Alfred Hitchcock Presents: 16 Skeletons From My Closet

of a ghost, it would have been completely and familiarly in my department. But it was sufficiently in my department for me to tap out my cigarette in an ashtray, pull the money over to my side of the desk, and say, 'All right, Miss Troy, let's have it.'

'It begins about a year ago. November, a year ago.'

'Yes,' I said.

'There are — or were — four of us in the family.'

'Four in the family,' I said.

'Three brothers and myself. Adam was the oldest. Adam Troy was fifty when he died.'

'And the others?'

'Joseph was thirty-six. Simon is thirty-two. I am twenty-nine.'

'You say Joseph was thirty-six?'

'My brother Joseph killed, himself — supposedly killed himself — three weeks ago.'

'Sorry,' I said.

'And now if I may — just a little background.'

'Please,' I said.

'Adam, so much older than any of us, was sort of father to all of us. Adam was a bachelor, rich and successful — he always had a knack for making money — while the rest of us' — she shrugged — 'when it came to earning money, we were no shining lights. Joseph was a shoe-salesman, Simon is a drug clerk, and I'm a nightclub performer and, I must confess, a pretty bad one at that.'

'Nightclub performer. Interesting.'

'I do voices, you know? I used to be a ventriloquist. Now I'm a mimic; imitations, that sort of thing. Nothing great. I get by.'

'And Adam?' I said. 'What did Adam do?'

'He was a real-estate broker, and a shrewd investor in the stock market. He was a stodgy stingy man — which is probably why he never got married. He was like a father to us but, actually, he never helped us with money unless it was an emergency. But advice — plenty. And criticism — plenty. I can't say he was bad to us, but he wasn't really good to us. I hope I'm making myself clear.'

'Yes. Very clear, Miss Troy.'

'Now about the wills.'

'Wills?' I said.

'Last wills and testaments. We all have like it's called reciprocal wills. If one dies, whatever he leaves is divided amongst the rest of us. I'm sure you know about reciprocal wills.'

'Yes, of course.'

'All right. Now last year, Adam made a real big win in the stock market and he suggested that we take a vacation together, a winter vacation, and that he would pay for all of it. A couple of weeks of skiing, fun, out-of- doors, up in Vermont. Two weeks in a winter wonderland, you know?'

I nodded.

'We, the rest of us, Joseph, Simon, and I — we arranged for those two weeks — the two middle weeks in November — and we all went up to a lodge at Mt. Killington in the Green Mountains of Vermont.' She shuddered and was silent. Then she said, 'I don't know how it began. Maybe we all had it in our minds, maybe that guilt was like a poison in all of us, but it was Joseph who said it first.'

'Said what, please?'

'Said to get rid of Adam. Adam was upstairs sleeping and the three of us were sitting around downstairs in front of a big roaring fireplace, drinking, maybe getting a little drunk, when Joseph put out the suggestion and we were with him so fast it was like all of us said it together. I don't want to blame anyone. I say all three of us have the blame together. None of us ever had any money, real money, and all of a sudden it came to us, that we could have just that, real money, while we were still young enough to enjoy it.' She shuddered again and put her hands over her face. She spoke through her hands. 'From here I'd like to go real quick. Please?'

'Okay,' I said.

Her hands dropped to her lap. 'Next day, dressed warmly in ski suits, we went out on an exploring adventure, up into the mountains. Way up, high, Adam was standing near a crevice, a ravine, about a two thousand foot drop, with a little narrow river running on bottom. Joseph came up behind him, shoved, and Adam fell. That's all. He fell. All the way. There were like echoes coming back, and then — nothing. When we returned, we reported it. We said he had slipped and fallen. The police went up to investigate, there was an inquest, and that was it.'

'What was it?'

'The coroner's verdict was death by accident.'

I came up out of my chair. I walked my office. I walked in front of her, in back of her, and around her. She did not move. She sat with her hands clasped in her lap. I said, 'All right. So much for the incriminating matter. Now, if you please, what ghost killed whom?'

She was motionless. Only her lips moved. 'The ghost of Adam killed Joseph.'

'My dear Miss Troy,' I said. 'Only a few minutes ago you told me that Joseph committed suicide.'

'I'm sorry, Mr. Chambers, I did not tell you that.'

'But you — '

'I said supposedly killed himself.'

Grudgingly, I admitted my error. 'True, you said that. But how can one possibly tell the difference? I mean — '

'May I tell it my own way?'

'Please do.' I went back to my chair, sat, watched her as she spoke, but my eyes did not meet hers. Somehow, on this bright-white normal afternoon in January, in the accustomed confines of my very own office, I could not bring myself to look full upon this woman's eyes.

'I live at One-thirty-three West Thirty-third Street,' she said.

'Uh huh,' I said and happily business-like, I jotted it down, delighted for something prosaic to do.

'It's a one-room apartment on the fourth floor. 4 C.'

'Yeah, yeah,' I murmured, jotting assiduously.

'Two months ago, on November fifteenth, exactly one year from the time of his death, Adam came to visit me.'

'Adam came to visit,' I murmured as I jotted — and then I flung the pencil away. 'Now just a minute, Miss Troy!'

Quite mildly she said, 'Yes, Mr. Chambers?'

'Adam is the guy who's dead, or isn't he? Adam is the guy whom, allegedly, you people murdered, or isn't he?'

'Yes, he is.'

'And he came to visit you?'

'Precisely.'

I sighed. 'Where?'

'On the afternoon of November fifteenth, I had gone out to the supermarket for a bit of shopping. When I came home, he was there, sitting quietly in a chair, waiting for me.'

I recovered my pencil and pretended to make notes. 'Are you sure it was Adam?'

'The ghost of Adam. Adam is dead.'

'Yes, naturally, ghost of Adam. How did he look?'

'Exactly as he had looked on the day he died. He was even wearing the same clothes — the high-laced boots, the green ski suit, the green ski cap.'

'He talked to you?'

'Yes.'

'How did he sound?'

'As always. Adam had a deep booming voice. He sounded sad, aggrieved, but not, actually, angry.'

'And what did he say?'