Five Fatal Words (27 page)

"Priscilla Loring's instructions, you mean," Melicent interrupted.

"Exactly. She wired him yesterday reminding him of it; and it seemed to him essential that he be back in New York to-night. When I opposed him, he grew very excited and more positive about it. He insisted he must fly rather than fail to return in time. He had decided, anyway, to be bold; and I must say he'd done pretty well being bold on the trip up to then.

"However, before taking the airplane, he provided himself and me with parachutes. He insisted on buying them himself because he didn't trust anybody or anything. Then we got aboard. When I say that he found a five-word message in his lunch box after we were aboard the plane and in the air, you will understand what I mean."

Melicent clenched the transmitter. "Five words--the same sort--they came to him again?"

"Not the same five words," said Donald's voice, "but the same sort. Yes, they came to him again. Just after that we ran into a fog and we had some engine trouble. He was frantic. He decided to jump; and he jumped. I jumped, too, in order to be near him when he landed. My parachute opened, Melicent; his didn't."

"Donald, why didn't it?"

"That is being investigated now, Melicent; but--it didn't. I'm waiting for the investigation, of course; and to make arrangements that are necessary. Then, I'll be on as soon as I can. Please break the news to Aunt Hannah as gently as you can."

"I've already told her. The news was on the radio."

"I see. You must have had a bad time. I wish I were there to help you. She must think this brings it right up to her."

"She does."

"Then you'll stick by her, won't you?"

"Of course."

"Good girl. I ought to be there, too. There are things I can't tell over the phone. Good girl; stick by her, till I get there." He hung up suddenly or was cut off and did not call again.

"Well?" said Miss Cornwall's voice. Melicent turned toward her and tried to hide her inward feeling of radiant relief. "It was Donald."

"Naturally," Hannah said, as if the possibility that Donald and not Theodore had been killed had never occurred to her. "You spoke of five words--a message, another message came to Theodore?"

"Yes, Miss Cornwall."

"They cannot kill without it; don't you see?" Hannah almost shrieked in triumph.

"Without it, they cannot kill; so my plan will prevail. They can never kill me because I will never receive their message. I will hold them helpless--helpless to hurt me because I shall prevent them delivering their message in any form or in any manner ever to me. I am H after Daniel and Everitt and Alice and Theodore; but their five-word message shall never come to me!"

SHE laughed; and her laughter rose shrill and frightful. But the sure knowledge that Donald was safe overcame all other emotion in Melicent. He was safe and returning to her! She had fortitude, therefore, to endure anything through the next few hours; and she determined to remain calmly with Hannah Cornwall.

After a few moments of silence Melicent said, "Do you--" and she was stopped once again by Hannah Cornwall.

"I will have to put into effect my idea of making you write down everything before you say it. There's a pad and pencil over on the table. My nerves could not survive the danger of accident, and whenever you start a sentence with 'D' I am on edge--on edge---"

Melicent tried to reason. "But, Miss Cornwall, if you trust me as you say you do, you should know that I am not going to give you any message by speaking to you."

"I trust you, but you might do it inadvertently. You might have the five right words planted in your mind by something someone said and repeat them to me. I can't fortify myself against accident."

"But--"

Hannah Cornwall herself handed the pencil and paper to Melicent. "It is no use protesting. I have made up my mind. If you have anything to say, write it down. I will talk to you and no one else. Perhaps now you better go and tell Lydia what has happened."

"Very well," Melicent agreed.

When Miss Cornwall let her through the door into the hall, she first armed herself with a revolver, and after Melicent had gone out, she slammed the door so hard the knocker banged heavily against it, and she slid the bolt. An almost complete hysteria possessed her and although Melicent fully appreciated the difficulties under which she must now exist, she also realized that the mind of the older woman was no longer wholly rational.

