Margaret Millar - The Devil Loves Me

“He knew something, too much perhaps. He was an elevator boy at the Royal York. I examined his locker about an hour ago and found his betting book. On Saturday afternoon he played fifty dollars on Iron Man. That’s an unusual bet for an elevator boy accustomed to two-dollar bets. On Saturday morning Miss Stevens was poisoned, on Saturday afternoon an elevator boy conjured up fifty dollars, and on Saturday night Duncan Stevens was killed. Problem: who gave Sammy the fifty dollars, and why?”

“For services rendered,” Prye said.

“Exactly. And what particular service do you think of? Remember that Sammy was young, that he was not a crook, that he liked to play the horses.”

“He could dial a number,” Prye said.

Sands said, “Yes. I think he did dial a number. He called the hospital on Saturday at noon.”

He paused, running his finger over his upper lip, smoothing it out like crepe paper.

“So the people I’m interested in right now are the people who have alibis for that phone call. We have assumed that the person who made the call was the person who poisoned Jane by mistake and later killed Duncan, and that whoever had an alibi for the phone call was not the murderer. Now we’ll have to turn that around. If the murderer paid Sammy fifty dollars to make that call, he or she will certainly have an alibi for that time.”

He flicked over the pages of his notebook.

“Here they are. Dr. Prye, when that phone call was made you were talking to Sergeant Bannister in the hall outside this room. That gives you and Miss Stevens, who was in the hospital, the strongest alibis for that time. Mrs. Revel was in the taproom of the King Edward Hotel tossing pretzels into the air and trying to catch them in her mouth. Two waiters remember her very well. Mrs. Shane had just arrived home from the church with Dennis Williams and they were together in the drawing room. Mrs. Hogan and Hilda were in the kitchen. Jackson was talking to me in the library. That leaves Miss Shane and Miss O’Shaughnessy with no alibis for the time of the phone call, as well as Duncan Stevens, who no longer counts.”

He drew a breath and went on in a different tone: “But perhaps Sammy isn’t dead at all. If he is, we’ll find him.”

Prye nodded. “Meanwhile, do we tell Mrs. Shane what the squad is looking for and why?”

“I’ll tell them,” Sands said.

It wasn’t the kind of news any of them could be expected to like.

Except for Aspasia, who fainted, they took it calmly enough. They sat around the drawing room sipping the hot, strong tea which Mrs. Hogan believed to be an antidote for emotional upsets. Dinah went on slowly and methodically getting drunk. Revel sat apart from the others, watching them with an air of detached interest like a turtle peering out from his impregnable shell.

By twelve o’clock Dinah was drunk enough to be getting quarrelsome. Hoping to avoid another scene, Prye offered to take her for a drive to sober her up.

“Sober me up?” Dinah said. “What in hell do you get drunk for if you’re going to sober up? Prye, you’re a louse.”

Prye agreed.

“All men are lice,” Dinah said. “Especially Revel. Revel is the great king louse almighty.”

“I’d awfully like a drive,” Jane said faintly. “I’m not at all well. Couldn’t we—?”

“I’d be delighted,” Prye said. “Anyone else want to come?”

Nora said “Yes.” Dinah said if Nora and Jane went she would have to come along to protect them from the lice which all men were.

Nora went upstairs and brought down her coat and Dinah’s, and Prye went out to get his car from the garage. He ran into two men who were probing with spades in the earth beside the garage. They stopped work to glance at him curiously.

“Finding things?” Prye asked pleasantly.

They both said “Yeah,” and went on with their work. Halfway up the driveway a small man was scooping bits of earth into a bottle. A man with a camera was standing beside him.

Prye went up to them. “Could I get my car past here?” he said.

“In a hurry?” the small man said dryly. “Look again and you’ll see that I’m busy.”

“That’s no answer,” Prye said. “Can I get my car through here? Or not?”

“Not.”

“When will—”

“Go away!”

The man with the camera grinned and said, “Joe is temperamental. He doesn’t like people. His mother used to take him on shopping tours.”

“I don’t like big people,” Joe corrected him. “I got the damnedest inferiority complex you ever saw. Watch this, gentlemen.”

He removed a bottle from his pocket, poured some of the liquid into the bottle of earth, and held it up to Prye. The earth had turned a deep blue.

“I’d be staggered,” Prye said, “if I didn’t know that was the benzedrine-hydrogen peroxide test for bloodstains.”

“Oh, go away,” Joe said gloomily. “Get your bloody car through. I should care.”

Prye went back to the garage. The three women were standing in the driveway waiting for him. Dinah was swaying somewhat but she looked sober enough.

“I’ll ride in the rumble seat with Dinah,” Nora suggested. “The more air the better.”

“What’s all this about air?” Dinah said. “What are those men doing?”

One of the men looked up and said he was planting petunias.

“I hate petunias,” Dinah said. “Reminds me of a guy I knew once. He was a petunia.”

“Can’t you get your mind off men?” Jane cried irritably. “Come on.”

Prye backed the car out of the garage. Dinah poised on the back fender and tugged at the handle of the rumble seat.

“Let me,” Prye said, getting out of the car. “I think it’s locked.”

“Locked hell,” Dinah said. “Easy as rolling off a log—”

The seat opened up and Dinah said “Locked hell,” again in a strange voice. The next instant she had fallen headfirst into the rumble seat.

“I’m sick of drunks,” Prye said. “Dinab! Come out of there!” He went over and grabbed her leg. “Dinah!”

Dinah didn’t move. Prye climbed up and looked into the rumble seat.

Sammy Twist was in there. His eyes were wide open, as if he were surprised that a strange woman had fallen on top of him. The blood had dried on his hair and his forehead.

“I do wish—” Jane began.

“Go away,” Prye said curtly. “Nora, go too.”

Nora put out her hand and grasped Jane’s arm. “Paul. It’s not — it couldn’t possibly be—”

Prye said grimly, “It is.”

“Is what?” Jane said. “I thought we were going for a drive.”

The two men beside the garage had put down their spades and come up to the car.

One of them looked in and said, “Holy cats.”

He moved aside politely and let the other one look in too.

“Help me get this woman out of here,” Prye yelled. “She’s fainted.”

“Don’t disturb the body,” one of the men said.

Jane let out a feeble bleat and started running to the house, holding her hands to her ears. Nora sat down quietly on the driveway and closed her eyes.

Prye had grasped the front of Dinah’s coat and was pulling her out of the seat.

Sammy didn’t blink an eye.

He was quiet and cold and brittle. His bloody head rested against the blue leather seat and his knees were bent up against his chest like a baby’s in the womb.

The two policemen carried Dinah into the house. Prye went back to Sammy and stood looking down at him with angry eyes.

“Like a baby,” he said. “Like a damn little baby. Like a damn bloody baby you are, Sammy.”

Sammy’s eyes, wide, innocent, knowing, surprised, looked back at him.

Even before she opened her eyes Dinah started to cry. She cried quietly, without moving. From his chair Prye could see the tears streaming from her closed eyelids. He was still angry about Sammy. He watched Dinah, detached, critical, without sympathy.