Wolf in Man’s Clothing

Alexia…

Alexia? Suddenly in a stab of uncertainty, I wasn’t sure. The pointed, smiling face was only a pale triangle among shadows. Was it Alexia or Nicky? If Nicky-why, then Nicky had never had the knife! It was Alexia who had that. So if this was Nicky standing there smiling at me, it must be Alexia creeping softly up the stairs, with the knife still in her hand.

It was not.

For all at once, clear in the little house Drue’s voice floated down the stairway, through the dusk. She said on a note of question: “Craig? Oh, Peter! Peter Huber! What are you…?” Her voice stopped uncertainly. Seemed to hang there in the silence and dusk.

Then suddenly she screamed.

22

IT WAS HIGH AND thin and terrible. And stopped as if choked off by hands.

The figure in the doorway sprang forward toward me just as I lifted Chivery’s revolver and fired blindly in that direction. Claud Chivery being Claud Chivery, the thing wasn’t loaded; it clicked emptily and I flung it full at that pale, triangular face just as Alexia reached for me. It was Alexia, not Nicky. In that split second of nearness I was sure of that. She swerved and ducked to avoid the revolver and I twisted past her; she snatched at my cape and it came off my shoulders and I had reached the door to the hall.

The outside door was open and someone was running up the stairs; someone who must have entered as I evaded Alexia, for he was only on the lower step when I saw him first. It was a man in slacks and a sweater and there were sounds in the dark little hall upstairs and I ran up the stairs after that figure leaping ahead of me into the dusk.

I think I knew that it was Craig. I think I knew that Alexia was not following me. I think I had a fleeting thought of Anna, and a desperate hope that she had gone to the police as I had told her to do. Then the figure ahead of me-Craig-vanished into the dusk above and I fumbled for the bannister still running, panting, my heart pounding in my throat. And I too came out into the upper hall.

It was so dark that I could only see motion and hear it; feet shuffling frantically, a struggle somewhere in that narrow little passage, for there was the sound of fists, a thud against a wall, a panting voice saying nothing, and then Drue’s voice, “Craig…” she cried. “Craig-look out…”

I think she said that. It was all swift, incoherent, veiled in shadows. And then I stumbled on a chair. And at the same time got a clearer view of figures, silhouetted against the gray windows at the front, struggling.

So I took up the chair. It was quite light. But sturdy.

Aside from an unexpected and sudden swirl around on the part of the interlocked and struggling figures just as I was about to strike which very nearly resulted in my braining Craig instead of the murderer, I executed my little maneuver with considerable verve. As I say, the chair was sturdy.

It made quite a resounding crack. I struck again just in the interest of thoroughness but it wasn’t really necessary. One of the dark figures paused, swayed a little, and just sagged down quietly on the floor and lay there.

The humiliating thing was, of course, that I took one look at the figure on the floor, one look at Craig leaning against the bannister, panting heavily, staring downward too, one look at Drue who was running toward Craig, and I put down the chair deliberately. And then sat down in it as deliberately. And leaned back my head.

However, I have never fainted in my life, with the exception of the time when I first went on duty in the operating room and that was more years ago than I care to mention. There were noises from downstairs; women’s voices came shrilly and jerkily to my ears. I knew dimly that Alexia’s was one of them.

But I wasn’t prepared for what I saw when, suddenly aware that I had closed my eyes at something and that now a light from somewhere was beating upon my eyelids, I made a determined and curiously difficult effort and opened them again.

And I wasn’t in the upstairs hall at all. I was stretched out at full length on the table in Dr. Chivery’s examining room. Something cold and wet was on my forehead.

I don’t know how they got me there. Drue insisted that I walked but didn’t seem to know where I was going and that I relaxed, as docile as a child, upon the table which was the nearest thing to a couch in sight.

I couldn’t say about that, but I do know that the sliced-off view I had through the door into Dr. Chivery’s study both cleared my head and brought me to a sitting position.

For Alexia lay on the floor of the study, her legs in Nicky’s slacks threshing angrily but futilely, for Anna sat like a lump on Alexia and she had the revolver I had thrown at Alexia in her hand and every time Alexia would give a violent writhe Anna would shake the revolver in her face. Anna was sobbing.

I managed to get to my feet. Just as I did so Drue came from somewhere out of my range of vision, took the revolver from Anna and said, “Get up. The police are here.”

When I reached the study, just as Anna stood up and Alexia, eyes like daggers in her white face, sprang gracefully to her feet, Nugent ran across the porch and into the hall. He was followed by two state troopers. Drue said, “Upstairs. Quick.”

It was then, as the men’s feet pounded heavily on the stairs, that Alexia gave up. She listened, her hands clenched. Drue listened too, her face as white as her uniform. But after a long moment Alexia turned and looked at Drue. Lights were on now in the study, blazing upon us. Anna, in a corner, was sobbing again, and listening, too. Alexia didn’t speak to Drue, however. Her eyes shifted finally to Anna, and she said with scorn, “Shut up. Crying won’t help. I love him, too. Or,” said Alexia suddenly, “I thought I did. I’m not so sure now.”

I don’t think Drue heard it; her face was lifted, all her being intent upon what was going on upstairs, where Craig was. Anna heard it, though; she said, still sobbing, “You knew he killed Mr. Brent. You knew-oh, how could you help him! How could you!”

“Help him,” said Alexia. “I didn’t help him. I didn’t know anything.”

“You did, you did,” cried Anna. “He told me you were helping him. He said you thought he was in love with you. He said you would do anything he told you to do.”

“What did you say?” said Alexia in a strange kind of whispering. “What did you say?” She walked slowly, gracefully as a stalking panther, toward Anna. Anna sobbed and looked terrified but stood her ground. “Yes,” she cried. “He said he’d told you to get hold of the Frederic Miller checks. He said if he had the checks Mr. Brent wouldn’t dare tell the police who he was and where he’d come from. He said Mr. Brent wouldn’t dare do anything because if he had the checks…”

“Was he Frederic Miller?” demanded Alexia, still in that strange, still voice.

“No, no. He only knew about the checks. He’d lived here-oh, for years. He belonged to the Bund; he knew that Mr. Brent liked German ideas. He knew that he had given money to the German cause. He knew-he knew…”

“And he said I’d do anything for him?” said Alexia.

“Yes, yes. He’s always known when women liked him. He knew that you did…”

“Oh, he knew that I liked him, did he?” said Alexia. “That’s fine. That’s good. That’s very good.” She leaned over toward Anna. She laughed very softly and very horribly and said, “That’s very good. Because now he’s going to find out exactly how much I like him.” She whirled around and started for the door. And I said, “Did you know that Peter Huber killed your husband?”

She stopped again. Her small, lovely face was terribly intent. She said finally, “How did you know?”

“I heard what you said just now. But I knew before that. At least I guessed.”

“When?”

“When I found a piece of paper with notes about digitalis written on one side of it and a few sentences on the other side which Maud had written. Peter Huber over-reached himself. He had told Maud Chivery about some Spanish jewels…”

Alexia smiled thinly, “There were no Spanish jewels. He told me. It amused him.”

“Really. I think he meant to fleece Maud; and then changed his mind. I don’t know why…”

“He was after more money,” cried Anna from her corner. “He was going to get money from Mrs. Chivery. But then he knew that he could get more from Mrs. Brent. He said she’d give him money…”