Arrow Pointing Nowhere (22 page)

“If you can stand this for a few minutes,” he said, “I think you'd better try. It will be much easier for the police and for all of us if the room is as it was when the death occurred.”

“I can stand anything. I want to tell the police what happened.”

Alden was looking from one to another of them, his eyes returning again and again to the stained fingers of his mother's right hand. Fenway clasped him around the upper arm once more. “Come over to the window, my boy. Come and look out of the window.”

“They don't let me!”

“You can do it today.”

“But it's getting dark.”

Fenway, distractedly looking about him, asked: “Where's Craddock? Why doesn't Craddock come?”

“He went to the post office, Blake,” said Mrs. Fenway. “Alden, you know you like to see the lights.” Her voice broke, and then she was crying spasmodically.

Alden walked slowly to the bay, and turned a chair to face the east window. He sat down with his back to the room, pulled aside a white glass-curtain, and peered out towards the avenue.

Fenway leaned over his sister-in-law. “You must tell us, Belle, before we send for people. What in God's name did she shoot you for?”

“I think she's been going mad, Blake.” Mrs. Fenway was controlling her sobs. “I think losing her house and her money, all she had, and the terrible anxiety, and the journey—it's all driven her mad by degrees. She often said that life wasn't worth living to her if she had to be dependent in her old age, and that she couldn't face it. I told her we'd take care of her—Alden and I, you know; I thought Alden's estate might be willing to pension her if she acted as our housekeeper when we had a house. She knew how little money I had. Lately, about a week and a half ago, she began to demand money from me. A hundred thousand dollars. She said I must raise it in cash, and she'd take it and go away.”

“A hundred thousand dollars?”

“I was to make up some story to get it from you, or sell everything I had of my own. She said that if I breathed a word to you or to anyone Hilda would be killed.

“
Hilda
?”

“She said there was some kind of trap at Fenbrook, and that if she telephoned, Hilda would set it off or walk into it or something and be killed. She said that she could get to a telephone because she had a pistol; that if I told she would have nothing to lose, and that she'd kill me and then herself. I thought she was mad, but how could I risk the danger to Hilda?”

“You must have realized that she was raving! You should have managed to tell us somehow.”

“It wasn't easy; she was always there. How could I risk it? I've dreamed of that telephone. I could hear it ringing at Fenbrook, and then I could see Hilda answering it.”

“It was only a threat, Belle. How long has this been going on, did you say?”

“For more than a week. I thought Alice was getting very strange and silent, and then suddenly one day she burst out with it. She knows how fond of Hilda I am.”

“This is horrible. When could she have set a trap at Fenbrook?”

“I don't think she can have gone up there secretly at night, but I don't know. Perhaps she did it—if there is a trap—before we came down last summer.”

Fenway cast a shrinking and incredulous look at the figure outlined by the silk robe. He said: “Horrible. Were we to find this trap after she went away?”

“She was going to leave it until she did get safely off; she said she knew where to go. And then she was going to write me what it was and how to find it.”

“I don't for one moment believe that there's anything wrong at Fenbrook. What made her turn on you today?”

Tears began to roll again down Mrs. Fenway's ashen face. “Oh, Blake, I was afraid she'd killed Mott, and I couldn't stand it any longer.”

Fenway staggered back a step or two, and caught hold of the edge of the table. “Killed—Mott!”

“I was afraid he'd somehow found out what she was doing to me, and that she killed him last night to prevent his telling you.”

“But my God, Belle, you said she was with you here last night!”

“She made me; I've been such a coward! But it couldn't go on, she was too dangerous; she might have murdered you or Caroline. I was going to call to you when you came upstairs
and ask for help. I hoped she'd give way when it came to the point, and that perhaps she had no pistol after all. But she got up and said very well, she'd end it herself, and took the pistol out of her bag and shut and locked the door. If I'd only known Mr. Gamadge was there! I could have screamed for
him
. I didn't know my poor boy would be the one to save me! Blake, he was so frightened when he'd fired at her; he went around the table and stood staring at her; he didn't even know what he'd done. Blake, they oughtn't to touch him for this!”

“Belle, my poor Belle, do you think I'd let anyone maltreat him?”

Gamadge said: “We must telephone now. Shall I do it sir? The doctor first for Mrs. Fenway. What's his number?”

Fenway supplied the number, and Gamadge called Thurley's office. His secretary said that the doctor had gone home, and that she would relay the call and send him immediately to Number 24. Then Gamadge called the precinct.

“Get Nordhall,” begged Fenway. “He's a decent, intelligent fellow. Get Nordhall.”

Gamadge succeeded after some difficulty in getting Nordhall, and heard his name repeated enquiringly by that calm official voice.

“You saw me at the Fenways' last night,” said Gamadge.

“Oh yes. Friend of the family.”

“There's some more trouble at the Fenways'; I'm calling from there.”

“Kind of trouble?”

“Mrs. Grove has been shot and killed.”

The calm voice roughened. “Mrs. Grove? Mrs. Fenway's companion? You said killed?”

“By Alden Fenway.”

“What?”

“And Mrs. Fenway's wounded in the arm. Explain when you get here.”

“Where's young Fenway now? What's he doing?”

“Looking out of the window.”

“Be with you. Don't move anything.”

“The whole party is in the room where the shooting occurred, and Mr. Fenway and I are here too—we got here a half minute afterwards—and both doors are locked.”

“Hold it that way.”

When Gamadge looked up from the telephone, Blake Fenway stood at his elbow. “Mr. Gamadge,” he said, and all the kindness of his nature expressed itself in the words, “that child up at Fenbrook; I must let her know.”

