“I suppose he’s investigating.”
“Mr. Sargeant . . . Peter, I believe we are all in terrible danger.”
I took this calmly enough ... I could even go along with it. “Doesn’t seem to be anything we can do about it,” I said noncommittally.
“There must be!” She clasped and unclasped her hands nervously.
“I thought you felt it was all an accident, that I was slugged by a prowler and...”
“I didn’t want to upset the others. I didn't want them to know that I knew." She looked at me darkly.
“Knew what?”
“That there is danger.”
I decided she was off her rocker, or else did know something the rest of us didn't. “Have you told the police?”
“I can’t tell them anything. It’s only a . . . presentiment.” “Do you or don’t you think Mrs. Brexton was murdered?” She would not answer; instead she just sighed and looked out the window at the velvety green golf course, brilliant as a pool table in the light of noon. She changed the subject with that rapidity which I was finally getting used to; alcoholics find any train of thought too long sustained tiring: “I want you to mention my Labor Day party in your first dispatch to the Globe " She smiled at me.
“You were listening on the phone?”
“Say that a little bird told me.” She was coy.
“You don’t mind my writing about the murder?”
“Of course I mind but since everyone else will be writing about it in those awful tabloids it’ll be to my advantage to have you here in the house, a gentleman.” Her realism always surprised me.
“I was afraid you might be upset.”
“Not at all, but I'd like to see what you write from time to time. I may be able to help you.”
“That’d be awfully nice of you.”
“Not at all.”
‘Was your niece murdered?” I asked suddenly, trying to catch her off guard.
“You’ll get no help from me there.” And that was the end of that interview: I left her for the beach and the sun.
1 found only Allie Claypoole on the beach.
She was lying on her back in a two-piece red bathing suit which was exciting to contemplate: I found her most attractive and if it hadn’t been for my fling with Liz the night before and the peculiar discovery that despite a lifetime devoted to philandering, I was unexpectedly held to the idea of Liz and didn’t want anybody else, not even the slender Allie who looked up at me with a smile and said, “Recovered?”
I sat down beside her on the sand. The sun was soothing. The sea sparkled. Just twenty-four hours ago it had happened. “I feel much better. Where’s everybody?”
“Miss Lung has gone inside to write this week’s ‘Book-Chat’ while my brother’s in town. Brexton’s in his room still. What on earth is going on?"
I gestured helplessly. “I haven’t any idea. I never saw any of these people before Friday. You ought to know.”
“I can’t make any sense out of it.” She rubbed oil on her brown arms.
“Mrs. Veering feels we are all in terrible danger.”
Allie smiled wanly. “I’m afraid Rose always feels she’s in great danger, especially when she’s been drinking.”
“She seemed quite sober this morning.”
“You never can tell. I wouldn’t take anything she says too seriously. It’s all part of her own private madness.”
“On the other hand that knock on the head I got this morning was not just one of her hallucinations.”
“No, that’s more serious. Even so I can’t really believe anybody killed Mildred . . . not one of us, that is. This is the sort of thing which is supposed to happen to other people."
“What do you think happened?” I looked at her innocently: I had to pump these people, one by one. The best approach was bewildered stupidity.
“I believe what Paul says.”
This was news; I hadn’t known that Brexton had expressed himself yet on the murder, except perhaps to the police. “What does he say?”
“That Mildred was in the habit of taking sleeping pills at all hours of the day, to calm her nerves. That the ones she took the morning she died were a standard dose for her and that she went in swimming not realizing how tough the undertow was.”
“Well, it sounds sensible.”
“Except that my brother had a bottle of the same type pills. . .
“You don’t mean they suspect him?”
She shook her head, her face grim. “No, I don’t think they do. He had no motive and even if he did there’s no proof the pills came from him. Their idea seems to be that somebody might have had access to his bathroom who didn’t have access to Mildred’s pills which were kept locked in her jewel box: she was the only one who knew the combination. Brexton swears he never knew it and couldn’t have got the thing open if he wanted to.”
“So either she got the pills herself or somebody went into your brother’s bathroom and got some to put in her coffee or whatever it was she took them in?”
“That’s the general line. If you hadn’t been attacked last night, I’d have thought Mildred took the pills herself. Now I’m not sure.”
“It looks like my adventure may have started the whole thing rolling.”
She nodded. “I thought that awful little man Graves, or whatever his name is, was just trying to scare us, to get himself attention. I still don’t think he has the vaguest idea whether or not a murder was committed.”
“He’s fairly sure now. Are you?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“What was between your brother and Mildred?” I asked this all in one breath, to take her by surprise; it did.
Her eyelids fluttered with alarm; she frowned, taken aback. “What . . . what makes you think anything. . .
“Mrs. Veering.” I lied. “She told me that, years ago. . .
“That bloody fool!” She literally snarled; but then she was in control again. She even managed to laugh convincingly to cover up her sudden lapse. “I'm sorry,” she said quickly. “It just seems so unnecessary, raking up family skeletons. The facts are simple enough; Mildred was engaged to marry my brother. Then she met Brexton and married him instead. That's all. My brother was devoted to her and not too friendly with Brexton, though they got on . . . that’s all there is to it.”
“Why didn’t she marry your brother?”
She was evasive. “I suppose Brexton was more glamorous to her...”
“Did you like the idea of his marrying her?”
“I can’t think that that has anything to do with it, Mr. Sargeant.” She looked at me coldly.
“I suppose it doesn’t. Tm sorry. It’s just that if I’m to be used as a punching hag by a murderer, I’d like to know a little something about what’s going on.”
“I’m sorry.” She was quick to respond. “I didn’t mean to be unpleasant. It’s just that it’s a sore subject with all of us. In fact, I didn’t even want to come down here for the week end but Fletcher insisted. He was very fond of Mildred, always.”
I was slowly getting an idea of the relationships involved, as much from what she didn't say as what she did.
The butler called me from the terrace. Liz was on the telephone. I answered it in the hall.
“Darling, are you all right?” Her voice was anxious.
“Don’t tell me you heard...”
“Everything! My aunt told me this morning how, when you came home last night, you were stabbed. I’ve been trying to get you for two hours but the line’s been busy. Are you all right? Where. . .