He started to get up, but his head fell off and rolled across the floor, and by the time it came rolling back he was asleep. He did not hear the knock on the front door. It was a soft, furtive sound followed by the gentle opening and closing of the door and light footsteps in the hall. Then the door of the sitting room opened noiselessly and a woman slipped through it and stood looking down at Prye.
Her gaze was so intense, so malignant that he moved in his sleep, and she retreated. A minute later she was knocking again, loudly this time, venting her anger until her knuckles stung.
“Great Scott,” Prye said, lifting his head from the pillow. “Must you do that? Come in!”
She went in, closing the door behind her.
“So you’ve remembered,” Prye said.
“Yes, a few minutes ago,” she said. “I came right over.”
It wasn’t Miss Alfonse any longer. The clothes were the same, but the accent, the leer, the gentility had been swept away by a hurricane of fury.
“You’ve ratted, I suppose? It’s smug hypocrites like you who keep a woman from going straight. Some little slut gets herself murdered as she deserves and you try to pin it on me. Sure I made a mistake once. But it was a mistake. The law said I wasn’t responsible.” Her voice was rising like a police siren. “I wasn’t responsible, see? I was crazy!”
“I think,” Prye said, “I can stand almost anything better than a noisy female. If you’ll sit down calmly, Miss Alfonse, I’ll get you a drink. What will you have?”
“Brandy,” Miss Alfonse said shortly. “A lot of it.”
She had a lot of brandy.
“What are you,” she said, “a detective?”
“No. Just a doctor.”
“I see. It’s money you want, is it?”
“No. I want information.”
“What for, if you’re not a detective?”
Prye shrugged. “When a young girl is murdered the day after my arrival and some of my oldest friends are suspected of murdering her, I feel obliged to help the police.”
“Very noble, I’m sure. What’s it got to do with me? They’re not my oldest friends.” Her sharp brown eyes pecked at him. “And they’re not yours either, I bet.”
Prye beamed at her benevolently. “You’re very shrewd, Miss Alfonse. They’re not.”
“I’m smart enough,” Alfonse said abruptly. “The thing is, are you?”
“You mean, am I smart enough to mind my own business?”
“That’s it.”
“Frankly, no. I thought you and I could make a deal. You probably know more about this community than I could discover in a year.”
“I don’t want to spoil anybody’s fun. Just go on detecting for a year. By that time...” Her jaws clamped on the words. “You might get another tap on the head, Prye.”
“From you?”
She gazed at him steadily. “When I hit you, you’ll stay hit.”
“Don’t be foolish, Miss Alfonse. You’re not in a position to make threats. Policemen are easily convinced that history repeats itself and with your history—”
She turned and walked to the door.
“Stool pigeon,” she said over her shoulder.
“Wait.”
She stopped, her hand on the doorknob.
“If you know anything about this murder,” Prye said, “I’ll insure your life for fifty thousand dollars and retire. Those are your prospects. But as a matter of fact I don’t think you do know anything about it.”
“No?” She smiled.
“Unless you did it yourself. My guess is that you’re stalling. You wanted me to keep quiet about you until you had a good story fixed up. I advise you to polish up your alibi.”
She was still smiling. “It’s got a shine like a silver dollar and you’re going to feel very, very silly.”
Miss Alfonse was herself again. She was humming as she walked up the lane, and there was a new jauntiness in her step and the set of her shoulders.
Prye, watching her from the window, raised a puzzled eyebrow. Miss Alfonse had come in like a lion and gone out like a lamb, and he did not trust lambs.
“What is she feeling so good about?” Prye said bitterly. “Was it something I said, or something she thought, or—? To hell, Miss Alfonse, with you. You’re a liar and probably a murderer, and my mother won’t allow me to speak to the likes of you.”
“Are you,” inquired a bewildered voice from the doorway, “crazy?”
Prye turned his head. “Hello, Jakes. Come in. In a sense, yes, I am crazy. But not because I’m talking to myself.”
“Maybe not,” Jakes said darkly.
“As a matter of fact, have you never noticed that most conversations are simply monologues delivered in the presence of a witness?”
“No,” Jakes said.
“Well, listen next time you hear a couple of women talking. They’ll each have a list of likes and dislikes that they intend to reel off. Now wouldn’t it be much simpler for Mrs. Smith to sit in front of a mirror and read her list without competition: ‘I like broiled mushrooms, horses, daffodils, Faith Baldwin, and Havana cigars.’ See what I mean?”
Jakes scratched the side of his nose.
“Never heard of a woman smoking cigars,” he said at last.
Prye sighed. “Oh well. Any new developments?”
“That’s why I came. The police are here.”
“Aren’t you the police?”
“Not anymore. Inspector White of the Provincial Police is in charge from now on. Just as well, too. I don’t know anything about murder. I wouldn’t know even what to look for.”
“How about looking for sugar bags?” Prye suggested.
“No use. Professor Frost says all the cottagers buy sugar in that quantity.”
“Do you always believe what people tell you? Don’t answer that — I’ll use it against you. Has Joan Frost’s room been sealed?”
“Locked, you mean? Certainly. The windows are locked, too,” he added proudly. “A mouse couldn’t get in there.”
“I don’t care if three mice get in as long as one of them isn’t Susan Frost.”
“Susan’s a very nice girl,” Jakes said severely. “There’s only one person I really suspect and that’s Tom Little. He had a motive and he’s a thoroughly bad man. What’s more, he’s probably poisoning his wife.”
“With what?”
“With what?” Jakes thought a moment. “With a foreign poison. That’s it. Some foreign poison!”
Prye sighed again. “Oh well. This maid of the Littles’ — Jennie Harris — do you know her well?”
“For thirty years. She’s a silly woman but as honest as they come.”
“In that case you’ll be looking around for a new suspect because Jennie had Tom Little within sight and hearing from seven-fifteen until ten o’clock last night.”
“Well,” Jakes said slowly, “I never caught her doing anything dishonest.”
Prye shook his head solemnly. “Constable Jakes, you have a Neanderthal simplicity that strikes at my heart.”
Jakes flushed. “It’s all very well for you to go around believing people are liars and murderers, but I’m a policeman. I have to prove they are.”
“All I ask is an open mind. According to you, Professor Frost is a gentleman and Susan is a very nice girl, and you’ve known Miss Bonner and Jennie for years, and Ralph is a nice boy, and Mary Little is being poisoned by her cad of a husband. That lets them out. Now who’s left? Tom Little, who has an alibi, the servants, Nora Shane, and myself. Nora had no connection with Joan at all. As for me, I admit I wouldn’t have minded paddling her hinterland, but further I would not and did not go. So now where are you?”