Mary's face grew sicker. “Another one, Sully?” she said.
“The fellow pulled a gun on me,” said Heath, anger hardening his tone. “But I didn't beat him up. I punched him once, knocked him out.”
“The last time it was a blackjack that was drawn on you, now it's a gun,” said Mary, fighting to keep back a sob. “Furthermore, Mr. Heath, I took the liberty to look inside some of your luggage. Tell me, why are you carrying a map of this farm? Why do you have a genealogy of my father's family written in your little book?”
The sob got loose, jerked at her words, but she kept on. “You worked your way into my confidence, made me care for you, to get a chance to accompany me here. It was you, I remember, who suggested the surprise visit after hearing about my letter. And why— why?”
He hadn't expected her to look inside his luggage. It was bad enough she believed he'd killed the hoodlum back on the pike, but now. . . If things didn't break right for him he saw that he'd lost her forever.
Trappett said, ''What'll we do with him, Miss?”
“He—he's dangerous,” said Mary. “We should lock him inside the tower until father comes home.”
Trappett frowned, said, “I don't wish to frighten you, Miss. But he drove up in your father's car—alone. That's why Bascome went out. He thought it was Lorney, Weblick, and, Mr. McCulloch coming back.”
Heath was watching Mary's eyes and saw when the light of true reason flickered in them. He drew a sigh of relief.
Mary said, “Are you sure, Mr. Trappett?”
Trappett nodded. “I got a good look when Bascome went out with the lantern. It's Mr. McCulloch's car all right. Maybe this man has done your father some harm. We'd better lock him up and get word to the State Police, don't you think?”
MARY'S face told Sully what she was beginning to think. The way her mind was changing didn't make him mad. “Sully,” she said, her eyes going soft, “was it—the car—that—”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Then, perhaps I—”
Sully said to Trappett, “Did you try to buy that music box at Coverlee today?” He pointed at the music box in Mary's arms.
Beneath the brilliant ochre, Trappett's face paled. “Yes,” he said, “I did.”
“Why?” asked Heath.
Mary drew it loose quivering breath, took a few steps toward the county prosecutor's ace detective.
“Because I have one like it, made by David McCulloch,” Trappett told them. “I bought it in Baltimore. David McCulloch had mailed it to a friend there. I happened to hear it play.”
“You have one, and wanted another one?” said Mary.
“I don't have to tell you anything about it,” Trappett said, patting the breech of the gun in his hands. “But I'll tell you this much. This evening I was in the tower, high on the stairs. It was dark there, and someone tried to push me over the railing. I fell down the stairs instead.
“During the struggle a little book was stolen from my pocket. In it was written the message of my music box; also a notation I'd made concerning the fact that another music box of David McCulloch's had turned up in an antique shop at Coverlee.”
There, was a scraping sound outside the door. Mary went to open it. In passing Heath she whispered, “Forgive me, Sully. Please.” His smile told her it would be an easy thing for him to do.
When Mary opened the door Lee Bascome fell into the room. His face was a slipping mass of blood. A huge gash laid open his forehead, covered his eyes with a red streaming mask of flesh.
Mary clutched onto the door jamb, staring down, her face deathly. Bascome struggled to his knees, lifted a shaking hand, pointed at Heath. “He—he did it! He's killed me.” He fell back, moaning.
Trappett's words struck Heath's ear in a slitting whisper a moment after the yellow man had cocked the shotgun. “You dirty murderer! You—” The music box slipped from Mary's arms, banged onto the floor.
Bascome was struggling to lift his head. His words came with a moan, “It's—it's not running! There's no sound! No sound!”
As Bascome slipped back onto the floor, Trappett glanced through the doorway, cocked his head as if listening. In that instant his attention was divided. Heath took advantage of it. He leapt and snatched away the shotgun, leveled it at Trappett's face.
“Oh, Sully!” Mary cried. “How could you hurt him like that?” She whirled and ran out into the darkness.
Heath supposed she'd get in the convertible, drive back to Coverlee. He waited for the coupe's motor to throb, but it never happened. Only the slow ticking of the clock on the mantel and Trappett's hard breathing disturbed the stillness.
CHAPTER IV
ONE glance at Bascome told Heath he was dead. Trappett said, “Miss McCulloch may fall into evil hands. Don't you think you'd better go after her?”
Heath smiled. “And let you go? She'll be back in a moment, when she's had time to think things over.” He stepped to the music box, used his toe to lift its lid.
As it started tinkling its dowdy tune Trappett sucked in a hard breath. Heath tried to place the melody. It was familiar, but kept slipping his memory. After a minute or so the music quit and the clicking sound began.
