'Peace.'
'I've had my fill of that sort of peace,' he said. 'I've been living close up to it all these years. You've been out of contact. You have no conception of what I've been through.' He rested his head on the back of the sofa and lifted his eyes to the ceiling.
'You'll go through worse,' she said roughly, 'if you let down your back hair now.'
'At least it will be different.'
'You're a spineless fool. But I'm not going to let you ruin what remains of my life. If you do, you'll get no financial help from me.'
'Even that I can do without.'
But he was being careful to say nothing I wanted to know. He'd been wearing a mask so long that it stuck to his face and controlled his speech and perhaps his habits of thought. Even the old woman with her back turned was playing to me as if I was an audience.
'This argument is academic, in more than one sense,' I said. 'The body isn't buried any longer. I know your sister Letitia shot your husband, Mrs. Deloney. I know she later married Bradshaw in Boston. I have his mother's word for it--'
'His mother?'
Bradshaw sat up straight. 'I do have a mother after all.' He added in his earnest cultivated voice, with his eyes intent on the woman's: 'I'm still living with her, and she has to be considered in this matter, too.'
'You lead a very complicated life,' she said.
'I have a very complicated nature.'
'Very well, young Mr. Complexity, the ball is yours. Carry it.' She went to a love-seat in a neutral corner of the room and sat down there.
'I thought the ball was mine,' I said, 'but you're welcome to it, Bradshaw. You can start where everything started, with the Deloney killing. You were Helen's witness, weren't you?'
He nodded once. 'I shouldn't have gone to Helen with that heavy knowledge. But I was deeply upset and she was the only friend I had in the world.'
'Except Letitia.'
'Yes. Except Letitia.'
'What was your part in the murder?'
'I was simply there. And it wasn't a murder, properly speaking. Deloney was killed in self-defense, virtually by accident.'
'This is where I came in.'
'It's true. He caught us in bed together in his penthouse.'
'Did you and Letitia make a habit of going to bed together?'
'It was the first time. I'd written a poem about her, which the college magazine printed, and I showed it to her in the elevator. I'd been watching her, admiring her, all through the spring. She was much older than I was, but she was fascinating. She was the first woman I ever had.' He spoke of her with a kind of awe still.
'What happened in the penthouse bedroom, Bradshaw?'
'He caught us, as I said. He got a gun out of the chest of drawers and hit me with the butt of it. Tish tried to stop him. He beat her face in with the gun. She got her hands on it somehow, and it went off and killed him.'
He touched the lid of his right eye, and nodded toward the old woman. She was watching us from the corner, from the distance of her years.
'Mrs. Deloney hushed the matter up, or had it hushed up. You can hardly blame her, under the circumstances. Or blame us. We went to Boston, where Tish spent months in and out of the hospital having her face rebuilt. Then we were married. I was in love with her, in spite of the discrepancy in our ages. I suppose my feeling for my own mother prepared me to love Tish.'
His hooded intelligence flared up in his eyes so bright it was half-insane. His mouth was wry.
'We went to Europe on our honeymoon. My mother put French detectives on our trail. I had to leave Tish in Paris and come home to make my peace with Mother and start my sophomore year at Harvard. The war broke out in Europe that same month. I never saw Tish again. She fell sick and died before I knew it.'
'I don't believe you. There wasn't time for all that.'
'It happened very rapidly, as tragedy does.'
'Not yours, it's been dragging on for twenty-two years.'
'No,' Mrs. Deloney said. 'He's telling the truth, and I can prove it to you.'
She went into another room of the cottage and came back with a heavily creased document which she handed me. It was an _acte de deces_ issued in Bordeaux and dated July 16, 1940. It stated in French that Letitia Osborne Macready, aged 45, had died of pneumonia.
I gave it back to Mrs. Deloney. 'You carry this with you wherever you go?'
'I happened to bring it with me.'
'Why?'
She couldn't think of an answer.
'I'll tell you why. Because your sister is very much alive and you're afraid she'll be punished for her crimes.'
'My sister committed no crime. The death of my husband was either justifiable homicide or accident. The police commissioner realized that or he'd never have quashed the case.'
'That may be. But Constance McGee and Helen Haggerty weren't shot by accident.'
'My sister died long before either of those women.'
'Your own actions deny it, and they mean more than this phony death certificate. For instance, you visited Gil Stevens today and tried to pump him about the McGee case.'
'He broke my confidence, did he?'
'There was nothing there to be broken. You're not Stevens's client. He's still representing McGee.'
'He didn't tell me.'
'Why should he? This isn't your town.'
She turned in confusion to Bradshaw. He shook his head. I crossed the room and stood over him:
'If Tish is safely buried in France, why did you go to such elaborate trouble to divorce her?'
'So you know about the divorce. You're quite a digger for facts, aren't you, quite a Digger Indian? I begin to wonder if there's anything you don't know about my private life.'
He sat there, looking up at me brightly and warily. I was a little carried away by the collapse of his defenses, and I said:
'Your private life, or your private lives, are something for the book. Have you been keeping up two establishments, dividing your time between your mother and your wife?'
'I suppose it's obvious that I have,' he said tonelessly.
'Does Tish live here in town?'
'She lived in the Los Angeles area. I have no intention of telling you where, and I can assure you you'll never find the place. There'd be no point in it, anyway, since she's no longer there.'
'Where and how did she die this time?'
'She isn't dead. That French death certificate is a fake, as you guessed. But she is beyond your reach. I put her on a plane to Rio de Janeiro on Saturday, and she'll be there by now.'
Mrs. Deloney said: 'You didn't tell me that!'
'I hadn't intended to tell anyone. However, I have to make Mr. Archer see that there's no point in pressing this thing any further. My wife--my ex-wife--is an old woman, and a sick one, and she's beyond extradition. I've arranged for her to have medical care, psychiatric care, in a South American city which I won't name.'
'You're admitting that she killed Helen Haggerty?'
'Yes. She confessed to me when I went to see her in Los Angeles early Saturday morning. She shot Helen and hid the gun in my gatehouse. I contacted Foley in Reno primarily to find out if he had witnessed anything. I didn't want him blackmailing me--'
'I thought he already was.'
'Helen was,' he said. 'She learned about my pending divorce in Reno, and she jumped to a number of
