The Case of the Weird Sisters

It was nearly morning. The doctor was in the house. He had looked at the dead and comforted the living. He was with Gertrude now. Duff and Fred had come to Ahce's room. They were all three sitting in a row on the bed.

'Yes, I'm sure of it,' Duff said. 'She knew you m the dark, Fred. When Isabel didn't. How do the blind recognize people? They do, you know. With all their other senses. Somehow, and we who can see are never sure quite how, they can tell one of us from another. The dark was no barrier to her. She knew you. And she knew Alice was there too.'

'She passed the pillbox test,' said Alice.

'Yes. She did.'

'But Maud was a fraud,' Fred grinned. 'Hey, that's a rhyme. Must I speak of the dead nothing but good?'

'Not these dead,' said Alice grimly. 'Go on. Maud was a fraud. But how did that prove it was Isabel?'

Duff drew his algebra problem out of his pocket. 'A stands for attempt, b for blind, c for crippled, d for deaf. And things equal to the same thing are equal to each other. Therefore, when three of you identified the same sound as the sound you'd each heard separately, it was the same sound, all along.'

'And that told you Isabel did everything?'

'Say it confirmed me in my suspicion,' said Duff. 'Isabel fitted. Yes, it told me I was right. It checked. If Maud could hear, and if Gertrude was blind, then Isabel was the active murderess. Because if Gertrude was really blind she could have been fooled by the witch hazel and a bedroom slipper. And that's how the stain came off Isabel's arm. And if Maud could hear, why, she rested her alibi for Isabel on what she heard, of course. She really thought Isabel had gone through her room at about eleven. Why? Not necessarily because she had noticed the clock. Maud was never time-conscious.'

'Just mealtimes,' said Fred.

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'But I had said to Alice that Susan put the time of her call at eleven. Maud heard me, do you see? And Maud heard the phone. Or, if she didn't, still she heard us say that Isabel had come upstairs immediately after the phone call, the phone call was at eleven . . . She rested her evidence on hearsay.'

'When do you think the telephone really rang?'

'Qose to twelve,' said Duff. 'When Fred was in the bathroom. Isabel had been downstairs the whole time. In the cellar at work, perhaps soon after eleven thirty. She answered the phone. She got Gertrude to wash her arm. She came upstairs, triumphant. She went through Maud's room to avoid Fred. Maud would never notice the time, thought she. Anyhow, what did the time matter? Isabel didn't know that Alice knew or noticed heat still coming up at eleven fifteen. Isabel wasn't so very clever. After all, she never got her victim, though she tried four times. She never got her prize. She murdered the wrong person. And she had to die her way out of it.'

'But I still . . . What does this mean?' Alice picked up the piece of paper.

'It told me that Isabel had made the first two attempts. Without doubt. It convinced me that she had also made the third. Therefore, it prepared me to beUeve that, whatever might be done tonight, Isabel would do it. And I was frightened for you, Alice. Because she, alone, of the three would rather kill you and Innes both than give up the fortune she had begun to think of as hers. Gertrude had enough with the allowance. She would have her particular brand of prestige, the thing she'd buy. Maud, too, had what she wanted. You can buy only so much candy, so many peanuts. The love of things, you see, is the root. Isabel loved things, just to pK>ssess them, and there are never enough things, as I told her.' Duff fell silent.

'But how did it tell you?' insisted Alice.

'Look. Attempt nmnber one. The falling lamp. Not Maud. That we knew. Maud was in the parlor whether she was deaf or not. Fortunately, we had that double check on Maud for attempt number one. Now, suppose Gertrude dropped the lamp and made the httle sound. Then, when we come to number two, we see that it must also have been Gertrude, and it wasn't. Why must Gertrude have done

both, if she did the first? Because Maud and Isabel both had something wrong with their voices. No range. No control. No flexibility. Neither could have imitated that sound. Either of them could have made it, understand, but not copied it from hearing Gertrude make it. So, if Gertrude dropped the lamp she also did everything else. But she couldn't have gone down the road and moved the detour sign. That leaves Isabel. Number one. Isabel. Dear?'

'O.K. Go ahead.'

'Attempt number two, the sign moved. The car cracked up. Not Gertrude but—see, children—not Maud either. Because Maud didn't do number one, and therefore would have had to imitate Isabel. And she couldn't Therefore, attempt number two was made by Isabel.'

'Just what I said,' said Alice.

'Go on,' said Fred.

'Attempt number X. The poisoned pill. Same as number two.'

'Is it?'

'Exactly.'

'But Gertrude could have felt those ridges on the blue bottle,' said Alice.

'How could she teU which smooth bottle held the phenobarbital? It has no odor.'

'Oh.'

'Not Gertrude. Not Maud, because she stiU can't imitate.'

'Yes, I see. Go on.'

'Attempt number three. The coal gas and the dampers. Now if one and two were done by Isabel, number three can't be Maud either. She still can't imitate that sound.'

'Gertrude could.'