Rex Stout - Alphabet Hicks

“Well!” she cried indignantly.

“Hello, Margie. Is Mother up?”

“This is unseemly,” Margie said, showing how flustered she was, for she had not used that phrase to Ross since the far-off days when she had taken him to Central Park. She glared at Ross, at the young woman behind him whom she didn’t know, at the man beside him whom she did know... but Mr. James Vail wasn’t welcome at this apartment any more...

“Your mother’s in bed,” she said shortly.

“I’ve got to see her. Tell her I’m here. Will you, please?”

Margie turned and marched out. Ross ushered the other two into the living room, turned on lights, gave them seats, seated himself, and then got up again to help Heather when she started to rid herself of the long dark coat. Though the coat certainly had no aspirations to elegance, he handled it as if it had been chinchilla as he draped it over the back of a chair. A voice from the doorway turned him:

“Ross, my child? You devil of a child!”

He crossed to meet his mother, took her hands, put his hands on her shoulders, looked at her face, and kissed her on the cheek.

“I always forget how big you are,” she said. She squeezed his arm and released it. “I was expecting you. That is, I was expecting Miss Gladd, with you probably escorting her. I suppose this is Miss — what — what’s the matter?”

Approaching Heather, she halted to stare. Heather was herself staring, her mouth open, her eyes wide with stupefaction and incredulity — the frozen gaze that a ghost might expect to be met with, but not a comely matron in a yellow house gown from Hattie Carnegie. Ross, seeing it, stared too and demanded:

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

“Her voice—” Heather stammered.

“My voice? What’s the matter with my voice?”

“My dear Judith.” It was James Vail, out of his chair. “This was bound to happen sooner or later. Miss Gladd is speechless with astonishment because of the remarkable resemblance of your voice to that of her sister. You can judge of how remarkable the resemblance must be by the shock it gave her. Isn’t that true, Miss Gladd? It is an amazing resemblance, isn’t it?”

Heather nodded. “I can’t — it’s unbelievable—”

Judith was frowning at her. “You mean my voice is like your sister’s?”

“Exactly like! If I shut my eyes — it’s incredible!”

“Then that’s why!” Ross said excitedly. “Heather! That’s why! About that sonograph plate! You thought it was your sister’s voice and I thought it was Mother’s!” He stared at his mother, and suddenly seized her arm. “By God! That’s why I thought you were out there! I heard her talking and thought it was you!” He pumped the arm up and down. “And it wasn’t your voice on that sonograph plate at all! It was Heather’s sister! It wasn’t you talking with Vail, it was her! It was Heather’s sister who—”

He stopped.

He looked at Heather, stunned, incredulous.

“My God,” he said in a wilted voice.

“Precisely.” Vail said in a dry harsh tone.

Ross confronted him. “You can go to hell, you. I’ve knocked you cold once and if you want some more—”

Judith spoke incisively: “Behave yourself, Ross. If you mean the sonotel record—”

“You know nothing about it, Mother. If you heard it—”

“I have heard it. Mr. Hicks kindly brought it—”

“Hicks? For God’s sake! When?”

“No matter when. I’ve heard it. And if it was Miss Gladd’s sister having that conversation with Vail—”

“My sister never had any conversation with Vail!” Heather put in. “She never knew him! She never heard of him!”

“Didn’t you hear that plate?” Ross demanded.

“No! I only heard the first few words of it! And if it was a conversation with Vail it must have been your mother—”

“Please,” Judith Dundee interposed. “You children know less than I do about it, and certainly less than Vail. His conversation on that plate wasn’t with me, because it wasn’t. And it wasn’t with Miss Gladd’s sister, because he called the lady Judith.”

“Are you suggesting,” Vail inquired dryly, “that by a double freak of nature there is a third lady, not only with the same voice, but named Judith?”

“No. I’m not suggesting anything.” Mrs. Dundee surveyed him stonily. “I have nothing to suggest, and if I had I wouldn’t waste my breath on you.” She walked to the divan, sat beside Heather, and reached for the girl’s hand. “My dear, I am ashamed of myself. I knew there was a girl out there at my husband’s place who was having it hard, and if I had been human I would have gone to you. I wasn’t having it any too easy myself, but that’s all the more reason, and anyway I’m twice your age. Now we’ll stick it out together. Won’t we?”

“I think,” Heather said shakily, “I’m going to throw my arms around you and kiss you. Your voice — you have no idea, Mrs. Dundee—”

“Indeed I haven’t. You poor kid. I have no idea about anything, but I think that man Hicks has. His voice sounded like it—”

“Hicks?” Ross demanded in astonishment.

“Yes. That’s why I was expecting Miss Gladd. He phoned and said she would probably come here because he had told her to—”

“When did he phone?”

“An hour ago. More. He should be here any minute.” Mrs. Dundee took Heather’s hand again. “My dear, he told me what happened today — your being there and hearing the shot and finding your brother-in-law dead — and I think you’re amazing. A child your age! I expected you to look like a hard-boiled female sergeant, and here you’re as lovely as a dream! I’m bitterly ashamed—”

“Do I understand,” Vail interrupted, “that Hicks is on his way here?”

“Yes.”

“Is Dick with him?”

“No.”

“I’m glad of that. I came here, Judith, to give you an explanation of this business, at least what I know of it—”

“I don’t care to hear it.” Mrs. Dundee didn’t look at him. “I don’t even ask how you came to arrive here with my son and Miss Gladd. The whole thing is so utterly incomprehensible that I have ceased to pretend I have a mind capable of functioning. I wasn’t even surprised when I entered and saw you here. I am no longer capable of surprise. Apparently my son has knocked you cold, as he expressed it. When or on what provocation I have no idea. If you have an explanation to give you can give it to Mr. Hicks—”

A buzzer sounded.

Ross went to answer it. Vail scowled at the young man’s receding back, stuck his thumbs in his vest pockets, straightened himself, and breathed deeply and audibly. Voices sounded in the hall, and a door closed, and in a moment Hicks entered, followed by Ross. As Hicks crossed to the divan a glance was all he had for Vail; a corner of his wide mobile mouth curved upward as he saw that Judith and Heather, sitting, were hand in hand.

“You were right about her,” Judith said. “She came all right.”

“Sure she did.” Hicks patted Heather’s knee. “Good girl.”

“What happened to you?” Heather demanded. “I got a message—”

“I know you did. We’ll get around to that.” Hicks seated himself on the divan beside her and looked up at Vail, at Ross. “Sit down, everybody. Let’s have a little talk.”

Vail blurted aggressively, “I came here to—”

“To explain things?”

“Yes. To tell Mrs. Dundee—”

“Fine. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I’d love to hear you explain things. Go right ahead.”

James Vail, as with deliberation he turned a chair to face the divan and sat on it, and leveled his gaze at Judith Dundee, was not a particularly prepossessing object. His visage, with the broad insensitive nose, the thin selfish mouth, and the cold shrewd eyes, had never been intended to excite admiration, even when, well-groomed and fed and rested, he moved in the congenial orbit of a top-flight business executive; and now, not too clean, not combed, not in any respect jaunty, with an enormous disfiguring lump on the side of his head above his left ear, he was simply ugly. Under the enveloping fat folds of his lids it was difficult to tell where his eyes were focused in that light, but as he leaned back and stuck his thumbs in his vest pockets it was Mrs. Dundee he spoke to.