The Cases of Hildegarde Withers (31 page)

“But
suppose
he
got
to
the
kitchen,”
Miss
Withers
objected.
“Where
could
he
go
from
there?”

“There’s
a
rear
door
opening
into
a
tiny
court,”
said
Piper.
“The
court
is
fenced,
but
an
agile
man
could
get
over
the
fence
into
Alison’s
rear
yard,
or
into
the
service
yard
of
the
apartment
on
the
other
side.”

“Hmm,”
observed
Miss
Withers
dubio
usly.
“Murder
for
revenge,
eh?”

“Why
else?”

Miss
Withers
stood
aside
to
allow
Sergeant
Krim
and
a
uniformed
patrolman
to
drag
up
the
steps
a
white-faced,
very
handsome
young
man.

“I
won’t
talk!”
shouted
William
Alison,
but
he
was
optimistic.
Miss
Withers
hurried
on
down
to
the
library.
As
she
came
to
the
open
door
she
saw
that
Maida
lay
on
the
yellow
rug,
in
a
faint,
with
her
brother
and
the
worried
doctor
ministering
to
her.

Back
up
the
stairs
went
Miss
Withers,
but
the
door
was
closed.
She
knocked
imperiously,
and
in
a
moment
the
Inspector
opened
it
a
crack.

“Alison’s
played
leading
roles
in
a
stock
company,”
Piper
whispered.
“One
of
the
boys
recognized
him
—
go
take
a
walk
for
yourself,
and
when
you
get
back
we’ll
have
a
confession.”

“Confession!”
spoke
Miss
Withers
angrily,
but
the
door
closed
again.
“Just
because
he’s
an
actor
doesn’t
mean
he
deserves
to
go
to
the
chair
—
or
does
it?
Anyway,
Maida
fainted
when
she
saw
him
under
arrest!”

She
amused
herself
by
wandering
through
the
old
house.
It
took
her,
she
found,
exactly
four
minutes
to
go
from
the
dead
man’s
room
up
one
flight
to
the
housekeeper’s
quarters,
down
the
rear
stair
and
into
the
court.
She
also
satisfied
herself
that
it
would
take
a
good
bit
of
gymnastics
to
climb
any
of
the
rear
fences
—
a
task
quite
beyond
her
powers,
or
those
of
any
average
woman.

“Then
where
was
Maida
last
night?”
Miss
Withers
asked
herself.

She
went
back
to
the
girl’s
room
and
began
a
methodical
search.
She
poured
the
powder
from
a
pink
box,
dug
the
cold
cream
from
a
jar.
In
the
bottom
of
the
jar
was
a
ring.

She
turned
her
attention
to
the
clothes
closet,
but
found
nothing
out
of
the
ordinary.
There
was
another
closet,
from
which
emanated
the
faint
smell
of
cedar.
It
bore
a
stout
lock
of
the
Yale
variety,
quite
beyond
the
power
of
Miss
Wither’s
hairpin.

Taking
a
long
chance,
she
felt
along
the
top
of
the
door
frame,
where
from
experience
she
knew
that
many
optimistic
persons
hide
their
keys.
Nor
was
she
disappointed
—
the
closet-door
yielded
and
she
disappeared
inside
for
a
long
half
hour.

When
Miss
Withers
came
back
into
Maida’s
bedroom
her
face
was
flushed
and
there
was
an
icy
glint
in
her
blue
eyes.
Her
expression
did
not
change
when
she
saw
that
a
girl
was
sitting
on
the
bed,
staring
at
her.

“So
you
found
it!”
said
Maida
savagely.
“Well
…
?”

Miss
Withers
did
not
answer.
“How
old
are
you,
child?”

“Twenty
—
but
I
don’t
see
—
”

“Did
you
love
him
such
a
lot?”

“Did
I?”
The
clear,
young
eyes
clouded.
“Did
I!”

“And
then
the
doctor
came
along,
and
you
changed
your
mind?”

Maida
began
to
laugh,
hysterically.

“I
suppose
you
thought
it
was
very
romantic,
like
Romeo
and
Juliet?
Having
an
affair
with
the
son
of
the
man
your
uncle
hated
most
in
the
world!
Who
thought
of
digging
out
the
bricks
and
making
a
passage
from
your
closet
to
his
bedroom,
you
or
he?”

Then
Maida
was
hysterical.
Miss
Withers
left
her
and
went
away.
She
spent
the
next
half
hour
closeted
with
Marvin,
the
housekeeper.

“Strict
with
her?
Let
me
tell
you,
she
walked
a
chalkline
all
right.”

“They
used
to
quarrel?”

“Not
exactly.
Miss
Maida
is
very
sweet,
you
see.
She
couldn’t
be
ar
to
hurt
anybody’s
feelings—
not
much
like
her
brother.
Why,
if
you
ask
me,
I
think
that
she
promised
to
marry
the
doctor
mostly
because
her
uncle
kept
after
her
so.
She
was
afraid
he’d
fret
himself
into
his
coffin
if
she
didn’t.”