Dow’s mouth opened, and his cigarette dropped from his fingers.
“Stop goggling!” Cassie said impatiently. “Who do you think of?”
“Swiss Chard!” Dow said in a strangled voice. “Swiss Chard!”
Cassie nodded complacently.
“Swiss Chard,” she agreed. “Exactly. Swiss Chard. Wouldn’t you, Jock?”
“Swiss Chard!” Dow said before Jock could answer. “God in his heaven, Swiss Chard!”
Leonidas leaned over and picked up the cigarette before it burned a hole in his red and gray linoleum.
Cassie and Dow and Jock continued to survey each other ecstatically and say “Swiss Chard! Swiss Chard! Swiss Chard!” at intervals. As though, Leonidas thought, they were pushcart peddlers hawking vegetables through the streets.
He put on his pince-nez and looked curiously at the trio.
For his part, he was at a loss to understand why the mere mention of an edible leaf-beet should compel three people to carry on in any such abandoned fashion.
He started to say as much, but Cassie gave him no chance.
“Swiss Chard, Bill! That’s the answer.”
“M’yes,” Leonidas said. “I hear you, Cassie. Swiss Chard. To the initiate, Beta Vulgaris. Swiss Chard. Esteemed by many as a tasty and fitting food, no doubt. Personally, it recalls to my mind the herbivorous antics of Nebuchadnezzar. May I remind you that in my garage at this moment, there is an unmistakable body? Is this any time to run on about leaf-beet?”
“Who said anything about leaf-beet?” Cassie retorted. “Bill, tell us every single thing about this mousy woman! Was she on the train? Was she? Was she here, in this house? Tell us every single thing about her quick!”
“Cassie,” Leonidas said, “I’ve been endeavoring to tell one person or another about that mousy woman since the crack of dawn today. I’ve made several stalwart and valiant attempts to tell you. But, at this point, I regret having mentioned the mousy woman. It was a moment of weakness. The scuttlings of that woman are nothing for us to consider at this juncture. Miss Winthrop’s body, on the other hand, is.”
Dow looked at him and sighed.
“We know it, Bill!” he said. “We’re straining every sinew to prod important data out of you, and you’ve just chatted about leaf-beet and Nebuchadnezzar! Now, tell us about the mousy woman. Was she short, and gray, and mousy, with gray eyes, and gray hair, and gray clothes? She scuttles, or scurries, whichever you like best. Go on from there.”
“On the train this morning,” Leonidas said, “there was such a woman. But there are thousands like her strewn over the world. Your description might fit any one of them. Let us, therefore, call the police, before—”
“And she looked sort of bewildered, and frightened, and terrified to the core, didn’t she, all at once?” Cassie asked. “As if she’d curl like a caterpillar and fall into a trembling little heap, any minute. Didn’t she, Bill? She’s looked like that, always, but actually she’s got the strongest will of any woman I know. Stronger than Medora Winthrop’s, but I don’t think Medora knew it, do you, Dow? Medora always gave the orders, so she just naturally thought she was boss. But I sometimes have wondered—how long has she been with Medora?”
“Forever,” Dow said. “When I was a puling infant, I remember seeing Swiss Chard scurrying in Medora’s background, making lists and doing things up in brown paper packages. She’s kept the brown paper industry booming— What did you say, Bill? Are you talking about leaf-beet again?”
“I asked you,” Leonidas said, “if Swiss Chard were a person.”
“Goodness, you’re stupid!” Cassie shook her head. “Sometimes you catch onto things like a shot, and sometimes I think you’re as thick as Cuff Murray. Bill, Swiss Chard is— What’s her name, Dow? I suppose she must have a name, though I’m sure I never heard it. Miss Chard. Miss Um Chard. No, I don’t think I ever heard her real name. What did Medora call her?”
Dow grinned.
” ‘Chard-come-here,’ ” he said. “Or, ‘Chard-I-want.’ Sometimes, ‘Chard-Chard-where-is-she!’ Mother always called her just Miss Chard, and in my less articulate days, I called her Smiss Chard, and Swiss Chard was the next step. She’s certainly been with Medora for thirty years, anyway.”
“I don’t think,” Jock said, “that Bill understands even yet. You see, Bill, Swiss Chard is Miss Winthrop’s companion, and she’s a mousy woman. And—”
“And for goodness’ sakes,” Cassie said, “get on with your story about her, Bill! Hurry up!”
“If I do,” Leonidas said, “will you solemnly promise me not to interrupt till I’m through with the whole recital?”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes! But do get on! Delaying us,” Cassie said indignantly, “with all this talk of leaf-beet. Hurry up, won’t you?”
Beginning with the flight of the mousy woman along the corridor outside his drawing room, Leonidas at last told his story of what had happened on the train.
Both Dow and Cassie had to restrain themselves at the mention of the brown paper package, and their eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when he matter-of-factly informed them of its contents.
Then he went on to the beautiful girl with the red curls.
“I can’t help interrupting,” Dow said when Leonidas reached the part of the planted lipstick in the corridor. “If ever a girl was—why, to insinuate for a moment that she—”
“Ssh, dear,” Cassie said. “You’re young, you know. You can’t tell beans about women yet, dear. Oh, no, you can’t! If you could, you’d never have got yourself involved with Estelle Otis’s daughter, ever. You wouldn’t have let Medora change her will. You’re still putty, Dow. But Bill knows. If this girl was pulling the wool over your eyes, Bill knows it. Go on, Bill.”
Leonidas went on.
“So,” he concluded, “there was a hand sticking out under those gray blankets, and there was the lipstick on the floor. And then Miss Chard cracked me over the head with the butt of a revolver, and I pitched forward. It wasn’t much of a blow, but at the same time, the train lurched, and my head hit against that iron thing. Now, Dow, can you add or subtract anything?”
Dow said he
