To ask about the sonograph plate?”
“No. At least — he didn’t. But I did. I asked him where he got a plate with my sister’s voice on it.”
“Which is what I told you—”
“I know you did. It came out before I knew it.”
“Keep your voice down. This should interest you. Cooper was murdered because he mentioned that plate. Maybe you realize now that I wasn’t talking through my hat. A man has got himself into a hole that he can’t get out of, but before he quits trying he’ll kill you and me too if he can manage it.”
They were standing, facing each other. Heather’s head was tilted so that her eyes, on a level with his chin, were looking straight into his. Her voice came out a whisper:
“What man?”
Hicks shook his head. “Maybe I know. Maybe I don’t. I came out here to increase my knowledge and ran into this. Was there ever a sonotel installed in this house?”
“Yes. There’s one now, in the wall of the living room.”
“That would amuse Corbett. He’d like that, doing his questioning in a room wired for sound. When was it installed?”
“It was there when I came, over a year ago. It was used for experimenting. About two months ago it was taken out and a new one was put in, a new model.”
“Who installed it?”
“I don’t know about the old one. Ross Dundee installed the new one.”
“Keep your voice down,” Hicks admonished her. “Today. About Cooper. You were at the laboratory with Brager when it happened?”
“Yes. He came and said George was there — no, he told me that when we were in the woods—”
“Tell me what happened at the laboratory.”
She told him. He took it in, asked a few questions, nodded as if satisfied, and said:
“Okay. That’ll do for now. We can cover some other points on our way to New York. The best—”
“To New York?”
“Certainly. You say you want to get away from here, which I can understand, and I have something to do somewhere else. So we might as well go together. The car you lent me is backed into the entrance of a pasture lane up the road about four hundred yards toward Katonah. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes. The other side of the old orchard.”
“There’s a house a short distance beyond.”
“Yes. Darby’s.”
“We’d better not try to leave here together. They won’t be keeping close watch on you, and if you’re any good you can make it. You know the ground. Circle around through the orchard and pasture. Are you afraid to try that?”
“Afraid? Of course not!”
“Good for you. I’ll join you as soon as I can. I have a little errand to do here before I leave, and it’ll be harder for me to get away. They’ll miss me. Be patient and take a nap in the back seat. Change to a dark dress and don’t try taking any luggage. In case of a slip-up — wait a minute.”
Hicks frowned. “I’ve got the key to the car. Is there another one around?”
“Yes, in a drawer in the dining room.”
“Can you get it?”
“Of course.”
“You’re a wonder. When you grow up and get big like me you’ll be President.” Hicks sat down and untied a shoelace and removed the shoe. He put the shoe on his lap and got his wallet and a memo book from a pocket. From the wallet he extracted a baggage check and glanced at it, then wrote something on a page of the memo book, tore it out, handed it to Heather, slipped the baggage check into the shoe, and put the shoe back on.
“There,” he said, “keep that in a safe place. Your shoe will do. It’s the number of the check for something I left in the parcel room at Grand Central. In case anything regrettable happens to me, here’s what you do. Get Dundee’s wife, Mrs. R. I. Dundee, and go with her to Inspector Vetch of the New York police, and both of you tell him everything you know. Everything. Don’t hold out on him. Give him the number of that check and tell him to get it. Vetch is a good guy, once you get used to his mannerisms. You’ll like him.”
“But what—” Heather was gazing at him. “Why do you think anything—”
“I don’t. But this individual we’re after has apparently got a screw loose. Getting Cooper like that in broad daylight! He’s so scared there’s no telling what he’ll try next, so just to fool him we make these little arrangements. By the way, I should warn you, when you meet Mrs. Dundee you’re going to get a shock. Be prepared for it.”