Once she was outside the chambers belonging to her employer, Melicent was able to devote a few brief seconds to her own feelings. There was something almost irreverent about the strength and joy imparted to her by a candid acknowledgment of her love for Donald Cornwall. Nevertheless, that acknowledgment flooded her mind. She gave herself up to a transient contemplation of little things about him-intonations of his voice, slow, gentle motions of his big hands and the whimsical way he had of whistling when he was by himself, a little tuneful, quiet whistle that, nevertheless, could be heard all through the house. It was a testimony not only to the strength of her feeling but to the strength of her human attachment that she was able to consider such things while she walked through the sinister halls of "Alcazar" to carry a death notice.

Lydia was sitting in her bed reading when Melicent came into the room after knocking. She put down her book and her small eyes blinked over the pouches beneath them at the girl. Melicent was concerned with what she would say and how she would present it to Lydia Cornwall, with whom her contacts had been neither frequent nor close.

There was nothing definitely critical in anything Lydia Cornwall had done or said, but her manner did not invite familiarity.

She said, "Come in, young lady, come in. Don't stand there with the door open. There are drafts enough in this house without that. I suppose Hannah has sent you here for some reason or other. Sit down, if you like. You look tired to death. You are a nervous person, anyway, aren't you?"

Melicent half smiled and realized that it was not the proper expression for the circumstances. Her whole feeling was supercharged with a dread of the consequences of the message she had to tell.

"Don't grin," Lydia Cornwall said wheezily, and then her attention focused on Melicent's eyes and she suddenly moved away from her pillow. "Something's happened, hasn't it? You've got bad news for me."

"Yes, I have."

"Well, what about it? What is it?"

In that instant Melicent decided to go directly to the point without any effort of preparing the older woman. "Your brother Theodore was killed this afternoon when he jumped from an aeroplane in a parachute."

There was a momentary silence on the part of Lydia Cornwall. An expression of incredulity passed over her face.

"That cannot be true," she replied, almost calmly and so amazed Melicent that she found herself arguing it.

"Why can't it be true?"

"It can be, of course," she admitted almost in the same tone as the denial. "But I was not expecting it. I do not believe it. How do you know?"

"The news came over the radio," Melicent replied and Lydia Cornwall snapped her soft fingers.

"That for the radio."

"Then I have just talked over the telephone with Donald."

"Eh? Did you? What did he say?"

"He said that your brother was dead."

"Donald said that? You are sure it was Donald?"

"I spoke with him myself."

"Very well; go on."

So Melicent proceeded suffering frequent and sceptical interruptions but at last succeeded in reporting the news in full.

"Why didn't my brother's parachute open--when Donald's did?" Lydia challenged her at last; and Melicent still felt as though the older woman were trying to catch her in a lie, as though she had come there with a fabricated account.

"I don't know," confessed Melicent. "That is being investigated, Donald said."

And now Melicent turned on her. "Why have you not expected this?" she demanded.

"Why won't you believe it?"

"Does one expect death?" retorted Lydia. "And as to believing it--beliefs bring things on. You ask me to believe a thing before it has occurred and aid in precipitating it. So I shall not believe Theodore dead, until I know it is so."

Melicent stared at her helplessly until her mind, returning to Hannah Cornwall with her walls and locks and keys and newly decreed silences, realized that Lydia too must have perfected her own circle of defense; and this was it.

Lydia looked down and traced with her right forefinger the pattern in the gaudy quilt that was spread over her. The finger trembled slightly. "Does Hannah believe this?" she inquired.

"Yes. I told her the news from the radio. Then she was beside me when I talked with Donald."

"I suppose, then, that to Hannah's mind, at least, this is another confirmation of her fancy that our family is fated ?"

"Yes; it undoubtedly is."

"Undoubtedly. Hannah exerts no resistance. I mean in her mind; she depends wholly upon material defences--which never availed anyone." Lydia was speaking slowly, almost disconnectedly. "Tell me, in Donald's account of the circumstances which you have repeated, did another message come first to Theodore?"

"It did. A five-word message of the same sort. He found it in his lunch box after they were in the plane and the plane was in the air."

Melicent saw the old woman flinch as if she had been pricked or stung.

"Humph!" she ejaculated. "Well, what is Hannah doing now? Why did she send you to tell me instead of corning here herself?"

"She was exceedingly upset. She has locked herself in her room and she told me she is going to stay there and not talk to anybody."

