of course, I have a few charities here. Erhem, the entire residue goes to Alice Brennan.' He tossed a forgiving smile at Alice, hurried his eyes back to the paper and kept them there. 'At my death, the allowances I have fixed on you will naturally stop. But I have stated here in the will that Alice Brennan, designated herein as heiress to the bulk of my estate, is hereby eamestiy requested to use her own judgment as to whether she wishes to continue them in whole, in part, or at all. Do you,' said Innes, putting the paper down, 'understand?'
'My dear Innes,' said Gertrude, 'isn't that rather peculiar? After all, while we hope to become better acquainted with your charming Alice . . .'
Isabel said, 'I'm afraid I don't understand, either.' Her forehead wore a frown, not so much of disapproval as of anxious stupidity.
'Surely you can see why I had to do that!' said Innes, raising his eyebrows. 'My dears, who knows what is going to happen to my money? The whole world is aflame.' Innes dramatized it. 'Why, by the time I die, the estate may have shrunk to almost nothing.'
Alice thought: He doesn't really believe it. He's too smug. Neither did Killeen believe it. He caught Alice's eye and smiled at her.
'Now,' said Innes with false patience, 'I can't obligate Alice to continue a rather large allowance regardless of what proportion it turns out to be of her own income. So you see, it's merely fair.'
He folded the paper and waited for the reaction.
Isabel's eyes sUd sidewise in the evasive way she had. 'Is that all, then, Innes?' she said, plaintively, as if it hadn't amounted to much. 'I do have some things to attend to.'
BUked of a sensation, Innes said sulkily, 'That's all.'
Gertrude rose and said the proper thing, gracefully. 'We do thank you, Innes. Of course. You are very good. We shall have no financial worries any more.' Her affected voice was sweet 'I think you are very good to work this all out while you are so ill.' Her voice faded. She moved away.
Maud grunted, heaving herself up. She waddled over and peered at Alice's notes over her shrinking shoulder. 'Some hieroglyphics,' she said cheerfully. 'Eton't make any sense to me.'
'You'll understand . . .' began Alice.
Maud yawned. But her eyes glittered. She'd understood enough to be curious. Or she'd heard it all, and imder- stood plenty.
MacDougal Duff, meanwhile, went quietly into Isabel's room. It, too was large, an oblong ratiier than a square, with a mantel corresponding to the one in the sitting „ room below. He did not make for the clothes closet immediately. He stood just within the door and looked around,
Isabel's room was crowded. Furniture Uned the walls almost solidly. It looked more like a shop than a place to live. One had to thread one's way through aislelike spaces. There were also many shelves, and each shelf was full. Duff pulled at his chin. He opened a drawer. The drawer was full almost to overflowing. A search here would be quite a chore. There were quantities of things, all sorts of things, clothing, china, bric-a-brac, boxes, bottles, shawls, laces.
Duff shook his head and moved toward the closet. The door burst open. It was stuffed with clothes. He examined the sleeves of all the dresses hanging there, working rapidly. Nothing significant appeared. He hesitated over the dresser drawers, then glanced quickly into each, finding no outer garments, but heaps of silk lingerie, scarves, handkerchiefs, handbags, some of them well worn, and a box full of keys. He pulled open the top of a cedar chest. It smelled violently of antimoth flakes. Woolens in there.
For all its multitude of things, this room had order. He saw that things were classified, not piled helter skelter. These shelves in the comer held vases and china boxes. The shelves beyond the mantel held books and magazines. The chest beside the bed was full of linens. The chest beneath the window was for blankets and blankets only. If a stained sleeve was in this room, it was hidden.
Duff sighed. He opened the door to the hall a crack. The conference was stiU in session. He went to work with furious and perfectly methodical speed, then. Every drawer, every cupboard, the bed, the mattress, got a lightning glance. With utter concentration and not one wasted second glance, he searched the room.
There was no garment with a stained sleeve. Nor any sleeve that seemed to have been secretly washed. No signs at all.
Duff finished. He paused for just a moment over the book shelves. Harold McGrath. George Barr McCutch-eon, E. P. Roe. He ran his finger down the back of a pile of magazines. The complete issues, dating from 1939.
Duff went out of Isabel's room and wandered downstairs.
Mr. Johnson, the Indian, was brushing the stair carpet with a whiskbroom. When Duff stopped a step above, he looked up.
Dufff was out of tricks. He said rather humbly, 'I want to ask another question.'
'Sure,' said Mr. Johnson pleasantly.
'Did you see anyone leave this house, evening before last, between, say a quarter of eight and a quarter of nine?'
'Just Josephine,' said Mr. Johnson.
'You saw her?'
'I give a yell and she came out.'
'To the bam?'
'Sure.'
'Why?'
'I ripped my pants.'
'Oh?'
