Read Online Rex Stout by The Sound of Murder - Free Book Online

thoughtfully at the sky as if to read the weather, and in chairs against the house two other men sat. One wore the uniform of the State Police; the other was George Cooper. When Hicks had first seen that face with the sharp pointed nose, in a booth in Joyce’s restaurant, it had been white and puckered with distress; now it was a deadpan, drained of all expression by shattering disaster.
    Hicks started for the door to the living room.
    “Hey,” the cop growled, “back up! Who are you?”
    “The name is Hicks.”
    “Oh. Where’ve you been?”
    “Sitting on a rock. I’d like to see Mr. Dundee.”
    “He’s inside with the lieutenant. Don’t go in there. You can wait here.”
    “Then I’d like to see Mr. Brager.”
    “He’s in with the district attorney.”
    “Is anybody interested in me?”
    The cop nodded. “You’ll get attention. Have a seat—Hey, where you going?”
    Hicks, who had started off, turned to say distinctly without elision, “I am going to the kitchen to get a drink of water,” and, without waiting for written permission, retraced his steps around to the rear of the house, opened the door and entered.
    A saucepan dropped from Mrs. Powell’s hands and clattered on the floor.
    Hicks stepped across and retrieved it, but when he straightened up to present it to her, he found that she had backed clear against the wall and was regarding him with an expression of terror that was unmistakable. She was paralyzed with fear.
    “Scream,” Hicks told her encouragingly. “Go ahead and scream.”
    The woman flattened herself against the wall and made no sound whatever.
    Hicks put the saucepan on the table. “It’s like this,” he explained. “Even if you’re correct in concluding that I’m the murderer, your conduct is unreasonable. Even if I killed Mrs.Cooper it doesn’t follow that I want to kill you too. The fact is that what I want is a drink of water.” He crossed to the sink and opened the faucet, got a glass from a shelf, filled it, and drank. “That’s good water. Above all, you should have screamed. If I had intended violence, your failure to scream would practically have made you an accessory.” He refilled the glass and drank again. “In an assault case in Brooklyn in 1934, the judge held that—”
    “You get out of here!” Mrs. Powell squeaked.
    “I would like to ask if you ever—”
    “Get out of here!”
    “But I want to know. Have you ever met Mrs. Dundee Senior?”
    “Get out of here! I
will
scream! I
can
scream!”
    “Oh my lord,” Hicks muttered in disgust. He had his pick of two doors, not counting the one he had entered by, and chose the one on the left, which was a two-way door, and found himself in the dining room. It was uninhabited. Here again was a choice of two doors. The one at the right was closed; the one opposite him stood open, and through it could be seen a stair, which was what he was looking for. Making for it, and entering the hall where it was, he was confronted by another policeman in uniform.
    “Where you going?”
    “Bathroom,” Hicks said, and detoured around him and started up the stair.
    With no pause on the landing at the top, he proceeded with a confident step down the hall, though he was not particularly confident about anything. Certainly he was by no means confident that the sonotel plate of the conversation between Mrs. Dundee and Jimmie Vail was concealed in that house, but there was a fair chance that it was, and if it was, he wanted it. From the seven doors which were disclosed to a quick survey, he selected one at random, turned the knob, and opened it. One glance at its interior was enough to identify it; the array of toilet articles on the dresser would alone have sufficed; it belonged to Heather Gladd. And it smelled like her. He backed out and closed the door and tried another down the hall. It too was unlocked. He opened it and passed through, with no special caution.

Seven
    To a swift glance around no one was visible.