Evidence of Things Seen (10 page)

“After setting up at the farm she became a recluse to the extent of putting up a wire fence, purchasing two large and fierce watchdogs, and never going to church. We do not know whether these innovations followed, or are partly responsible for, the rumor which soon spread locally—that Mrs. Hickson had not died of gastric trouble, but of arsenic. I say arsenic, of course, since arsenic is a poison familiar in country usage, procurable for country uses, and well known to produce symptoms resembling gastric disease. If the rumor spread immediately after Mrs. Hickson's death, I can very well understand that Miss Alvira Radford would not go to church to be stared at; for I think it very doubtful that she should not have heard what her kind neighbors were saying.

“But was there any rumor of a haunting? Was Mrs. Hickson's ghost known to walk?”

“No, I'm sure Web Hawley or Mrs. Simms would have let it out if there had been.”

“So far as you know, you and Maggie—and Miss Radford herself, on the day of the accident—are the only persons who ever saw the woman in the sunbonnet. Quite naturally, since you and Maggie are the first persons to have lived there since Alvira Radford vacated it; vacated it, you have been tempted to fear, because she had seen the woman in the sunbonnet, only too often.

“At any rate, you yourself are sure that Alvira disliked the place, wouldn't set foot in it, and rather preferred you to think that she wasn't the owner.

“Meanwhile you were disturbed by the appearance, every three days and at sunset, of a woman in a sunbonnet; and by the fact that shortly after each appearance the door to the north attic was found open. You investigated the attic, and there discovered evidence that connected Miss Radford, through her sister, with the manifestations. Later, when on two occasions you saw the woman at close quarters, you were completely convinced that the garments worn by her, and the garments you had found in the attic, were the same. You were convinced that all these happenings were related—parts of a ghastly whole. You were right.”

Clara, her eyes fixed anxiously on his face, said nothing.

“But let us try,” continued Gamadge, “to bring the matter out of the realms of the supernatural and down to earth. We can hope to do so only by inquiring into Miss Radford's character and into her past. We must ignore the whole fabric of evidence as it was presented to you, and account in some other way for what you were meant to look upon as unaccountable.

“In the first place: there are more reasons than one for shaking the dust of a place off one's feet; and fear of the place is not the commonest reason. Let's assume that Miss Radford and her rich (and miserly) sister didn't get on.

“In the second place: though human instinct leads people unreasonably enough to put up material bars against malignant spirits, there are better reasons for fences and watchdogs. Perhaps Miss Radford also had the miser instinct; perhaps she liked to keep some of her wealth in the house with her, where she could look at it.

“She struggled against being carried into the house on Saturday, after her accident; no wonder! She had just seen what she could only suppose to be the ghost of her dead sister, and she had fainted at the sight; from what you tell me, I think she must have fainted before the buggy went over.”

“Yes, the reins were tangled up anyhow—she had dropped them.”

“Of course she fainted; and when she came to, dazed from shock, she remembered what she had seen, protested against being kept in precincts that she could only think haunted, and fainted again. I don't blame her. But you say she quieted down afterwards?”

“Yes.”

“If she had poisoned Mrs. Hickson, and just seen her avenging ghost, she would have raised the roof, made such a row that Knapp would have had to get her out of there on a stretcher. At any rate, she wouldn't have quieted down and taken a shot of morphia like a lamb, with the powers of darkness, for all she knew, closing in on her. She had seen a ghost, but not an avenging ghost.”

“I'm sure Dr. Knapp had heard the rumor about the a poisoning.”

“And Eli has heard it.”

“Has he? He told me there was nothing to be afraid of here but copperheads!”

Gamadge said: “I'd rather you'd met a copperhead.”

“Than—than the woman in the sunbonnet?”

“You ran up against something that didn't wait to be hurt or interfered with before it attacked you viciously. If the attic door was open every time you saw the woman, it was the woman who opened it; it could have been closed, it was left open to frighten you. Anybody could have come and gone by those doors and stairways without being seen by you or Maggie, couldn't they?”

