“Oh?” Jessie said.
“I’ve been considering the move for some time. Stallings will stay on as caretaker. Henry and Mrs. Lenihan will go along with me to the New York apartment. I’m sending Mrs. Charbedeau and the maids back to the Concord house. The best part of the summer is gone, anyway.”
“You’re intending to spend most of your time in New York?”
“All winter, I should think.”
“The change ought to be good for Mrs. Humffrey.”
“Mrs. Humffrey is not coming with me.” His voice was nasally casual. “I’m sending her to a sanitarium.”
“I’m glad,” Jessie said. “She needs sanitarium care badly. I heard Dr. Wicks telling you yesterday about a place in Great Barrington—”
“Wicks.” The narrow shoulders twitched. “In matters as important as this, Miss Sherwood, one doesn’t rely on the Wickses of this world. No, she’s not going to Great Barrington.”
It’s the psychiatry that’s scared you off, Jessie thought. “May I ask which sanitarium you’ve picked out, Mr. Humffrey?” She tried to keep her voice as casual as his.
She thought his long body gathered itself in. But then she decided she had been mistaken. When he turned he was smiling faintly.
“It’s a convalescent home, really — that’s all nonsense about her need for psychiatric treatment. Mrs. Humffrey is in a highly nervous state, that’s all. What she requires is complete rest and privacy in secluded surroundings, and I’m told there’s no better place in the East for that than the Duane Sanitarium in New Haven.”
Jessie nodded. She knew several nurses who had worked there — one, Elizabeth Currie, had been on Dr. Samuel Duane’s nursing staff for eight years. The sanitarium was an elaborate closet for distinguished skeletons, restricted to a rigidly classified clientele at exclusive rates. It was surrounded by a tall brick wall topped with four-foot pickets ending in lance points, and it was patrolled by a private police force.
Exactly the sort of place Alton Humffrey would choose! Jessie thought. Once Sarah Humffrey was safely inside Dr. Duane’s luxurious prison, her husband could relax. Dr. Duane’s guards could smell a reporter miles away.
“When is Mrs. Humffrey leaving?” Jessie asked.
“This evening. Dr. Duane is calling for her personally in a sanitarium limousine, with a nurse in attendance.”
“Has Mrs. Humffrey been told?” At the millionaire’s frown, Jessie added hastily, “The reason I ask, Mr. Humffrey, is that I’ve got to know just how to handle preparing her to go away—”
“I haven’t told her, no. Dr. Duane prefers that I break the news when he’s present.”
“You’ll be going out with her?”
“I don’t know. That will depend entirely on Duane.” His wedge of face lengthened. “You’ll keep all this confidential, of course, Miss Sherwood.”
“Of course.”
He went over to his desk, sat down, and began to write a check. She watched his long white fingers at their deliberate work, the little finger curled in hiding, as secretive as the rest of him.
“I suppose this means,” Jessie said, “that you want me to leave as soon as possible.”
“Oh, nothing like that. You’re entirely welcome to stay on for a few days. The staff isn’t leaving until next week some time.”
“I’m a restless sort, Mr. Humffrey. It’s kind of you, but I think I’ll go tomorrow morning.”
“As you wish.”
He blotted the check carefully and reached over to lay it on the desk near her.
“Oh, but Mr. Humffrey,” Jessie protested. “This is far too much. You’re paid up through last week—”
“I see no reason why you should be penalized by my sudden decision about Mrs. Humffrey,” he said, smiling. “So I’ve paid you for a full week, and I’ve added a little something in appreciation of all you’ve done for Mrs. Humffrey and Michael.”
“A little something.” Jessie shook her head. The bonus was five hundred dollars. “You’re awfully kind, Mr. Humffrey, but I really can’t accept this.”
“Heavens, Miss Sherwood. Why not?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
“Well...” Her hands felt clammy. But she looked straight at him. “Frankly, Mr. Humffrey, I’d rather not be under obligation to you.”
“I don’t understand.” Now his tone was icy.
“It’s hard too...” Jessie stopped. There was no way to say it but to say it. But somehow she could not. “If I felt differently about little Michael, I could take this. As it is, I’d rather not.”
He made it easy for her. “You mean if you felt differently about the cause of his death?”
“Yes, Mr. Humffrey.”
The four whole fingers drummed on the desk, their maimed companion curled tightly. Then he leaned back in his leather chair.
“You still don’t agree it was an accident, Miss Sherwood.”
“It was murder,” Jessie said. “That baby was deliberately and wickedly smothered to death with the pillow in the pillowcase that’s disappeared.”
“But no pillowcase has disappeared.”
“Oh, yes, it has. They just haven’t found it.”
“My dear Miss Sherwood.” His tone was patient. “The case has been thoroughly investigated. The coroner’s jury brought in a verdict of accidental death. The police are satisfied it was an accident, and so am I. How can you set yourself up as the sole dissenting judge?”
“I saw the pillow with the handprint, Mr. Humffrey,” Jessie said quietly. “No one else did.”
“Obviously you were mistaken.”
“I was not mistaken.”
“There’s not a scintilla of evidence — I believe that’s the approved phrase — to back your opinion up.”
“It’s not an opinion, Mr. Humffrey. It’s a fact. I know what I saw.”
“Show me one competent person who agrees with you—”
“Richard Queen.”
Humffrey arched his sparse brows. “Who?”
“Chief Pearl’s friend. He used to be an inspector in the New York police department. He believes me.”
The millionaire shrugged. “These old fellows have nothing to do but poke their noses into other people’s affairs. He was probably retired for senility.”
“He’s only sixty-three, and he’s in complete possession of his faculties, I assure you!” Jessie bit her lip; Humffrey was regarding her with amusement. “Anyway, Inspector Queen agrees with me it was murder, and we’re going to—”
Jessie stopped.
“Yes?” Alton Humffrey no longer looked amused. “You and this man are going to what, Miss Sherwood?”
“Nothing.” Jessie jumped up nervously. “I’ll have to be getting back to Mrs. Humffrey—”
“Miss Sherwood.” He had his hands flat on the desk. For a moment Jessie had the queerest feeling that he was going to spring at her. She remembered having had the same feeling about him once before. “Do you suppose for an instant that if I thought the child was murdered I’d let the case drop?”
“I’m sure I can’t answer that, Mr. Humffrey.” She was actually backing away. When she realized it, she stopped herself. “Please, I must go to Mrs. Humffrey. But I do wish you’d tear up this check and make out another simply for the amount you owe me.”
But his eyes kept bulging and burning. “Don’t you know what that baby meant to me, Miss Sherwood?”
“I’m sure he meant everything to you,” Jessie said desperately. “But... you force me to say this... now that little Michael’s dead you want the whole thing buried, along with his remains. You’d rather see the case written off as an accidental death than involve your family name in a murder case. I don’t understand people like you, Mr. Humffrey. There are some things in this world a lot worse than getting your name bandied about by the common people. Letting a baby killer get off scot free is one of them.”