Lydia nodded her head slowly, and thoughtfully. A full minute passed during which she said nothing, and then her remark was more an articulation of her thoughts than a question. "She's 'H,' isn't she?"

"Yes," Melicent answered. "She believes that she's going to be the next one to--"

"I can see that she might. That makes things look rather unpleasant for me, if all this comes about."

Lydia still tried to pretend: it had not actually happened.

"For you?" Melicent repeated.

"If Hannah is murdered, I'll inherit father's fortune. And it will certainly look as if I'd murdered everybody else to get it, or at least as if I'd had everybody else murdered."

"I don't believe anybody would dream of accusing you!"

Lydia shrugged. "Maybe not. But suppose somebody has--Oh, well. Let's not suppose. Tell Ahdi Vado to come in here. He's in the next room." Lydia nodded toward a door.

Melicent knocked on it and it was opened by Ahdi Vado.

He stepped into the room, bowing to Melicent and gravely approaching the bedside of Lydia Cornwall. "You wished me?"

"Yes, Ahdi. I have news that my brother was killed in an aeroplane accident this afternoon. What would you say to such news?"

The Hindu looked up with an expression of surprise and sadness.

"You mean you have doubtful news?"

"I'm afraid," said Melicent, "there's no doubt about it."

"Then it is very sad."

Lydia twitched. "Ahdi, you are accepting it."

Ahdi Vado inclined his head. "What is feared, must be opposed--steadfastly and faithfully," he repeated. "What has occurred, one must accommodate oneself to. When one fails to do so, it is to fear an event even after it has happened."

"Ahdi, you can feel that this has happened?"

The Hindu nodded. "Since you have spoken, I can."

"Ahdi, if it happened, my brother was murdered."

The mystic looked from one woman to the other with blank, contemplative eyes.

"Murdered? I know that you had considered that was threatened; yet I felt that your fears were excessive. I hoped that the elements of destruction had been allayed. Your brother was a quiet man, offending no one. He himself had regulated his days so that they became a long sequence of opportunities for contemplation. Nothing else. The idea of murder is very strange."

Lydia gazed speculatively at the dark-skinned man. At length she said, "That's all, Ahdi. I want you to think about it; and then I want to know your conclusions. I want you to think about all the deaths in my family and I want you to reconsider as to whether or not a curse could now explain them."

Ahdi Vado's eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. "Curse?" he repeated. "In the realm of the soul and in the infinite boundaries of time such a thing as a curse cannot be conceived by those who are thoughtful. I am very sorry about your brother, and I should most surely contemplate the destiny of the family with the eye of my mind." He bowed, first to Lydia, then to Melicent, and withdrew. The door closed behind him.

Lydia sighed. "Half the time I think he's a marvelous man, and half the time I think he's a--what's the word--a sap. It's a bad thing, Miss Waring, to be born with a medieval mind and a modern temperament. So Theodore is gone. You can understand that, in spite of all that has happened, it is difficult for me to believe it; such a fact cannot abruptly become actual; but five minutes from now, it may. . . . I've often had an itch to let you know, at least, that there are strains of normalcy running through my ponderous, old frame. At the same time, don't get the idea that I am not interested in Eastern philosophy. I am. I know a great deal about it. It's trying to acquaint it with present-day life that difficult. Tell Hannah that I've withdrawn to my cloister, but above all, if you find out any more about why four Cornwalls have suddenly ceased to live, hurry up here and tell me, will you?"

"If I hear anything," Melicent said.

"Now, go away. I am exhausted and exhaustion is bad for me. But if you could just look at me a little more kindly when we pass each other, it would make my day brighter. I am not an absolute and congenital idiot, you know."

Melicent walked to the door.

"Good night, Miss Waring."

"Good night."

Alone in the corridor of "Alcazar," Melicent again felt the surprise and shock of a new discovery. It fitted perfectly with all she had learned about the Cornwalls. Superficially they were people without sense, control or direction. Actually they concealed beneath their complicated exteriors a great deal of character and mentality. There was a vast heritage of real personality in each of them and that heritage must have come from their empire building father, old Silas Cornwall.