Five Fatal Words (28 page)

As she walked along she checked the differences which she had observed. Everitt had been light and frivolous, and yet she knew he had been a brave man and a man of adverse and romantic behavior. Alice Cornwall had appeared to be shallow-minded and garrulous until suddenly in a French café she had launched almost ferociously into the subject of the murder of her two brothers. Lester, in the third generation, had seemed to be an abysmal fop, until a swirling, death-carrying vapor had extracted from him evidences of the utmost courage. Then and there was Theodore, with his doctors and his horoscopes and his health systems, suddenly rising to such a pinnacle of abandon that he jumped from an aeroplane in a parachute. Donald was like that--brilliance concealed beneath flippancy and nonchalance.

The strain ran through the whole family--a family of complicated and contradictory people, whose actions in the times of stress and crisis could not be predicted by a casual knowledge of them.

The thought put in her mind by this realization of family resemblance in character of each one was immense and startling: anyone of the Cornwalls might be the murderer of the other five; each one had the nerve, the intelligence and the motive. Each one had built up over decades a camouflaged personality which concealed the individual almost wholly. There were still two Cornwalls left alive and possibly one of those two was the assassin. The terrific thought that she would have to decide between Hannah and Lydia gripped Melicent so that her steps lagged and her very brain reeled. Then she cast it aside.

In any such system of thinking there was still the possibility of a third person, an outsider.

But the possibility that the deaths had been accidental could no longer be entertained.

They had been ingeniously contrived to resemble accidents. That was all. They were murders and yet she realized with a fresh insight that the most scrupulous investigation would maintain each one was an accident. They had been preceded by messages. Everitt Cornwall had been found with a copper spider in his hand--and unless Donald had definite information about his uncle's parachute, any observer would be compelled to say that the Cornwalls had died from natural causes or from mishap rather than at the hands of a person or persons unknown.

It was eleven o'clock. Melicent sat in her own bedroom with the lights on. For the first time she and Hannah Cornwall had departed from their habit of changing rooms before retiring. Her venerable employer was also awake. She had refused to open her door to allow Melicent to enter. She had also refused to let Melicent speak to her and their communication had been conducted by words spoken on Miss Cornwall's part and words written by Melicent and slipped under the door after she had carefully inspected them to be sure that none of their sequences spelled the single syllable in dread of which Hannah Cornwall now sat quivering.

Between nine and eleven Melicent had exchanged a few notes with Miss Cornwall and for the rest of the time she had listened to the sounds made by the old woman as she fortified herself by dragging chairs and tables and bureaus across the room to barricade the fireplace and the dumbwaiter. Melicent had also been told to instruct four of the servants to sit up all night in various parts of the house, and in order to accomplish this curious command, Miss Cornwall had given each of the servants a written agreement of double wages. Melicent had taken it upon herself to explain that this nocturnal vigilance was demanded by Miss Cornwall because she was neurasthenic. She used the term to the servants and explained it by simpler words. Miss Cornwall was very nervous.

She had spells. When she had such spells she could not sleep or eat or exist in any comfort at all unless she knew that several people were awake constantly in her house.

The servants had accepted the situation and acted upon it, partly because of the increase in their wages, and partly because, since they were chosen for their character and general excellence and experience, they were accustomed to the caprices of rich employers. They even looked upon it in the light of interesting adventure. And to the minority who complained over the institution of a night watch system, Melicent merely indicated their replaceability.

From a nightly prisoner Melicent had become a free lance. She was now Miss Cornwall's source of food, of information--Miss Cornwall's other self and her only access to the outside world. The final stages of Hannah Cornwall's hysteria were represented by this voluntary incarceration. Particularly good evidence of the fact that it was hysteria was to be found in the fact that she guarded against the reception of any messages as carefully as she buttressed herself against the entrance into her chamber of any person or any thing.

