Arnold paused, fumbled in his pocket for another cigarette, found one, took it out, forgot about it, and went on.
“She tried to rise from her chair once — and collapsed. The convulsions came then. Not very pretty. And suddenly she was dead. Like that. The whole thing took place almost before I realized what was happening — just a few seconds. I put my face close to hers, and I smelled the bitter almond odor at her mouth. I knew what that meant. I simply stood there for a minute waiting for the scream to bring Mrs. Henderson. But no one came. Then I hung that Do Not Disturb card on the door. And I started thinking — fast — about a lot of things.
“The drinking glass, which I suppose you also found, was on the table by her chair. It was half empty. I knew she must have taken the poison just before I came in. She didn’t drink it while I was there. But I also knew that she hadn’t committed suicide. She wouldn’t have argued with me as she did, knowing she was going to die within a minute or two. It wouldn’t have been worth it. And that first look, when it hit her, had surprise in it — astonishment. She hadn’t expected it at all. But more than that, I knew that no one, least of all Dr. Gail, would believe she’d committed suicide. He’d told me that was one thing she never would do, even under pressure of the phobic seizures. He can give you the psychological reasons. And, because she’d been so interested in Rappourt’s monkeyshines and in the treasure, no one else would believe it either. She’d been positively cheerful these last few weeks, excited because Rappourt had her believing she could develop mediumistic powers. She hadn’t impressed anyone as a candidate for suicide. I knew it wasn’t suicide; and no one would believe it was; and I had a blue-ribbon motive that Graf and possibly even Gail knew about. I had to do something quickly. So I moved the body.”
“You thought up that reverse-English alibi, just like that?” Gavigan asked skeptically.
“No. That was part of my original murder plan. I’d intended that Linda would be found some day soon, up there at the old house, dragged there apparently by a stranger, a passer-by, a sexual maniac who didn’t know about her phobia. There would be clues to back that up — to build up the picture of a mythical murder — marks of a rowboat on the shore, footprints that fitted no one in the house, a dropped button from a pair of overalls, perhaps even a few hairs, red ones, under her fingernails, and a drop or two of dried blood that would indicate a man with a scratched face. Oh, it would be obvious enough and subtle enough to look good. But I couldn’t go through with that now. I wasn’t ready with my manufactured clues for one thing. And psychopathic murderers bent on rape or mutilation don’t poison their victims. They strangle them or knock them on the head or cut them up. That stopped me for a bit. I spent half an hour in there trying to think it out, and not thinking too efficiently either. I was afraid someone would come back to the house at any moment.
“Then I decided that if I moved the body and pretended to make it look like suicide with the poison in the nail-polish bottle — sodium cyanide in solution — the police would, for a time at least, look for a murderer who knew no better than to fake a suicide in the wrong place. That and the delayed discovery of the body would give me time to try and find out who had killed her. But you got on to it too quickly. Much too quickly. I haven’t arty evidence at all.”
“You dusted that glass with graphite?” Gavigan asked.
“Yes. But the fingerprints are all Linda’s. And the prints on the cyanide bottle are all mine. The murderer left none. If I’d killed her, you wouldn’t find mine on the cyanide.”
“Unless that’s another reverse-English alibi. All the other bottles in that darkroom probably have your prints. It would look queer if the cyanide didn’t.”
“Yes. I suppose it would. I hadn’t thought of that. You don’t believe me, of course.”
“How did you sink those boats and set that fire?”
Arnold brightened a bit. “I’m glad you mentioned that, Inspector. Don’t you see? That’s my one high card. If I’d known those things were going to happen, I’d never have moved the body. I’ve alibis there, simply because I didn’t and couldn’t have been in the right places at the proper times. I was with the others in the living-room when the fire started and with Gail when the boats were scuttled.”
“Are you going to deny you slugged Watrous last night?”
“Yes. I did hear the commotion, as you suspected; but I couldn’t come out to investigate because I hadn’t my make-up on. So I pretended I hadn’t heard.”
Gavigan didn’t argue. He stayed on the offensive. “When did you take the body up there?”
“Last night after dinner. I had to wait until it was fairly dark. I took it up about 9 o’clock when I was supposed to be in my darkroom. Out the window and down the sun-deck stairs. I joined the others after I got back. Took me about half an hour.”
Merlini put a question. “You took her all the way up to that third-floor room because the body was stiff — in a sitting position?”
“Yes. She had to be sitting in a chair. That was the only room—”
“You smashed the front door lock?” Gavigan interrupted.
“Yes. As I told you before, I had no idea that boat-landing door might be unlocked. And I wish you’d find out who else has been in that house. I had to scuffle up those footprints so you wouldn’t find mine. But there was someone, more than one person there in that third-floor room before me.”
Gavigan turned to Malloy. “Take him upstairs for a minute. And stick with him.” He turned his back on Arnold.
Arnold stared at him as if he were trying to read the Inspector’s mind by pure force of will.
Merlini spoke as Malloy moved, putting the question I wanted to put.
“You’re quite certain, Arnold, that Linda didn’t drink from that glass while you were there?”
“I know she didn’t.” Arnold spoke promptly, decidedly. “She was too busy scrapping with me.”
“You say you were there three or four minutes before the poison acted? Can you make it more accurate than that?”
“No. I didn’t look at my watch. But it was no less than three minutes, I’m certain of that. Why? What—”
“You were excited, you know. Couldn’t it have possibly been a minute at the most?”
“It could not. She wouldn’t have had time to cuss me out so thoroughly. I can give you most of it, if you want to hear it.”
“Not now. You may need to, though. Did she take anything else into her mouth? Did her hands go near her face at all? Did she touch the pencil with her lips, anything of the sort?”
Arnold was still decidedly positive. “She didn’t. But why—”
“That’s all,” Merlini said.
He sat down before the typewriter and poked absently at the space bar.
Arnold, frowning, followed Malloy out.
“Well that breaks this case open,” said Gavigan. “High, wide and handsome. That’s the damndest confession I ever heard, and I’ve heard some screwy ones, but it hangs him.”