Hallowe’en: The Scarlet Letters
When Jim and Nora came up on the porch after dinner, Nora was quite gay.
“Pat told me about that silly mask, Jim Haight,” said Hermy. ”Nora dearest, you’re sure you’re all right?”
“Of course, Mother. All this fuss over a scare!”
John F. was studying his son-in-law in a puzzled, secretive way. Jim seemed a little sheepish; he grinned vaguely.
“Where’s Carter, Pat?” demanded Hermy. ”Wasn’t he supposed to go with us to Town Hall tonight?”
“I’ve a headache, Muth. I phoned Cart to say I was going to bed. Night!” Pat went quickly into the house.
“Come along, Smith,” said John F. ”There’s a good speaker?one of those war correspondents.”
“Thanks, Mr. Wright, but I’ve some work on my novel. Have a nice time!”
When Jim’s new car rolled off down the Hill, Mr. Ellery Queen stepped off the Wright porch and, by the light of the pumpkin moon, noiselessly crossed the lawn.
He circled Nora’s house once, inspecting the windows. All dark. Then Alberta had already left?Thursday night was her night off.
Ellery opened the kitchen door with a skeleton key, locked it behind him and, using his flashlight sparingly, made his way through the hall to the living room. He climbed the stairs making no sound.
At the landing, he paused, frowning. There was a luminous line under Nora’s bedroom door!
He listened intently. Inside, drawers were being pulled open and pushed shut. A thief? Another Hallowe’en prank?
Gripping the flashlight like a club, Ellery kicked the door open.
Miss Patricia Wright screamed as she sprang from her stooped position over the lowest drawer of Nora’s vanity.
“Hello,” said Mr. Queen affably.
“Worm!” gasped Pat. ”I thought I’d
Ellery’s jaw waggled. ”You little demon,” he said admiringly. ”You’ve known me all along.”
“Of course,” retorted Pat. ”I heard you lecture once on
“Wellesley?”
“Sarah Lawrence. I thought at the time you were very handsome.
Mr. Queen kissed her.
“Mmm,” said Pat. ”Not bad. But inopportune . . . No, please, Ellery. Some other time. Ellery, those letters?you’re the only one I can confide in. Muth and Pop would worry themselves sick?”
“And Carter Bradford?” suggested Mr. Queen dryly.
“Cart,” said Miss Wright, flushing, “is . . . Well, I just wouldn’t want Cart to know anything’s wrong. If it is,” she added quickly. ”I’m not sure anything is.”
Ellery said: “Yes, you are. Delicious lipstick.”
“Wipe it off. Yes,” said Pat damply, “I am . . . Why didn’t Nora say what was in those letters?” she burst out. ”Why did she come back to the living room tonight without them?
Ellery squeezed her cold hands. ”Let’s look for them.”
* * *
He found them in one of Nora’s hatboxes. The hatbox lay on the shelf of Nora’s closet, and the three envelopes had been tucked between the tissue paper and the floor of the box, beneath a little flowered hat with a saucy mauve veil.
“Very clumsy technique,” mourned Mr. Queen.
“Poor Nor,” said Pat. Her lips were pale. ”Let me see!” Ellery handed her the three letters.
In the upper right-hand corner of each envelope, where a stamp should have been, appeared a date written in red crayon.
Pat frowned. Ellery took the envelopes from her and arranged them in chronological order, according to the crayoned dates. The dates were: 11/28, 12/25, and 1/1.
“And all three,” mused Pat, “are addressed to ‘Miss Rosemary Haight.’ She’s Jim’s only sister. We’ve never met her. But it’s queer there’s no street or city address . . . ”
“Not necessarily,” said Ellery, his brows together. ”The queerness lies in the use of the crayon.”
“Oh, Jim’s always used a thin red crayon instead of a pencil?it’s a habit of his.”
“Then his sister’s name on these envelopes is in Jim’s handwriting?”
“Yes. I’d recognize this scrawl of Jim’s anywhere. For Pete’s sake, Ellery, what’s
Ellery removed the contents of the first envelope, crumpled a bit from Nora’s clutch when she had fainted.
The note was in Jim’s handwriting, too, Pat said, and written in the same red crayon:
Nov. 28
Dear Sis: I know it’s been a long time, but you can imagine I’ve been rushed. Haven’t time to drop you more than a line, because my wife got sick today. Doesn’t seem like much, but I don’t know. If you ask me, the doctor doesn’t know what it is, either. Let’s hope it’s nothing. Of course, I’ll keep you posted. Write me soon.
Love, Jim
“I can’t understand it,” said Pat slowly. ”Nora’s never felt better. Muth and I were just remarking about it the other day. Ellery?”
“Has Nora seen Dr. Willoughby recently?”
“No. Unless . . . But I’m sure she hasn’t.”
“I see,” said Ellery in a voice that told nothing. ”Besides, that date?November twenty-eighth. That’s a month away, Ellery! How could Jim know . . . ?” Pat stopped. Then she said hoarsely: “Open the second one!”
The second note was shorter than the first, but it was written in the same red crayon in the same scrawl.
December 25th Sis: I don’t want to worry you. But I’ve got to tell you. It’s much worse.
My wife is terribly ill. We’re doing everything we can.
In haste, Jim
“In haste, Jim,” repeated Pat. ”In haste?and dated December twenty-fifth!”
Ellery’s eyes were clouded over now, hiding.
“But how could Jim know Nora’s illness is worse when Nora isn’t even sick?” cried Pat. ”And two months in advance!”
“I think,” said Mr. Queen, “we’d best read the third note.” And he took the sheet of paper from the last envelope.
“Ellery, what . . . ?”
He handed it to her and began to walk up and down Nora’s bedroom, smoking a cigarette with short, nervous puffs.
Pat read the note wide-eyed. Like the others, it was in Jim’s hand, a red-crayon scrawl. It said:
Jan. 1
Dearest Sis: She’s dead. She passed away today.
My wife, gone. As if she’d never been. Her last moments were?
I can’t write anymore.
Come to me if you can.
Jim Ellery said: “Not now, honey child,” and threw his arm about Pat’s waist.
“What does it mean?” she sobbed.
“Stop blubbering.”
