“Dear Marilyn:
“I don’t like to write this letter. Your mother and I were close friends. I would do anything for her, but I can’t perjure myself. The plain truth of the matter is that my testimony when I got on the witness stand the first time was false. I tried to fix things so I could help your mother. Actually, I was out of the room at the time that the will was signed, if it ever was signed. I’ve tried to tell you about this in a nice way, so I could break it to you easy, but you thought I had my hand out and wanted some money or something. Nothing could have been farther from my thoughts. I was very friendly with your mother and I let that friendship distort my testimony when I was on the witness stand, and my conscience has been bothering me ever since. I have tried to break it to you easy, but I can’t; so now I’m breaking it to you the hard way. Sincerely yours,
“You got that letter this morning?” Mason asked Marilyn.
She nodded.
“You had it when I telephoned you?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t tell me about it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
She said, “I felt certain it was — well, that Rose had made hints before and that I hadn’t done anything about it, and now she was trying to jar me into doing something. I knew that if I told you about it, you’d be very ethical and tell me I couldn’t pay her a cent.”
“But you intended to make some promise to pay her?”
“I didn’t know exactly what I did intend to do. You see, Mr. Mason, that letter is a lie. She was in the room when that will was signed. The testimony she gave when she was on the witness stand was the absolute truth. My mother told me so, and Ethel Furlong told me so. Ethel is a square-shooter. She has a good, clear memory, and she recalls everything that happened just as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Mr. Endicott was lying there on the bed and...”
“We’ll talk about that when we’ve got more time,” Mason interrupted. “What I want to do right now is reconstruct your time schedule for this morning.”
“Well, I got this letter and I didn’t know what to do about it. You see, the thing would have been different if I’d thought there was any possibility the letter told the truth, but I simply knew that it didn’t. Then you telephoned me about Mrs. Caddo and I was rather noncommittal. I felt for a minute it would be a mighty good thing if Dolores Caddo did go over to see Rose and make a scene. I thought something like that might give Rose Keeling something else to think about.”
“But you had this letter when I telephoned you?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do after I telephoned you?”
“I thought things over for a while. Then I decided to ring Rose up. I got her on the phone and told her I wanted to talk with her. I was planning to tell her over the phone about Mrs. Caddo, but her manner wasn’t at all like that letter. She had been crying and she said, ‘Marilyn dear, please come over here right away. Please!’ ”
“What did you do?”
“I jumped in my car and came over here.”
“And what happened then?”
“Rose said, ‘Marilyn, I want to talk with you but I want to get my nerves quieted first. Will you please drive out to the tennis courts and play a couple of sets of tennis, and then we’ll talk.’ Well, I told her I would, but that I’d have to go back to my apartment and get my tennis things and that I thought I’d bring my playsuit along and change here.”
“Then what happened?”
“She gave me a key and told me I should walk right in when I returned. She said she had been giving me a raw deal, but things were going to be different now.”
“Well, I went out, drove to my apartment, stopping to do my grocery shopping on the way, got my tennis things and drove back here. When I got here I found the door downstairs was open an inch or two so I didn’t need the key. I came up here — and found this. I called you almost at once.”
“Did you drive directly here from your apartment?”
“No. I went to my bank first.”
“Why did you do that?”
She said, “I didn’t know just what was coming, Mr. Mason. I suppose I was foolish, but I thought that if Rose was trying to hold out for a little money, I might — well, I might give her some.
“You know, Mr. Endicott gave mother some jewelry before his death. Most of it was stuff that had been in the family for a while, but some of them were more modern pieces. Mother had sold a few of those pieces to get a little money to carry on with, and I’d inherited that money when she died. It was in a joint account, but there isn’t much left. I was going to need financial help if I did anything with Rose. I went to the bank and asked them if I could get a little money if I needed it.”
“What did the bank tell you?”
“They were very nice.”
“You didn’t tell them what you wanted the money for?”
“Not in so many words. I told them I had some expenses coming up in connection with this will contest and in trying to protect my inheritance. The bank explained to me that they couldn’t underwrite my will contest, that it couldn’t gamble on the outcome of that; but that within reasonable limits they would let me have some money, with the understanding that if the will contest didn’t come out right, I’d turn the jewelry over to them as a pledge.”
“They didn’t ask for jewelry in advance?”
“No.”
“How much jewelry is there?”
“The bank says it’s worth easily seventy-five thousand dollars — the amount that’s left.”
“How much did your mother sell?”
“Not much. Five or six thousand dollars’ worth.”
“What time did you talk with Rose Keeling on the phone?”
“About eleven-ten.”
“And then you came here?”
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“Oh, I’d say eleven-twenty-five or so.”
“What time did you get back here?”
“Just about four or five minutes before I telephoned you.”
“And what did you find?”
“As I said, the door was partly open. I pushed it the rest of the way open, walked in, closed the door and found things just as they are now.”
“Did you look around any?”
“Just as far as the bedroom. I called out, ‘Yoo-hoo, Rose,’ and walked back to the bedroom and... you know what I saw. I was sick at my stomach. I backed out and — well, I got to the telephone and called you.”
Mason said, “Wait here. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. Keep your gloves on. I’m going to take a look.”
“Want me?” Della Street asked.
Mason shook his head and said, “It’s pretty sticky, Della. Evidently it was done with a knife. You sit here. Be careful not to touch anything and keep an eye on Marilyn. See that she doesn’t go to pieces.”
Marilyn said, “I’ll be all right now, Mr. Mason.”
Mason retraced his steps down the corridor into the bedroom, taking care not to touch anything, and detouring the pool of crimson which was still welling out from the stark, white body which lay on the floor, partially on its side, the arms flung outward, as though in that last plunge Rose Keeling had tried to break the force of the fall as she hit the floor.
There were two suitcases which had been packed with great care. They were open on the floor near the dresser. Some folded clothes had been placed on top of the dresser. On the bed lingerie and stockings were neatly laid out. On the floor, beneath the bed, rumpled into a ball, was a street dress, the bottom part of the garment now soaked with blood.
Between the figure on the floor and the bathroom was a bath towel which had spots of blood on it. It had been dropped to the floor directly in front of the bathroom door.