Alfred Hitchcock Presents: 16 Skeletons From My Closet

'He said that he had returned to visit retribution on us; those were the exact words — visit retribution. He said he was going to kill Joseph first, then Simon, and then me. Then he stood up, opened the door, and walked out.'

'And you?'

'I called my brothers, they came to my apartment, and I told them just what happened. Of course, they didn't believe me. They told me it was my imagination, that I had been highly nervous of late. They suggested that I go see a doctor. All in all, somehow, they talked me out of it. I did nothing about it — not even when Joseph was killed.'

'Suicide, even supposed suicide — '

'Joseph slashed his wrists and died. But there was no weapon. No weapon was found near the body; there was no weapon with blood anywhere in his apartment.'

I lit a new cigarette. The flame of the match trembled. I blew it out quickly and deposited it in the tray. I inhaled deeply. I said, 'Miss Troy, you did nothing about it then — why are you doing something about it now?'

'Because Adam came to visit me again last night. When I returned from work, he was seated in the same chair, dressed exactly as the other time. He said that he had accomplished his purpose with Joseph — and that Simon was next. Then he got up, opened the door, and went out.'

'And you?'

'I fainted. When I came to, I became hysterical. That passed, and then I put on a fresh make-up, and went directly to my brother Simon. It was late at night, but I didn't care. Simon lives on West Fourth Street, quite near to where I work. I rang his bell until he woke up and let me in. I told him what had happened and again he just didn't believe me. He told me that he insisted that I go to a doctor and that he was going to make arrangements for just that. Today I decided I had to do something about it. I'd heard about you — and I'm here. Please, Mr. Chambers, will you help me? Please. Please.'

'I'll do whatever I can,' I said. I inquired and made notes about names, addresses and phone numbers, where she worked, where her brothers worked, all of that. Then I printed my home phone number on one of my business cards and gave it to her. 'You may call me here or at home whenever you please,' I said.

'Thank you.' She smiled her first smile, gratefully.

I placed her three hundred dollars into a drawer of my desk and said, 'All right. Let's go.'

'Go? Where?'

'I'd like to see your apartment. May I?'

'Yes, of course.' She stood up. 'You're very thorough, aren't you?'

'That's the way I work,' I said.

* * *

It was on the fourth floor, walk-up, of a six-story, new-fashioned, re-modeled house. It was a tiny one-room apartment: small living room with one tiny closet, a tiny bathroom, and a tiny kitchenette. There was no window in the kitchenette, one window in the bathroom, and two windows in the living room — each window with a secure inside turn-bolt.

'Excellent,' I said. 'Did you have these bolts put on?'

'No. The former tenant.'

'They're good bolts in fine working order.' I nodded approvingly, continued my inspection. 'I see there's no fire-escape.'

'No need,' she said. 'They were eyesores that were removed when the house was re-modeled because they made it fire-proof.'

But the lock on the door was utterly deficient. Simple and ancient, it did not require an expert to solve it, and the door itself carried no secondary protection: no bolt.

'This'll never do,' I mumbled.

'Beg pardon?' she said.

'Look, I don't know who's been visiting you, ghost or no ghost, but anyone can get in here with any old key, and a picklock can make this doorlock do somersaults. This has got to go.'

'Go?' she inquired. 'Go?'

'Where's your Classified Directory?'

She brought it to me and I checked a few locksmiths and called a few locksmiths and found one who was free and told him what I wanted. He promised to come within the next half hour and Miss Troy made coffee and sandwiches, and we munched and chatted but avoided any mention of ghosts, and she grew more animated and smiled more frequently, and I discovered that I was having a very pleasant afternoon.

'Why don't you come see me at the club this evening?' she said. 'I told you where it is when you were making all those notes in your office. Cafe Bella on West Third in the Village.'

'What time do you go on?'

'The show starts at nine, and it's sort of continuous. There are six acts — nobody's real great and they don't pay us much — but we don't work too hard and everybody has his own dressing room which is something. The show runs from nine to two, sometimes later, depending upon business. In between, I just sit around in my dressing room. I don't like to mix with the customers and the owners don't demand that we do. I do wish you'd drop in and catch my act.'

'I might,' I said.

The locksmith came and he did as I requested. He installed a strong modern lock and he installed a sturdy steel slide-bolt. I paid him out of my pocket-money and I refused reimbursement from Miss Troy.

'Part of the fee,' I said, 'and it may do the trick. You may never be bothered again.'

'I hope so, I hope so,' she said. 'God bless you. I'm beginning to feel better already. It's like when you go to a good doctor, you know, and he reassures you. Just your presence and your attitude — all these crazy things seem to be like a dream, a nightmare, and all of a sudden it's morning and it was all dreadful but silly, you know?'

'Yes, I do, and I'm glad. Just keep right on thinking like that. Good-by now, and thank you for the lovely lunch.'

'Oh, don't mention it. Will you come see me tonight?'

'I'll try,' I said.

* * *

Simon Troy worked in a drug store at 74th Street and Columbus Avenue. It was small, cluttered, and old- fashioned, and it did not have a soda fountain. It smelled of herbs and pharmaceuticals and germicidals and there was dust on the shelves and the dust in the air made you want to sneeze. Simon Troy, working alone, was a blond wispy little man with puppy-sad brown eyes, a beige-leather complexion, and small yellow teeth. His smile, as he greeted me, was perfunctory: a drug clerk greeting a customer. I told him who I was and why I was there and an expression of anxiety wizened his face as his smile receded.

'If you please,' he said, 'let us go in the back where we can talk.'

The rear, partitioned by thick plate-glass from the front, was a narrow area dominated by a drawer-pocked wooden counter for the making of prescriptions. There were a couple of wire-backed, rickety, armless chairs, and he motioned me to one of them. Before I sat, I said, 'You are Simon Troy?'

Impatiently he said, 'Yes, yes, of course.'

I produced cigarettes, offered one to him, and he grabbed at it with thin, bony, tobacco-stained fingers. He lit my cigarette, lit his, and puffed at it rapidly, shallowly, and noisily. I talked and he listened. I told him everything that Sylvia Troy had told me and I told him of the fee that she had paid me. When I was finished, he was finished with the cigarette, and he lit one of his own from the stub of the one I had donated. 'Mr. Chambers,' he said, 'I assume you must realize how terribly worried I am about my sister.'

I nodded, I said nothing.

'She's sick, Mr. Chambers. I'm certain it was apparent to you.'

I nodded again. I said, 'Would you tell me what happened up at Mt. Killington?'

'You mean about Adam?'

'If you please.'

He told me. 'We weren't even near him. He had gone over for a peek at that precipitous edge. We were