flow.'
'Does he talk like that?'
'Oh, lordy, lordy, you have no idea how he talks.'
'I've read his—'
Jane put up her hand. 'Listen' The bartender had changed stations on the radio. Music was cut off. Instead, there was a voice. Jane's hand came down and her fingers fastened on his wrist. The place was quiet enough so that they could hear clearly. It was easy to hear and to understand that persuasive voice. If you began to listen, it caught you. It wove a musical snare for your attention, and then it spun a web of words to hold you, smooth words that came pouring without effort, pouring forth, delicately inflected, persuasive, fascinating.
'How many masks do we meet in a day?' the voice was saying. The cadences were full of regret and wonder, and a little relish. 'How many ordinary human faces, two eyes, a nose and a mouth? The man on the bus, the clerk behind the counter, each has a secret.
And there are some whose secret is not innocent, but who must wear their masks until they die. I call them The Unsuspected.'
Jane's nails went into the flesh on Francis' wrist.
'I myself know such a man.' This was Luther Grandison speaking. This was his voice. 'Yes, I know a man who has committed that gravest and most interesting of all crimes, the crime of murder, and who never has been suspected at all. No, he lives, and has lived
for years, wearing his mask, taken for one of us, ordinary, going about his daily business, and yet he did it! I say, he did it!' The voice fell. I say I know. I had better add that the authorities also know. But alas, such knowing is not legal proof.' The voice was so
sorry. It was sorry about everything, but faintly pleased too.
'You see, with all our cleverness, we do not know how to tear the mask from his face. And, indeed, were I to give his name, he might use the law itself to punish me for what he would call libel. And yet'—in a thrilling whisper—'he did it!'
A beat of silence. Then the voice said softly, and it licked its chops with relish now, 'Oh, they are among us. The Unsuspected! There's many a murder, not only unsolved but unheard of, unknown . . . unknown. You may be sure, men and women have gone to their
graves, quietly assisted, with no fuss and no bother.'
The voice died. It left its audience with that delicious little shudder that Luther Grandison knew how to give them. His famous trick of putting terror into the commonplace. It was like the little touches in his plays, the Grandison touches, in which he took the ordinary, and gave it just a little flip, and it was terrifying.
Jane opened her eyes. 'That's Grandy. You see?'
Francis sat still with angry white face. 'The Unsuspected,' he murmured. 'Has he got the crust to mean himself?'
'Suppose I go to see this lawyer?' His voice was sharp and angry.
'You can't walk in there and say, 'Look, folks, I want to see all the dope on the Frazier fortune.''
'The law could.'
'The law won't!' she wailed. 'He's unsuspected. And, Fran, if you try to stir up something that way, I can see what would happen. He'd be ever so gentle with you. But he'd treat you like a museum piece. He'd put you in his collection of psychopaths. By the
time he got through, everybody would be so sorry for the poor young fiance, unbalanced by grief.'
'Like that, eh?' The rich purr of Grandy's voice hung remembered between them. 'Well, let that go for a minute,' snapped Francis. 'Start another way. How did he do it?'
'He's even got an alibi,' said Jane despairingly. 'Althea was with him. I mean, she saw Rosaleen alive, and after that Grandy was with her all the time, until they found—'
'Althea saw her?'
'Well, heard her speak, anyway.'
Francis' eyes lit again. 'What if we could show the alibi's a fake?'
'If we could! Fran, do you think a private detective—'
Francis let his lips go into something like a smile. 'I think I'll attend to this myself,' he said.
Jane moaned. She took hold of his hand, but he twisted it around and patted hers reassuringly. 'We're going to have to assume he did it,' he said in a moment. 'Because if he really did, in fact, in cold blood, then this Grandison is dangerous.'
Jane agreed. 'He's dangerous.'
The waiter came with their new order. Francis bit into the sandwich. They were both hungry, suddenly.
'Could I get at those girls?' he asked her.
'Mathilda's drowned,' said Jane, with her mouth full.
'She's what? How?'
Jane read his mind. 'Oh, no, Grandy couldn't have had anything to do with it. She started out for Bermuda and the ship went down—oh, five weeks ago. They haven't heard a thing since.'
'So she's drowned. That's the rich one?'
'Uh- huh.'
'She was lost before this happened to Rosaleen?'
'Uh- huh.'
'Who gets her dough?'
'He does.'
'Grandison?'
'Yes, that's her will. Of course, they keep hoping Mathilda's still alive. They can't do anything about the money yet.'
'Meanwhile, he still controls it?'
'Of course.'
Francis thought awhile. 'How can I get to Althea?'
'What do you mean, get to her?'
'Talk to her. Get to know her, Well enough to ask a lot of interesting questions.”
'You can't,' said Jane. 'There's no way.' He looked at her. 'Listen, Fran; in the first place, she's a bride. She and Oliver are still honeymooning. She sticks around their crowd, besides, and it's a closed crowd. Nobody could get in.'
'Want to bet?'
'No, because I know. Grandy'd never bother with somebody just nice and ordinary and civilized and in between, like you, Fran. Somebody famous, maybe. Or somebody very humble. But not you. And, you see, if he didn't take you up, you'd never get to Althea.'
'Is that so?' said Francis with a kind of mild surprise. 'Could I get in there as a servant? I've never tried, but I don't doubt I could be a butler, for instance.'
'No servants.'
'No servants at all!'
'Not a one. He doesn't believe in them. He says they'd limit his complete freedom.'
'No chauffeur, even?'
'Oh, no. He drives himself around in an old jalopy. He wears an old brown hat.'
'I could be the gas man.'
'Where would that get you?'
'Nowhere,' he admitted. He drummed his fingers on the table.
'Fran,' she said, 'remember, I'm in there, after all.'
'You lie low, Auntie Jane.' He smiled. The absurdity of their relationship amused him once more. His father's baby sister, Jane was. His cute little Aunt Jane. 'You keep your little old nose out of this. In fact, maybe you'd better not go back at all.'
'Oh, don't worry. He thinks I'm a dumb blonde.'
'Lots of people do, and they're so wrong,' said Francis. 'How am I going to get in there? Couldn't I pretend to be some famous character?'
'I doubt if you could hoax him. He's such a shrewd old—'
'Never mind. Would it be possible for you to lure Althea out to meet me?'
'Althea thinks the sun rises and sets with her Grandy,' Jane warned him
'How about this Oliver? What kind of guy is he?'
Jane wrinkled her nose. 'Oh, he's all right. He's pleasant. He's the kind of man who understands women's hats.'
'Lord.'
'Of course, he thinks Grandy s practically God. They all do '
'Maybe Grandy does,' said Francis grimly.
They both drank some coffee. He tried again. 'Could I hire myself out to that lawyer, get into his office?'
'I don't know, Fran, I don't think you'd find anything. Surely he wouldn't let there be records.'
Francis shook his head. 'How did Rosaleen find out?'
Jane looked blank.
'Instinct tells me I've got to get to know Althea,' he insisted.
'But, Fran, how could I lure her out? What could I say? 'Come and meet somebody who thinks your guardian is a stinker'? And if you hinted anything like that, shed go straight back to Grandy—'
'Then you mustn't have anything to do with my meeting her,' said Francis promptly. 'I see. And yet I've got to get at her.'
'You watch out for Althea. She's got silver eyes.'
'Do you think,' said Francis, and suddenly he looked very old, 'that any woman, with or without silver eyes, is going to bother me?'
Jane drank some more coffee. Francis was looking down. She hated the drawn line of his cheek, the too-thin look of him. This wasn't the Francis she loved, who was sure of things, the one all other girls immediately assumed to be mysterious and exciting. He
