“You don’t know that. She might have been taking dope herself. She might have established a tolerance for it. The effect wouldn’t last long in that case. She might have got up in the middle of the night and looked at herself in the glass and seen devils pointing at her. These things happen.”
“I think you have taken up enough of our time,” Grayson said.
I stood up. I thanked them both and made a yard towards the door and said: “You didn’t do anything more about it after Talley was arrested?”
“Saw an assistant district attorney named Leach,” Grayson grunted. “Got exactly nowhere. He saw nothing to justify his office in interfering. Wasn’t even interested in the narcotic angle. But Condy’s place was closed up about a month later. That might have come out of it somehow.”
“That was probably the Bay City cops throwing a little smoke. You’d find Condy somewhere else, if you knew where to look. With all his original equipment intact.”
I started for the door again and Grayson hoisted himself out of his chair and dragged across the room after me. There was a flush on his yellow face.
“I didn’t mean to be rude,” he said. “I guess Lettie and I oughtn’t to brood about this business the way we do.”
“I think you’ve both been very patient,” I said. “Was there anybody else involved in all this that we haven’t mentioned by name?”
He shook his head, then looked back at his wife. Her hands were motionless holding the current sock on the darning egg. Her head was tilted a little to one side. Her attitude was of listening, but not to us.
I said: “The way I got the story, Dr. Almore’s office nurse put Mrs. Almore to bed that night. Would that be the one he was supposed to be playing around with?”
Mrs. Grayson said sharply: “Wait a minute. We never saw the girl. But she had a pretty name. Just give me a minute.”
We gave her a minute. “Mildred something,” she said, and snapped her teeth.
I took a deep breath. “Would it be Mildred Haviland, Mrs. Grayson?”
She smiled brightly and nodded. “Of course, Mildred Haviland.
Don’t you remember, Eustace?”
He didn’t remember. He looked at us like a horse that has got into the wrong stable. He opened the door and said: “What does it matter?”
“And you said Talley was a small man,” I bored on. “He wouldn’t for instance be a big loud bruiser with an overbearing manner?”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Grayson said. “Mr. Talley is a man of not more than medium height, middle-aged, with brownish hair and a very quiet voice. He had a sort of worried expression. I mean, he looked as if he always had it.”
“Looks as if he needed it,” I said.
Grayson put his bony hand out and I shook it. It felt like shaking hands with a towel rack.
“If you get him,” he said and clamped his mouth hard on his pipe stem, “call back with a bill. If you get Almore, I mean, of course.”
I said I knew he meant Almore, but that there wouldn’t be any bill.
I went back along the silent hallway. The self-operating elevator was carpeted in red plush. It had an elderly perfume in it, like three widows drinking tea.
24
The house on Westmore Street was a small frame bungalow behind a larger house. There was no number visible on the smaller house, but the one in front showed a stenciled 1618 beside the door, with a dim light behind the stencil. A narrow concrete path led along under windows to the house at the back. It had a tiny porch with a single chair on it. I stepped up on the porch and rang the bell.
It buzzed not very far oft. The front door was open behind the screen but there was no light. From the darkness a querulous voice said: “What is it?”
I spoke into the darkness. “Mr. Talley in?”
The voice became flat and without tone. “Who wants him?”
“A friend.”
The woman sitting inside in the darkness made a vague sound in her throat which might have been amusement. Or she might just have been clearing her throat.
“All right,” she said. “How much is this one?”
“It’s not a bill, Mrs. Talley. I suppose you are Mrs. Talley?”
“Oh, go away and let me alone,” the voice said. “Mr. Talley isn’t here. He hasn’t been here. He won’t be here.”
I put my nose against the screen and tried to peer into the room. I could see the vague outlines of its furniture. From where the voice came from also showed the shape of a couch. A woman was lying on it. She seemed to be lying on her back and looking up at the ceiling. She was quite motionless.
“I’m sick,” the voice said. “I’ve had enough trouble. Go away and leave me be.”
I said: “I’ve just come from talking to the Graysons.” There was a little silence, but no movement, then a sigh. “I never heard of them.”