In periods when Melicent's imagination outran her self-control, she realized the inadequacy of what Hannah Cornwall had done that night. Anyone could walk up to the bedroom door and bellow the death message in so loud a voice that it could be heard by the old woman. The poison mist that had killed Alice would not have been stayed by chiffoniers and dressing tables. But obviously "Alcazar" could not be burned as Blackcroft had been and it was equally obvious that ordinary bombing or firearms would have little effect on Hannah Cornwall's defenses.

Thus on that night the fifth of the Cornwalls began her last stand against the hand of doom, while the sixth member of the family presumably slept peacefully in her distant quarters in the castle.

At half-past eleven the doorbell rang and the nervous servants posted through the great edifice were startled by a temporary belief that perhaps some real function would be demanded of their new situation. The doorbell, however, announced only the arrival of Donald Cornwall. He had flown to an airfield north of Manhattan and driven to "Alcazar" in a taxicab. Melicent ascertained that it was he from the top of the stairs and held back her almost unbearable feelings of delight long enough to slip a note she had already prepared underneath Hannah's door. The note read: "Donald has just come in and I am going down to see him."

Donald was taking off his coat. He was pale as a ghost and there was a large gauze bandage over his right temple. He looked up as he heard Melicent's footsteps, but he did not read her expression. She did not want him to do so. This chaotic present was no hour for the admission of love.

He said "Hello" and hesitated a fraction of a second, "Melicent."

"Hello," Melicent answered.

He nodded toward a room off the hall. "Could I talk to you for a moment before I see my aunt?"

She followed him through the wide doorway. He dropped into a chair with the instantaneous relaxation of one who is almost at the end of his physical resources. He bent his head forward in his hands. His fingers disappeared in his red hair and she could see a slow rise and fall of his shoulders, as he breathed. It required that much time for Melicent to gain full control of her varied emotions.

"Are you very much hurt?" she asked in a very gentle voice.

He lifted his head and looked at her with eyes that took some time in focusing on her question. "Hurt? Oh, this bandage? My parachute dropped me on a frozen field and I just got scratched a little when I was dragged across it."

"Oh!" Her breath sounded shivery after that.

"Is Aunt Hannah still awake?"

"I believe so."

"Is she expecting me to come right up?"

"No. I told her that I would see you first."

"Do you suppose I could have some coffee?"

"There will be some here in a minute. I have had coffee ready for you."

"Then the servants are still up?"

"Yes," she answered. "Several of them."

His eyes were on her again, introverted, haunted. "You know, I let him die."

"What do you mean?"

"I got those two parachutes."

"You bought them?"

"I rented them."

A servant appeared at the door with a tray. Melicent rose and drew a small table in front of her chair. The tray was set upon it and the servant left the room. Donald said no more until she had poured coffee, creamed and sugared it according to his mute nods, and handed it to him. She poured a cup for herself. He drank all of his portion and asked for another. After that he lit a cigarette.

"I am glad Aunt Hannah doesn't want me immediately, because I'd rather tell you all about it first. It has been pretty terrible, the whole thing. A sort of nightmare of pursuit."

"Pursuit?"

"I think so. We left New York in the morning, going down the freight elevator and getting into a different car from the one that took our baggage. I was tired and nervous. I hadn't slept any on the previous night. You know that. When we got in the Grand Central Station I had a feeling somebody was watching us. Maybe you know the feeling and maybe you don't. It's a damned unpleasant one."

He sipped his second cup of coffee and looked at her over the top of the cup.

"We took a train for Chicago. I kept walking up and down the aisles looking at the people and when I went to bed, I slept with a revolver at my hand. Uncle Theodore didn't say much. Sometimes he was excited and hopeful about things, and again in fits he was depressed and terrified. The meteorite obsessed him; when he talked, it was about that. He could not be shaken from his idea that it was an actual messenger from his stars."

"Did you try to shake him from it?" asked Melicent.

"I did. Perhaps I shouldn't have; for nothing could have come out worse than what happened. Anyway, my attempt did no good. To him, the meteorite meant travel; so we kept on traveling, taking the first train from Chicago for San Francisco."

"You went there?"

