Don Gutteridge - Unholy Alliance

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At four o’clock Marc could contain himself nolonger. He had spent a frustrating half-hour making notes on theinterview with Abel Struthers and then reading carefully throughthe notes Cobb had left from his morning downstairs. It simply hadto be Bragg. The disgruntled Tremblay was a possibility, of course,in that he could have taken the laudanum when he left the bathroomabout a quarter to ten, doctored the sherry he had cached in hisluggage, and slipped down to Chilton’s office after he heardLaFontaine come back. But the motive was weak. There were manyother ways in which Tremblay might wreck the negotiations, short ofmurdering the butler and risking the noose. Tremblay had beenthrough the wars, perhaps had killed even, but he had a needyfamily back in Quebec and had ambitious plans for his own future.Moreover, Marc did not want it to be him.

Marc decided he would not wait for Cobb withnews of a conspiracy between Bragg and Harkness: he would go toPrissy Finch and break Bragg’s alibi. He met Macaulay outside thebilliard-room, looking frayed and anxious.

“We’re getting close,” Marc said. “I need tofind Miss Finch right away.”

Macaulay seemed desperate to ask for details,but said evenly, “I sent her down to the kitchen for biscuits aminute ago.”

Marc headed for the servants quarters. As hewent down the stairs and pushed open the door to the kitchen, healmost knocked Prissy and her tray of sweets flying backwards.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said.

“Not to worry,” Prissy said quickly enough,but she was obviously flustered.

But not by the sudden appearance of thepolice interrogator: it was the scene behind her that had upset herand sent her hurrying towards the stairs. Hetty Janes was sittingin Mrs. Blodgett’s rocking-chair with a ten-fingered grip on itswooden arms. She was rocking furiously up and down, like a child inmid-tantrum, and tears were streaming down her face. Her sisterTillie was waving ineffectually at the rocker as it whizzed backand forth past her, and chanting, “It ain’t yer fault, Het, itain’t yer fault! You gotta stop!”

Before Marc could blink or say a word, Prissyhad scooted past him and up the stairs to the rotunda. In front ofhim, Hetty Janes — startled by the abrupt arrival of a tall,authoritative gentleman — stopped rocking. For several seconds theonly sounds in the room were the diminishing squeaks of the chairand the ritual snuffling of the distraught young woman.

“Oh, Mr.Edwards,” Tillie cried as she reachedout and finally brought the rocker to a halt. “You’ve come just intime!”

“I have?”

“Hetty has somethin’ she’s gotta tell you,but we ain’t been able to quiet her down enough to have her utter asensible word. She keeps blamin’ herself, which ain’t right.”

Hetty choked back a sob far enough to say, “Ijust hope we ain’t woke up Mrs. Blodgett. You mustn’t tell her,Til. Promise. ”

“She won’t blame you anyways, Het. You knowthat, so there’s no need to carry on so. It ain’t the end of theworld.”

Marc took a couple of steps towards thesisters, who had momentarily forgotten him. “What isn’t the end ofthe world?” he said gently. “What is it you need to tell me,Hetty?”

Hetty blushed extravagantly, but was alreadyso red and blotched from weeping that it made little difference toher ravaged appearance. She looked at her sister: “Oh, I couldn’t,Til. You gotta do it for me.”

“I’d like one of you to tell me,” Marc said alittle less gently.

“It’s embarrassin’ fer everybody,” Tilliesaid, “but it’s gotta be said. Mr. Edwards, Austin was fibbin’ whenhe told you he spent the night with Prissy. He couldn’t have,because he never left Hetty’s bed, not fer one minute.”

Marc was speechless. The claim seemedincredible. Why would Bragg coerce or wheedle his fiancée intolying for him if he had a ready-made alibi in Hetty Janes? More tothe point, would the too-handsome fellow deign to spend a night ofpassion with such a plain, thin little thing? Something was amisshere.

“I know what you’re thinkin’,” Tillie said.“But Prissy an’ Austin had a dreadful row — we both heard it — an’Prissy went slammin’ inta her room. Hetty says Austin saw her dooropen an’ her peekin’ out, an’ he just sidled up an’ eased her backinside. He was mad at Prissy an’ he wanted to get even.”

Hetty began to snuffle again.

“He put his hand over her mouth an’ — an’ hadhis way with her,” Tillie said in a tone that conveyed bothamazement and outrage.

Marc wanted to ask why Hetty had not criedout, but suspected the answer would be too painful for everybodyconcerned.

“It was me who let him stay,” Hetty bawled.“I’m the one to blame. And I’m sure Prissy guessed what I done whenshe seen me in such a state next mornin’.”

“She won’t blame you, even if she has,”Tillie soothed. “If she hadn’t let that awful butler make eyes ather an’ kiss her, none of this would’ve happened, would it?”

“So Austin Bragg never left your room afterten o’clock last night?” Marc said to Hetty, though the answer tothat question had already been made clear.

Hetty nodded, and dropped her eyes to herlap.

“But why would Austin and Prissy both lieabout what they were doing?”

Neither of the sisters answered, but in theirfaces Marc could discern the reason well enough: Bragg hadregretted his haste, did not want the world — or Prissy — to knowwhat he had “stooped” to, and had convinced Prissy that he neededan alibi because he had been “sleeping alone” in his own room.

“Thank you for being truthful,” Marc saidlamely, and slowly backed out of the kitchen. As he turned on thestairs, he heard Hetty say in a plaintive voice, “But it was sonice, Til, so nice.”

By the time he reached the rotunda a fewmoments later, it struck Marc that, unless Cobb had discoveredsomething of significance in Toronto, these new revelations had inall likelihood eliminated their prime suspect.

“Jesus Christ on a donkey!” Cobb cried when Marcbroke the news to him at quarter to five in the library. “Ya meanto tell me we ain’t got the bugger by the short hairs no more?”

“Or any other hairs,” Marc said. “If thecrime was set up sometime between ten o’clock and midnight, aswe’ve surmised, then Austin Bragg is in the clear. But there’sstill Harkness, remember. Bragg could be part of a conspiracy.Though it’s not likely, the Amontillado could have been doctoredwith some other laudanum and given to Chilton long before lastnight.”

Cobb sighed, and let his dripping helmet dropto the carpet. “My news ain’t so good either.”

“Let’s hear it anyway. The only thing thatcounts, alas, is the truth.”

Cobb proceeded to give a detailed account ofhis visit with Mrs. Sturdy, leaving out only her allusion to thevomit on his boots.

“Burford?” Marc said when Cobb had finished.“It would take a day and a half to get there, check out Harkness’sstory, and get back here.”

“That’s the way I figure it too. But whatgood would it do? If I find the bugger there, then he’s more orless off the hook — bein’ absent from the scene, so to speak, feralmost two weeks. And if he ain’t there, then that means he’s foundanother hidey-hole in Toronto, an’ it could take us a month ofSundays to flush him out.”

“Quite right on both counts. But we may haveto go after him regardless if we can’t solve the case by Monday atnoon. What interests me right now is that threat he made againstMacaulay or Elmgrove in general. What better way to get even thanby murdering the man he viewed as his usurper and causing hismaster embarrassment or worse?”