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Authors: Mary Roberts Rinehart
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about it. What’s it got to do with you anyhow? A strange girl gets herself killed in it. You don’t know her. So what?”
She went back to Louise and Marcia. They were smoking, and she lit a cigarette and sat down. She had a definite impression that each was determined to outstay the other, Louise with an amused smile, Marcia’s horselike face and tall thin body rather grim.
“So you’ve met Jerry Dane,” Louise said. “Interesting type.”
“I wouldn’t know. Is he?”
“Definitely yes.” She glanced at Marcia. “A wounded hero, isn’t he? And good-looking too. Why on earth come here to recuperate?”
“There’s no mystery about that,” Marcia said tartly. “The Burtons offered him their house. At least,” she added, glancing at Louise, “Carol has managed to meet him. That’s more than you can say.”
Louise got up.
“I didn’t have a body around,” she said cheerfully. “There’s still hope, of course. Most things come in threes, don’t they?”
She left on that, but Marcia stayed, planted solidly in her chair, with her thin legs stuck out in front of her. Carol knew her well, and she relaxed somewhat.
“What do you think of Jerry Dane?” Marcia asked abruptly.
“I haven’t really thought of him at all. I haven’t had time.”
Marcia shrugged.
“Well, he’s definitely a mystery. We’ve all asked him to dinner. We’ve asked him for bridge. We’ve even, God help us, asked him for backgammon and gin rummy. But nothing doing. He’s still an invalid, and goes to bed early. An invalid! He climbs hills like a goat. I’ve seen him myself.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like games,” Carol said indifferently. “I hope you don’t mind, Marcia, but I’ve had a long day.”
Marcia got up, but she did not leave. She stood looking into the patio.
“I suppose this house is an architectural bastard,” she said, “but I’ve always liked it. It’s queer Elinor never comes here, isn’t it?” She fixed Carol with shrewd eyes.
“She likes Newport better. That’s all. It’s easier for Howard to get there for weekends.”
But she realized that Marcia had dragged in Elinor’s name for a purpose, and she felt herself stiffening.
“It’s queer,” Marcia said, still watching her. “I thought I saw her car about two o’clock last Saturday morning. I’d know that car anywhere.”
“That’s ridiculous, Marcia.”
“I suppose it is. I just thought I’d better tell you. Someone else may have seen it too, or thought so. It was going toward the railroad, and making sixty miles at least. I didn’t think there was another car like it in the world.”
“There must be. She hasn’t been here. I know that. She was in New York.”
“Well, if you’re sure of that—I’m a Nurse’s Aide, and I worked late at the hospital Friday night. When I got home I let that damned dog of mine out. He didn’t come back, so I went after him. That’s how it happened.”
“It’s absurd, Marcia. You saw a car. You didn’t see Elinor in it, and she wasn’t in it. She couldn’t have been.”
But she was not so sure. She knew the deadly sharpness of Marcia’s eyes. She knew, too, how the story would grow if Marcia told it. It was Marcia herself who reassured her.
“I suppose I was mistaken,” she said. “Anyhow no use starting talk. You know this place. Any summer colony, for that matter. I’m not telling it, Carol. You can count on me.”
It was some time after she left before Carol could control her hands sufficiently to light a cigarette.
7
S HE CALLED ELINOR THAT evening, shutting herself in the library to do it. There was something reassuring in Elinor’s matter-of-fact voice.
“Hello, Carol,” she said. “I hear you’ve had some trouble there.”
“You know about it?”
“The gentlemen of the press,” Elinor said lightly. “I’ve been trying to get you for some time, but you know what long-distance is nowadays. I hope it hasn’t been too bad.”
“It’s been
She went back to Louise and Marcia. They were smoking, and she lit a cigarette and sat down. She had a definite impression that each was determined to outstay the other, Louise with an amused smile, Marcia’s horselike face and tall thin body rather grim.
“So you’ve met Jerry Dane,” Louise said. “Interesting type.”
“I wouldn’t know. Is he?”
“Definitely yes.” She glanced at Marcia. “A wounded hero, isn’t he? And good-looking too. Why on earth come here to recuperate?”
“There’s no mystery about that,” Marcia said tartly. “The Burtons offered him their house. At least,” she added, glancing at Louise, “Carol has managed to meet him. That’s more than you can say.”
Louise got up.
“I didn’t have a body around,” she said cheerfully. “There’s still hope, of course. Most things come in threes, don’t they?”
She left on that, but Marcia stayed, planted solidly in her chair, with her thin legs stuck out in front of her. Carol knew her well, and she relaxed somewhat.
“What do you think of Jerry Dane?” Marcia asked abruptly.
“I haven’t really thought of him at all. I haven’t had time.”
Marcia shrugged.
“Well, he’s definitely a mystery. We’ve all asked him to dinner. We’ve asked him for bridge. We’ve even, God help us, asked him for backgammon and gin rummy. But nothing doing. He’s still an invalid, and goes to bed early. An invalid! He climbs hills like a goat. I’ve seen him myself.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like games,” Carol said indifferently. “I hope you don’t mind, Marcia, but I’ve had a long day.”
Marcia got up, but she did not leave. She stood looking into the patio.
“I suppose this house is an architectural bastard,” she said, “but I’ve always liked it. It’s queer Elinor never comes here, isn’t it?” She fixed Carol with shrewd eyes.
“She likes Newport better. That’s all. It’s easier for Howard to get there for weekends.”
But she realized that Marcia had dragged in Elinor’s name for a purpose, and she felt herself stiffening.
“It’s queer,” Marcia said, still watching her. “I thought I saw her car about two o’clock last Saturday morning. I’d know that car anywhere.”
“That’s ridiculous, Marcia.”
“I suppose it is. I just thought I’d better tell you. Someone else may have seen it too, or thought so. It was going toward the railroad, and making sixty miles at least. I didn’t think there was another car like it in the world.”
“There must be. She hasn’t been here. I know that. She was in New York.”
“Well, if you’re sure of that—I’m a Nurse’s Aide, and I worked late at the hospital Friday night. When I got home I let that damned dog of mine out. He didn’t come back, so I went after him. That’s how it happened.”
“It’s absurd, Marcia. You saw a car. You didn’t see Elinor in it, and she wasn’t in it. She couldn’t have been.”
But she was not so sure. She knew the deadly sharpness of Marcia’s eyes. She knew, too, how the story would grow if Marcia told it. It was Marcia herself who reassured her.
“I suppose I was mistaken,” she said. “Anyhow no use starting talk. You know this place. Any summer colony, for that matter. I’m not telling it, Carol. You can count on me.”
It was some time after she left before Carol could control her hands sufficiently to light a cigarette.
7
S HE CALLED ELINOR THAT evening, shutting herself in the library to do it. There was something reassuring in Elinor’s matter-of-fact voice.
“Hello, Carol,” she said. “I hear you’ve had some trouble there.”
“You know about it?”
“The gentlemen of the press,” Elinor said lightly. “I’ve been trying to get you for some time, but you know what long-distance is nowadays. I hope it hasn’t been too bad.”
“It’s been
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