"Yes. He had to keep on the move; and, of course, when you travel, you do make it harder for anybody, who's after you, to find you. On the western train, Uncle Theodore found an old gentleman to play cribbage with and I got some rest. When we got to Frisco, we stayed quiet two days. I was changing my clothes in my room, next to Uncle Theodore's, when I heard him on the phone. He'd called Priscilla Loring; and she had told him, now, to return.

"That didn't worry me much, because it might be a good move which our pursuers might not suspect."

"Wait, please," asked Melicent. "You knew you were pursued?"

"Knew?" repeated Donald. "No; I just felt it. But we'd both got more cheerful. Traveling and the change had cheered us both up; and nothing yet had happened. We'd come the southern way so we went back the northern--that proved a mistake; for we ran into snowstorms in the mountain and got delayed. That's what did for us."

For a full minute, he said nothing and seemed to be gathering his thoughts for the recounting of the consequences. Melicent did not budge and her eyes never left his face.

"So we got back in Chicago only on the morning of the day upon which Priscilla Loring had told Uncle Theodore he must be again in New York. There was only one possible way to make it--to fly."

"I don't think there ever was a man so completely at odds with himself as Uncle Theodore that morning. He had to fly, if he was to accomplish the thing he was set on; and he hated to fly. He'd never been in an aeroplane in his life. The train was no good but he wanted to go on the train."

"Of course I got Priscilla Loring on the wire and persuaded her to tell him it was all right to take another day. And she did it. She played the game, I'll say that for her. But Uncle Theodore wouldn't believe her. He said she'd read the stars and told him twice what they said; and now she was changing it because she was human and afraid for him.

But he knew she couldn't really change what the stars said. She'd told him, before, that his salvation in an emergency was to take the bold course; so he'd be bold.

"After he'd rung off, he stalked about the room and jibbered at me. If I wouldn't fly with him, he'd fly alone. So I said, all right; we'll fly and take along parachutes. That idea put him almost out of his head; so I said, all right, we won't take along parachutes; and then he said we would take them; of course I called up an airport and engaged a special plane with special pilots; and arranged for chutes for us. Jumping in a parachute isn't much of a trick. It takes a lot of nerve but nature gives you the nerve if staying in the plane becomes a worse alternative."

"Uncle Theodore made me go over and over the job of how to use a parachute. The plane was supposed to start at half-past eleven. We were out on the field at eleven but there was a lot of delay. One of the pilots didn't arrive until late and then they fussed around with the engines until I thought I'd go nutty with impatience. Finally everything was ready. It must have been nearly one o'clock. The pilots were regular commercial fellows and Uncle Theodore himself had spent an hour or so calling up about their references on the telephone. Before I left the hangar where they were issued, I strapped on my chute. Then I went out and helped Uncle Theodore into his. I am telling you all this because I've been telling it to myself over and over to see just where the crux of the matter lies. The plane taxied out onto the field. They brought us four boxes of lunch and set ours under our chairs. We went out to the plane with our parachutes on our backs, and I guess we were a source of considerable amusement to the people standing around. Uncle Theodore got one of the pilots to rehearse him on using the parachute--how to jump, how to count, how to pull the ring and what to do when he got on the ground."

"Anyway, we eventually climbed into the plane. When it took off, Uncle Theodore screamed just like a woman. I had to hold him in his seat to keep him from jumping out right away. We turned east. We went up to about four thousand feet and we made good time. The sun was shining and the country below looked nice. Most of it was covered with snow and there was a good stiff wind blowing the way we were going. It was warm in the cabin. The pilots were both perfectly matter of fact, but not Uncle Theodore. He was as white as a lily and every few minutes he got a spasm of shaking. I had my hands full from the start."

"It must have been three-thirty or four when I remembered the lunch and I thought it would calm him if he saw me eating. So I took out my box and began on a sandwich. It did seem to make him realize that normal things could happen four thousand feet up in the air and before long he took out his box. We were sitting side by side. When he took up the box I nodded and grinned at him, trying to reassure him and to applaud him for his calmness. It was a cardboard box like the ones they put cakes in and about the same size. He lifted the lid and opened the waxed paper around the food inside."