“I went into the house. All the lights were out except one in the hall, but I went out through the study and the dining room to the pantry. It connects with the servants’ quarters, and I wanted to make sure that none of them were about, as I had to go up and unlock the day nursery, and I was afraid that Kathleen Page might make a scene. It was all dark and quiet; there wasn’t anyone there. I passed the ice box as I came back, and I could see the fruit through the glass door. I remembered that Pat couldn’t have taken it to Mother Ives, and I put some on a plate and went upstairs. Her door was open; she always left it open so that we could say good night if we came in before eleven.”
“Were you with her long?”
“Oh, no, only a minute. I told her that Steve and I had driven over to Lakedale instead of going to the movies, and kissed her good night. Then I went around the gallery and on up to the nursery wing. I unlocked the door and pushed it open, but I didn’t go in. Pat was sitting by the table, reading. The door to Miss Page’s room was closed. He sat there looking at me for a moment, and then he stood up and came into the hall, pulling the nursery door to behind him. He said, ‘I didn’t know that you had it in you to play an ugly trick like that, Sue.’ I said, ‘I didn’t know it either.’ I went down to the study and lit the light—twice. I waited until I heard the car start, and then I went up to my room and took off my clothes and went to bed. There were several lights in the room, and I kept every one of them burning until after the sun was up. In the morning I got up and dressed and went to church, and it was just a little while after I got home that we heard that Mimi’s body had been found. And Monday evening both Stephen and I were put under arrest.”
She was silent for a moment, and then said in a small, exhausted voice, “That’s all. Must I wait?”
Lambert said gravely and gently, “I’m afraid so. When was the first time that you told this story, Mrs. Ives?”
“Night before last—to you—after they found my fingerprint, you know.”
“It is the full and entire account of how you spent the evening of the ?”
“Yes.”
“To the best of your knowledge, you have omitted nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Thank you; that will be all. Cross-examine.”
Mr. Farr advanced leisurely toward the witness box and stood staring thoughtfully for a long moment at its pale occupant. Under those speculative eyes, the sagging shoulders straightened, the chin lifted.
“You were perfectly familiar with the gardener’s cottage, were you not, Mrs. Ives?”
“Perfectly.”
“You remembered even where the lamp stood in the hall?”
“Yes. I used to go there often as a child.”
“Nothing had been changed since then?”
“I don’t know. I was only there for a few seconds.”
“Not long enough to notice a change of any kind whatever?”
“There was the piano; I remember that.”
She sat very straight, watching him with those wide, bright eyes as though he were some strange and dangerous beast.
“Were you familiar with the back entrance from the River Road—to the Thorne estate, Mrs. Ives?”
“Yes.”
“You could have found it at night quite easily?”
“You mean by the lights of the automobile?”
“Exactly.”
“Yes.”
“Were you aware that it was a shorter way to reach Orchards than going back by way of Rosemont?”
“Oh, yes; it was about three miles shorter.”
“Why didn’t you take it?”
“Because when we were in Lakedale we had no idea of going to the cottage. We didn’t think of it until long after we had returned to Rosemont.”
“But why didn’t you think of it before? You knew that in all probability Mrs. Bellamy was waiting for your husband at the cottage, didn’t you?”
The question was asked in tones of the gentlest consideration, but the sentinel watching from the dark eyes was suddenly alert.
“No, I didn’t know that at all. In the first place, I wasn’t sure that she had gone there; in the second place, I wasn’t sure that she had waited, even if she had gone.”
“There was no harm in making sure, was there?”
“I thought there was. My idea in seeing Stephen was to get him to talk to Mimi; I hadn’t the faintest desire to take part in the humiliating and painful scene that would have been inevitable if I had confronted her.”
“I see. Still, you were willing to confront her in her own home, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip in an effort to concentrate on that. “But that wouldn’t have been tracking her down and spying on her, and by then—”
“ ‘Yes’ is an answer, Mrs. Ives.”
“You mean that it’s all the answer that you want?”
“Exactly.”
“You didn’t really want to know why I did it?”
Under the level irony of her glance the prosecutor’s eyes hardened. “For your own good, Mrs. Ives, I suggest that you do not attempt to bandy language with me. You were not only willing to see her in her home but not long after you went to seek her in the cottage, did you not?”
“Yes. By that time we were both desperately worried and I put my own wishes aside.”
“You wish us to understand that you went there on an errand of mercy?”
“I am not asking you to understand anything. I was simply telling you why we went.”
“Exactly. Now, when you got to the cottage, Mrs. Ives, you say there was no light?”
“There was no light.”
“But you fortunately remembered that this lamp was in the hall?”
“Fortunately?” repeated Susan Ives slowly, “I remembered that there was a lamp in the hall.”
“How long has it been since you were at Orchards?”
“I have not been there since my marriage—not for seven years.”
“How
