A Puzzle for fools (11 page)

I LEFT Mrs. Fogarty alone and hurried down the deserted corridor to my room. As I undressed and slipped into bed, the sound of her words still echoed in my ears. They had become for me a symbol of the day—a day which had begun with murder and closed with the most commonsensical of the staff believing herself to have heard the voice of a dead man.

As I tossed restlessly, I tried to force my jangled nerves to accept Reason. I told myself that what both Mrs. Fogarty and I thought we had heard was patently impossible. The spirits of the dead might converse with David Fenwick, but they were not likely to speak over the house telephone to so practical and unpsychic a person as the night nurse.

There was only one explanation. For some crazy reason, someone had chosen this particularly beastly way of frightening her and of frightening me. After all, everyone knew I had not gone to my room with the others. Anyone in Wing Two might have heard my footsteps in the corridor and my name called by Mrs. Fogarty. It did not require supernatural knowledge to realize that I was in the alcove with the night nurse.

And yet, by removing the menace of the other world, I had only thrown myself more violently back upon the realities of our own private world of the sanitarium. And the realities were none too pleasant.
The thing on the slab —!
The phrase had become horrible, sinister now. It repeated itself time and time again in my tired brain. And with it, returning with monotonous regularity, came the image of Jo Fogarty—that gagged, agonized face, that helplessly bound body.

Moreno had said that the police thought the death was an accident. I could never believe that. I knew as certainly as my name was Peter Duluth that Fogarty's murder was part of something else; some step in the progress of that unseen force which was jerking all of us like marionettes in a mad puppet show of its own devising.

Until that moment I had been able to see no motive for the attendant's death, but now I realized one with sudden clarity. Wasn't it possible that Jo with his love of gossip and personalities had stumbled inadvertently upon some knowledge; some knowledge which made him both dangerous and in danger? And if that were so, wasn't it also possible that I, too, had unconsciously discovered something which put me in the same position? After all, I had been warned by that voice. And something told me its warnings were not to be taken lightly. I felt a growing sense of uneasiness, and my regular night fears started to show up again, too. In my mind that intangible menace had become crystallized now, crystallized into an immediate, personal danger to myself. Danger…!

I tried to cut off the train of thought. I sat up in bed, looking at the strip of lighted passage through the open door. Usually I liked the idea of that open door; it was a contact with the outside world; it made me feel safe from the neurotic fears in my own mind.

But that night my fears were external. If there were danger, it would come through that door. On a sudden impulse, I jumped out of bed, hurried to the door and closed it. But when my uncertain fingers felt for the key, I remembered there was no lock. The thought came to me tinged with panic. Slowly I moved back to the bed.

I do not know how long I lay awake in the darkness, listening to my heart beat and cursing myself for an old soak. I almost reached the maudlin state of thinking the prohibitionists were right after all. At any rate I realized I was now paying for my alcoholic excesses with a vengeance that would have satisfied even Carrie Nation herself.

The cure seemed to have become more nerve-wracking than the disease. I think that if it hadn't been for Iris, I would have got up then and there, demanded my baggage and turned my back on the Lenz Sanitarium once and for all.

After what seemed like hours I calmed down sufficiently to slip off into a doze. I was half asleep, luxuriating in the new sensation of tranquility when I heard footsteps.

Instantly I was horribly awake again. Those footsteps were moving nearer. They were coming to my room. I knew it. I sat up and then froze against the pillows like a dummy.

The door was opening. I saw a crack of light, a fragment of a silhouette. As I flung out a hand for the telephone, I realized that by now Mrs. Fogarty would be off duty. If I summoned aid, only Warren would come, and in my jittery state I felt I would rather face this thing alone than with the hostile night attendant.

The door had opened to its full extent now and was shutting again. I made no sound. The indistinct figure that moved toward me was nothing but a blur in the shadows. I strained my eyes, helplessly unable to identify it with any living person in the sanitarium.

It was so near now that I could feel the cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. Then it spoke:

"Are you awake, Duluth?"

I almost laughed, the relief was so great. It was only old Laribee.