Gamadge rose. “You'll want to speak to her yourself, sir.”

“I don't know how to tell her; what to say.”

Mrs. Fenway's eyes were again closed. She said faintly: “Don't tell her everything; just say—just say it was an accident.”

Fenway asked for the Fenbrook number, waited for some time, and then looked up at Gamadge in surprise. “They say the house doesn't answer.”

Gamadge, leaning against the edge of the table, looked sympathy.

“I don't understand it; the Dobsons never leave the place completely empty, never. Something must be wrong with the wires—all this bad weather. It's unfortunate; they telephone telegrams, and I dare say a messenger wouldn't be available for hours, if at all. It's a long way from the village, the roads must be deep in snow. I shall have to telephone the station to send a taxi up with a note. I suppose he can leave it in the door; Hilda—it's really too bad.”

“You might send somebody up from here.”

Fenway glanced at his sister-in-law's face, and back at Gamadge. He lowered his voice. “Might the police object? I know how strict they are, even when it's a plain case of—of mental incompetence. Gamadge, it's the end of him.” He
nodded towards the hunched figure in the window. “They'll put him away for life.”

“I think they will.” Gamadge also spoke below his breath.

“Tragedy. But this poor child at Fenbrook—after what Belle told us, that incredible story about a trap in the house up there, I won't have Hilda Grove spend another night in the place until it's been searched. A trap? What kind of trap? Gamadge, the thing's a nightmare.”

“I happen to know a young woman who's spending the night at the Oaktree Inn. Isn't that near Fenbrook?”

“Only a bare half mile; but it's—I really couldn't ask—” Fenway's eyes lightened.

“She'll be glad to walk up, and if necessary she'll bring Miss Grove to New York herself.”

“I cannot tell you how it would relieve my mind. The Dobsons, good people, are quite unequipped to deal with such a difficult situation. Hilda will be distracted; a loyal, affectionate child. She seemed really to love this—this—” he shook his head. “But the woman was out of her mind.”

Gamadge called the Oaktree Inn, and got Miss Prady on the wire. He said: “Arline? I have a great favor to ask of you… Thanks, I know you will if you can. There's a Miss Grove staying at a place called Fenbrook, half a mile up the road—”

“Tell her there's a sign at the lane,” said Fenway, “but she must have a taxi and charge it to me.”

“You're to take a taxi, and charge it to Fenway. Get that? Fenway. Er—Mr. Fenway is here beside me now. There seems to be something the matter with the Fenbrook telephone, he can't get the house. There's been a fatality here, Miss Grove's aunt has been killed. Can you break it to her, say it was an accident, and get her down to New York by the first possible train? I know it's a lot to ask, but… Thank you, Arline, I knew you would.”

He laid the receiver down; if he could have been amused at anything just then he would have been amused at Arline's super-human behavior; after his warning she had braced herself to receive the staggering news with the polite sympathy that Fenway would expect from a total stranger; Gamadge really did not know how she had managed it.

The front doorbell rang twice. Fenway turned to his sister-in-law. “Belle, my poor Belle, here they are. A few minutes more and you'll be under Thurley's care, and in bed. You ought to have been there long ago. You're magnificent.”

She opened her eyes. “Nothing could make me leave Alden until I know what they mean to do.”

“Don't be afraid. I shall be here and Thurley will be here; and Gamadge will help us make them understand.”

“I'm glad he stayed.” She said faintly: “I know they'll take Alden to a hospital; I'm prepared for that.”

“Then you have nothing at all to worry about.”

Alden turned to look at them. He said: “I like the hospital.”

Gamadge went and unlocked the door. As he opened it Nordhall, followed by uniformed men, advanced along the hall, and the expression on his face was indescribable.

L
IEUTENANT NORDHALL'S EYES
were of the shade once fashionable as Iceberg Blue, and held no warmth; but from the moment—shortly after six o'clock—when he arrived in the Fenway sitting room he behaved with consideration, even with sympathy. He listened to Mrs. Fenway's tragic story, and heard Gamadge's and Fenway's description of the scene that had met their eyes when they halted in the bedroom doorway. He complimented her on her courage in waiting where she was to see him, assured her that her son would be treated not as a criminal but as an invalid, and allowed Thurley—who stood fuming beside her—to have a nurse put her to bed. The nurse had arrived as soon as Thurley's own car could bring her from his pet hospital; but neither she nor Thurley could force Mrs. Fenway to take a sedative until Alden's fate should have been settled and reported to her.

Alden, rather bewildered-looking but docile, had been taken to his own room under the surveillance of a plain-
clothes policeman; Craddock, who came back to the house and learned the news at half past six, immediately went up and battered at the door. He insisted violently on being with his patient, and was allowed to see him. Satisfied when he found no handcuffs on Alden's wrists, and no signs of police coercion other than the plainclothes man's attempt to teach Alden beggar-my-neighbor, Craddock at last consented to be questioned mildly himself.

Mrs. Grove's body was taken away. Pale and trembling servants rolled up the rug from in front of the fireplace, removed the cushions from Mrs. Fenway's chair and the silk coverlet that Gamadge had used as a pall, and wrapped them for the cleaners.

Craddock, aided by police, dealt as best he could with the press. A crowd—this time a really considerable crowd—gathered in front of the house. The commissioner of police and an assistant district attorney called, saw Blake Fenway, conversed with Nordhall, and went away again. By half past seven the house was quiet, and Nordhall, stimulated by a cup of coffee, had time to hold a parting conference with four persons in the back drawing room.