“I suppose so.”

“Think it over, and you'll know so; for it must have happened. Out of doors there must be plenty of cover; we'll go down and look.

“Now for the inquiry into Miss Radford's own life. She profited by her sister's death; who profits by hers?”

“Why, if she didn't will the money away from them, Mrs. Groby. The Grobys are rich!”

“Mrs. Groby, from your account of her, seems to possess a frivolous disposition, and a husband who is short on principle. Miss Radford is said not to have cared much for the Grobys, and when they heard of her accident they did not behave as though they cared much for her. The Grobys had better have effective alibis for Saturday afternoon and the early hours of Sunday morning.”

“They were having a party.”

“But when did it begin and end? We may be sure that the sheriff, the captain of state police, and the state's attorney of Stratfield are looking into the matter.

“We have one other faint suggestion as to the character of Alvira Radford, and it helps to keep us out of the realm of the supernatural, and on solid earth. When Gilbert Craye brought you the stuff on Friday afternoon he made a mistake about Miss Radford which interests me very much. At least, you say that he had a talk with you in the course of which you found yourselves at cross-purposes. You thought he was referring to the rumor that Miss Radford had poisoned her sister; but you found that he had never heard the rumor, and was thinking of something else—something which seemed to have set him against her. When you asked him what it was, he turned the conversation.”

“I thought he meant that she and those friends of hers in Stratfield had been gossiping about him.”

“And from whom would you have heard this, if not from Miss Radford herself? You had only two other sources of information—the Simms outfit, and the Hunters. I should not suppose that Mrs. Simms and her hired man know anything whatever about Gilbert Craye, who lives ten miles off in Stratfield; and the Hunters, presumably, should not repeat gossip about him.”

“They never repeated any, and neither did Mrs. Simms or Web Hawley.”

“But Miss Radford has friends in Stratfield. However, it's all very vague at present, and I only mention it as an indication that Alvira Radford had enemies on the earthly plane.”

“Gilbert Craye!”

“We mustn't neglect what we have. Clara—” he turned, and put an arm around her shoulders, “have I managed to explode the ghost theory for you?”

“You've convinced me that there was no ghost. I knew you would!”

“If I've done that, I've done something of vast importance to this investigation.”

“Of course the woman could have gone and got those clothes—and put them back in the attic. It's pretty awful to think that she was wandering around and hiding in the house.”

“She won't come back, you know.”

“But you haven't told me how she could have killed Miss Radford, when I was right there and awake!”

“Never mind how she killed Miss Radford. What I want is to get you to do me a colossal favor.”

“You know I'll do anything.”

“I want you to come back with me and live at the cottage.”

Clara's gray eyes met his green ones in a long look. She said at last: “Maggie will never go there again.”

“You're wrong. She said this morning that she would if you would. She figures that the cottage isn't haunted any more—Mrs. Hickson has had her revenge, you know, and can rest in peace.”

“I can't believe that Maggie will go back!”

“She's promised to, if we want her. I told her that she should sleep in the Herons' bedroom, with all doors open; and I only hope she doesn't snore.”

“Of course I'll go anywhere you want me to. It will be all right if you're there.”

“That's talking.” He pressed her hard against his side. “I knew you would. Now I'll explain why I'm so keen on going. In the first place, I quite agree with Maggie that the hauntings are over; their object has certainly been accomplished. They certainly weren't engineered just to frighten you away. There are no counterfeiters' dens or smugglers caves on the place, I suppose?”

Clara said there were none, so far as she knew.

“Then the attic door will stay shut from now on—unless we want it open. We'll leave the other mysterious door—the condemned one—wide open, by the way; we'll put a handle on it and give it a step. We'll take the furniture out of that bedroom, and use it as a back entry; a thing which the cottage seems to need.”