He fumbled for a chair and drew it toward the bed. Ponderously he sat down—a pathetic, ungainly figure in his gray pajamas.

"I want to talk to you, Duluth," he whispered eagerly.

My fears had vanished. I only felt curious now.

"But how did you get by Warren?"

"He's out there asleep in the alcove."

"Well, what's on your mind?"

He leaned forward. His heavy face was close to mine, and I could see his eyes gleaming.

"I'm not mad," he said. "I'm sure of that now. I want you to know, too."

"Good for you," I said feebly and without conviction.

But he hardly waited for my reply. He went on hurriedly:

"For several days, I thought I really was going insane. That night I heard the ticker in my room. On the walk I heard my broker's voice speaking in my ear. That's enough to make any man think he's crazy, isn't it? But you found that stop watch in my pocket. I've been thinking it out and I see it was all a frame-up. They're deliberately frightening me—trying to drive me mad."

I drew the bedclothes up to my chin and waited for him to go on.

"I know their little game," he was continuing breathlessly. "I know why they're trying to frighten me. Shall I tell you?"

"By all means."

He glanced furtively over his shoulder at the closed door. "When I came here, I thought I was ruined financially. Everything seemed to be crashing. But I knew there was a little left, and that it would go too if I went on playing the market. And I couldn't stop myself. That's why I made a trust fund and appointed Dr. Lenz one of the trustees."

Laribee seemed to consider me only as an audience, so I remained silent.

"The arrangement," he continued, "was that he was to have control of a quarter of my estate if I died or really went mad." A new crafty note had come into his voice. "I thought that would make him look after my money better, and take better care of me, too. You see, I didn't think I was rich enough to make it dangerous. That's why I did it."

He seemed to think this had been a particularly cunning move on his part, but to me it merely sounded crazy.

"Yes," he went on, "I thought I was ruined then. But now I'm rich. I've got over two million. And Lenz knows that, too. If I go mad, he gets half a million for the sanitarium. Half a million!" He lowered his voice again. ! "Now you understand, don't you? That's a lot of money, Duluth, and I've found out something else, too. All the staff here have a financial interest in the institution. Now you see why they're trying to drive me insane.'* He laughed. "As if they could succeed! Why, I'm as sane as any man on Wall Street."

I thought he was probably right on that point. But I could follow his reasoning, too. Lenz himself had told me he would benefit considerably if Laribee were committed to a State institution.

For a moment we sat there together in silence. His burly silhouette was outlined against the white wall. I could even see his sparse hair sticking up like a little boy's.

It was difficult to judge just how crazy he was; difficult, too, to decide whether or not to be sorry for him. I did not like him. In fact, I disliked him intensely when I remembered that tragic expression in Iris' eyes. But, after all, he was old and defenseless. And I myself had seen enough to realize that someone was giving him a pretty raw deal.

"They aren't going to fool me," he said suddenly. "I'm still sane, and in my right mind, and I've just made a new will. My daughter was going to get the bulk of my estate. She was co-trustee with Lenz. She'd have come in for over a million if they'd driven me crazy, and she knew it, too. She wouldn't have stopped them putting me away, Duluth, not her."

He paused, peering at me excitedly as though expecting me to make some comment. I could produce nothing more constructive than a grunt.

"Spent a hundred thousand dollars on that girl's education," he growled at length. "And then what does she do? Goes to Hollywood and tries to become a movie star. Calls herself Sylvia Dawn, indeed! The old name was good enough for me. And she never thought of coming East when I was sick, Duluth. Oh, no, it was her career all the time that counted, not her father—no, not me."

But now Laribee was thoroughly absorbed with his domestic grievances. He was talking to himself, rather than to me.

"But she didn't consider her career much when she married that cheap-skate last summer. Told me at first he was a medical man. And then it turns out he's just a common vaudeville actor!" His hands were beating an indignant tattoo on my quilt. "Dan Laribee's daughter marrying a cheap one-night stander, indeed! I guess he was after my money, too. Well, I'll fool them both. They won't get another penny out of me."

