Calamity Town

“She’ll have to fight me,” said old Ludie.

“But where’s Mother? Where’s Jim?” moaned Nora, tossing on the bed.

“We’ve got to . . . go out for a few minutes, Nora,” said Pat. ”Jim’s all right?”

“Something’s happened to Jim, too!”

“Don’t be a worry wart,” said Pat crossly, fleeing.

Ellery waylaid her on Nora’s porch. ”Before we go in,” he said quickly, “I want to explain?”

“I don’t blame you, Ellery.” Pat was almost as sick-looking as Nora. ”It might have been worse. It might have been . . . Nora. It almost was.” She shivered.

“I’m sorry about Rosemary,” said Ellery.

Pat looked at him blankly. Then she went inside.

Ellery lingered on the porch. It was a gray day, like Rosemary Haight’s face: a gray day and a cold day, a day for corpses . . . Someone was missing?Frank Lloyd.

Emmy DuPre chittered by, stopped, studied Chief Dakin’s car at the curb, frowned . . . walked on slowly, craning at the two houses.

A car drove up. Frank Lloyd jumped out. Then Lola Wright. They ran up the walk together.

“Nora! Is she all right?” gasped Lola. Ellery nodded. Lola dashed inside.

“I picked Lola up,” said Lloyd. He was breathing heavily, too. ”She was walking up the Hill.”

“They’re waiting for you, Lloyd.”

“I thought,” said the publisher, “you might think it funny.” There was a damp copy of the Wrightsville Record in his overcoat pocket.

“I think nothing funny on mornings like this. Did Lola know?” They walked into the house.

“No. She was just taking a walk, she said. Nobody knows yet.”

“They will,” said Ellery dryly, “when your paper hits the streets.”

“You’re a damn snoop,” growled Lloyd, “but I like you. Take my advice and hop the first train out.”

“I like it here,” smiled Ellery. ”Why?”

“Because this is a dangerous town.”

“How so?”

“You’ll see when the news gets around. Everybody who was at the party last night will be smeared.”

“There’s always,” remarked Mr. Queen, “the cleansing property of a clear conscience.”

“That makes you apple pie.” Lloyd shook his heavy shoulders. ”I don’t figure you.”

“Why bother? For that matter, you’re not a simple sum in arithmetic yourself.”

“You’ll hear plenty about me.”

“I already have.”

“I don’t know,” said the newspaper publisher savagely, “why I stand here in the foyer gassing with a nitwit!” He shook the floor striding into the living room.

* * *

“The poison,” said Dr. Willoughby, “is arsenic trioxid, or arsenious oxid, as you prefer. ‘White’ arsenic.”

They were sitting in a rough circle, like unbelievers at a seance. Chief Dakin stood at the fireplace, tapping his false teeth with a rolled paper.

“Go ahead, Doc,” said Dakin. ”What else did you find? That part’s right. We checked in our own lab during the night.”

“It’s used in medicine mostly as an alterative or tonic,” said the doctor tonelessly. ”We never prescribe a bigger therapeutic dose than a tenth of a grain. There’s no way of telling from the dregs of the cocktail, of course?at least with accuracy?but judging from the speed with which the poison acted, I’d estimate there were three or four grains in that glass.”

“Prescribe any of that stuff recently for . . . anyone you know, Doc?” muttered Carter Bradford.

“No.”

“We’ve established a bit more,” said Chief Dakin soberly, looking around. ”Most probably it was plain ordinary rat poison. And moreover, no trace of the poison was found anywheres except in that one cocktail which Mrs. Haight and her sister-in-law drank?not in the mixing glass, nor the rye whisky, nor the vermouth, nor the bottle of cherries, nor any of the other glassware.”

Mr. Queen surrendered. ”Whose fingerprints did you find on the poisoned-cocktail glass, Chief Dakin?”

“Mrs. Haight’s. Rosemary Haight’s. Jim Haight’s. No others.”

Ellery could see them translate silently. Nora’s . . . Rosemary’s . . . Jim’s . . . no others. His own thoughts were admiring. Chief Dakin had not remained idle after they left him last night. He had taken the fingerprints of the corpse. He had found some object unmistakably Nora Haight’s, probably in her bedroom, and had taken her fingerprints. Jim Haight had been in the house all night, but Ellery was willing to make a large bet that Jim had not been disturbed, either. There were plenty of his things in the house, too . . . Very pretty. Very considerate. It disturbed Mr. Queen powerfully?the prettiness and considerateness of Chief Dakin’s methods.

He glanced over at Pat. She was watching Dakin as if the Chief had hypnotized her.

“And what did your autopsy show, Doc?” asked Dakin deferentially.

“Miss Haight died of arsenic trioxid poisoning.”

“Yes, sir. Now let’s get this organized,” said Dakin. ”If you folks don’t mind?”

“Go ahead, Dakin,” said John F. impatiently.

“Yes, Mr. Wright. So we know the two ladies were poisoned by that one cocktail. Now, who mixed it?”

No one said anything.

“Well, I already know. It was you, Mr. Haight. You mixed that cocktail.”

Jim Haight had not shaved. There were muddy ruts under his eyes.

“Did I?” There was a frog in his throat; he cleared it several times. ”If you say so?I mixed so many?”

“And who came in from the kitchen and handed out the tray of drinks?” asked Chief Dakin. ”Including the one that was poisoned? You did, Mr. Haight. Am I wrong? Because that’s my information,” he said apologetically.

“If you’re trying to insinuate?” began Hermione in an imperious voice.

“All right, Mrs. Wright,” said the Cheif. ”Now maybe I’m wrong. But you mixed that cocktail, Mr. Haight; you handed it out, so it looks like you’re the only one could have dosed it up good with rat-killer. But it only looks that way. Were you the only one? Did you leave those cocktails you were making even for a few seconds any time up to the time you brought the tray into this room last night?”

“Look,” said Jim. ”Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe the things that happened last night knocked my brains for a loop. What is this? Am I suspected of having tried to poison my wife?”

As if this had been a fresh wind in a stale room, the air became breathable again. John F.’s hand dropped from his eyes, Hermy’s color came back, and even Pat looked at Jim.

“This is nonsense, Chief Dakin!” said Hermy coldly.

“Did you, Mr. Haight?” asked Dakin.

“Of course I brought that tray in here!” Jim got up and began to walk up and down before the Chief, like an orator. ”I’d just mixed the Manhattans?that last batch?and was going to put the maraschino cherries in, but then I had to leave the pantry for a few minutes. That’s it!”

“Well, now,” said Dakin heartily, “now we’re getting places, Mr. Haight. Could someone have slipped in from the living room and poisoned one of them cocktails without you knowing or seeing? While you were gone, I mean?”

The fresh wind died, and they were in choking miasma once more. Could someone have slipped in from the living room?

“I didn’t poison that cocktail,” said Jim, “so somebody must have slipped in.”

Dakin turned swiftly. ”Who left the living room while Mr. Haight was mixing that last mess of drinks in the kitchen? This is very important, please. Think hard on it!”

Ellery lit a cigarette. Someone must have noticed that he had been missing simultaneously with Jim. It was inevitable . . . But then they all began to chatter at once, and Ellery blew smoke in great clouds.

“We’ll never get anywheres this way,” said the Chief. ”So much drinking and dancing going on, and the room dark on account of only candles being lit . . . Not,” added Dakin suddenly, “that it makes much difference.”