“Henry, that will make all the difference!”

“The Herons' maid will have to have the other little bedroom, and we won't invite any weekend guests; or if we do, they can sleep in the upstairs sitting room.”

“There's a nice sofa there.”

“And now I'll give you my reasons for wanting to go back. First, of course, to relieve the hospitable Hunters of our presence. They'll object; but after all, they may have plans for other guests.”

“I've worried awfully about settling down on them.”

“Naturally you have. But if we moved, where should we go if not to the cottage? I doubt if there's anything we could stand in Avebury, and even that's too far for me. That brings me to the next, and a much more important reason for a return; I want to be on the spot. In the next few days I shall have to see a lot of people and come and go at my own hours. At the cottage I shall not only be free, but halfway between Avebury and Stratfield; or at least at a strategic point between them.”

“Stratfield? I simply can't believe,” said Clara, distressed, “that Gilbert Craye knows anything about it!”

“He knows something about Miss Radford that he doesn't want other people to know. What was that you said he asked you, by the way, about Schenck being in the F.B.I.?”

“He just asked. I said you and Mr. Schenck didn't talk about your war work.”

“I didn't know that he had ever met Schenck, or heard of him. Well, then; we come to the last reason that I can think of for settling down in the cottage, in spite of all you've been through in it; and I won't try to tell you what a sport I think you are; you know.”

“It will be all right there with you.”

“I've telegraphed to Dick Heron that I'm on the job, and I shall now write him a letter. I shall tell him that if he and Sally want to call the summer off, we're agreeable and shan't blame them; but that I'm going to try to clear things up, and that I hope we'll get our money's worth after all. I don't know whether I could get out of the lease, but from what you tell me of the Grobys I think I probably couldn't without a lawsuit.”

“I wondered whether Dick and Sally would want to come now.”

“Well, they weren't here when the thing happened; I bet if we stick it out they will. Are you sure, Clara, that you're willing to do this for me?” Again he looked at her closely; again she returned the look without wavering.

“It'll be all right with you.”

“Think what a strong-minded female the sheriff, and the state's attorney, and the state police will make you out to be!” He gave her an odd smile.

“They'll all be very much surprised. I don't believe any of them would much like to live there themselves, now.”

“Well show them what we're made of. And now,” he said, getting up and lifting her to her feet, “let's go down and look at the place.”

They went down the Ladder; Gamadge admired every yard of the trail, and said that this kind of thing was what he had been looking forward to. Clara, watching his face, could only hope that he would succeed in enjoying himself.

A
T HIS FIRST
view of the little yellow house half hidden by its trees, Gamadge stopped with a hand on Clara's arm. He stood absorbing the scene and tapping his stick gently against his leg; the monotone of the waterfall was in his ears, a chirping of birds, a faint rustle of leaves. Wood-smells and field-smells came to him on a cool breeze. The bend in the road cut off all sight of other human habitations.

“Do you like it?” asked Clara.

“Who wouldn't like it?”

They went on down to the beginning of the path. A state trooper got up from the porch settee and advanced upon them.

“Premises closed,” he said. “Public not allowed.”

“We're not public,” said Gamadge. “We live here.”

The trooper looked at him.

“And we have property here,” continued Gamadge. “No doubt it's been protected, although I see that the yard hasn't been protected from what must have been a convention of gum chewers. We want to check up on our stuff.”

The trooper asked: “You Mr. and Mrs. Gamadge?”

“Yes.”

“Staying up at Hunters?”

“For the moment. We hope to move back in tonight.”

“Move back in!” The trooper looked amazed.

“Certainly, move back in; why not? We have a lease.”

“I didn't have any orders.”

“It never occurred to me that orders were required; however, I'll speak to whoever's responsible for you. I don't understand why you should be surprised at our coming back; we've paid our advance—half the summer rental; we couldn't very well get it back, could we? Or is a murder legally considered an act of God?”