He gave a malevolent little chuckle and then added slyly:

"Now Miss Brush—she's not the type of girl that marries for money, is she, Duluth?"

I said that, having none to speak of myself, I had never given the matter much thought.

"Well, they're all after her, Moreno, Trent, all of them. They're jealous. But it's me she likes. She's really in love with me, Duluth." He crouched forward, almost speaking in my ear. "And 111 tell you a secret. We're going to get married. Just as soon as I leave this place, we're going to get married."

It seemed a curious spot and a curious moment for wedding congratulations, but I did my best.

"I knew you'd sympathize, Duluth. And I know you'll understand when I tell you what I've done."

Once more his head turned furtively toward the closed door. "I've changed my will. I'm going to leave everything to Isabel. That's why I came here. I've got the will with me. And Isabel lent me her fountain pen. I want you to be a witness. But we have to be careful." His laugh was high, excited. "They'd do anything to stop me if they knew. They'd do anything. They'd even murder me, I think."

I could not get my own reaction straight in my head. Laribee seemed wilder, crazier than I had ever before seen him, but there was a kind of logic in what he said.
      

"You might ask why I don't leave this place," he was whispering. "Well, I can't leave Isabel here unprotected. There would be danger for her, too, if they knew. You see, they all want her and they all want my money."

He was fumbling in his pajama pocket now. His fingers came out, gripping a piece of paper that gleamed in the darkness.

"Here you are. Here's the will. All you have to do is to witness my signature."

I hesitated a moment. But I did not see that it was my part to object. Although the whole thing seemed completely nutty to me, it obviously meant a great deal to Laribee. And after all, we were all in the same boat at the Lenz Sanitarium. I felt I ought to stick by my fellow patients.

My knowledge of legal procedure was hazy in the extreme but it did not really seem to matter whether or not the will would be valid.

"I'll sign," I said. "But I'd like to be able to see the darn thing."

"Yes, yes." Eagerly Laribee's fingers slipped once more into his pajama pocket and came out clutching a small object. "I've got matches—a whole box of them."

I was amazed. All of us were considered potential pyromaniacs. Matches were as difficult to get in the sanitarium as a bottle of absinthe or vodka.

"I got them from Isabel," Laribee was explaining. "And the pen, too."

He struck a match, holding the small flame near the paper. In that flickering light I could see the bluish veins in his red face. I heard his quick, stertorous breathing as I leaned forward to read through the shaky sentences of the will.

The last part alone held my attention.

"My entire estate, both real and personal to my wife, Isabel Laribee, nee Brush; or in the event that my decease should prevent our marriage, to Isabel Brush …"

There was something rather pathetic about those stilted, legal phrases. Something slightly ominous, too. The match burned low and another was struck. Laribee handed me Miss Brush's pen, saying almost triumphantly:

"Sign there, Duluth."

I scribbled my name and the match went out. As the darkness closed in around us again, I remembered an elementary rule of will-making. "You'll need another witness," I said. "All wills have two witnesses, don't they?"

In his excitement, Laribee seemed to have forgotten it, too. He had been folding the paper contentedly, but now it remained poised in mid-air. His voice faltered as he asked:

"But what shall we do, Duluth? What shall we do?"

He sounded so sad—so disappointed—that I felt sorry for him.

"It'll be okay," I said comfortingly. "I'll get you another witness tomorrow. Geddes is a good sport. He'd do it, I know."

"Tomorrow? Oh, I can't leave it till tomorrow. We've got to be quick. Don't you see? Quick and secret."

Laribee fumbled through the darkness for my arm and gripped it pleadingly.

"Get Geddes now, Duluth. Please, get him to do it now."

I didn't exactly like the idea of waking up fellow patients in the middle of the night, but, as I seemed to have become so deeply involved, I thought I might as well see the whole thing through. With Laribee fussing agitatedly around me, I jumped out of bed and moved to the door.

One look down the corridor showed me Warren. The light was on in the alcove and the night attendant was slouched sideways in the stiff chair where his sister had sat. His elbow, propped on the table by the telephone, supported his head.