Postmark Murder by Mignon G. Eberhart

already there, that is, a squad car was there when I got there, and then the rest of them turned up. Your Doctor Stevens arrived in the midst of it. He said you had called him to come there and he had been delayed on a previous call. There was nothing he could do, of course. The police will be here to get your statement, I told them why you had to come home before you called them or anybody. I explained about Jonny and I think they understood. Where is Jonny? Asleep?”
    “Yes. I don’t think she realized what happened, Matt. Seeing her father upset her; she cried afterward. But I don’t think she knew anything about the—the rooming house. I mean, what had happened there. She stayed in the hall; she couldn’t see. She was puzzled; she knew something was wrong. But she’s all right now. I’m sure she didn’t guess anything like the truth.”
    “That’s all right then. Now,” Matt sat down in the chair opposite her, “tell me everything again, Laura. All the details. Don’t hurry. Take your time about it.”
    He glanced at his watch, though, as he spoke. She thought, Matt is a lawyer, he wants to hear everything; he wants to go over it with me before the police arrive. Because I found a man, murdered.
    She told the story in detail, slowly, taking her time. He watched her, his face a little in shadow above the shade of the lamp on the table beside him, his eyes intent, lifting his glass now and then and sipping from it. When she had finished he thought for a moment. Then he said, “All right. That woman who phoned you, are you sure it was the woman you met on the steps?”
    “Yes. It was the same voice, the same accent. Besides, there was nobody else in the rooming house.”
    “Would you recognize her again if you saw her?”
    “I think so. Yes. I recognized her voice. Matt, could she have killed him? She was running away. She had her bag with her. She ran across the sidewalk and jumped into the taxi and was gone before I could stop her. And then on the steps she said, ‘Go away. I should not have done it.’ That’s all she said. Did she mean—” Laura caught her breath. “Did she mean, ‘I should not have killed him’?”
    “Yes, I’ve been thinking that, too— I don’t know. I do know that she was one of the lodgers in the rooming house. Her name is Maria Brown. The landlady—the police questioned her—said that Maria Brown had been there for a month or so, she had her rent paid ahead of time for about three weeks, she had given the landlady no warning of leaving. That’s all I heard. There was a good deal of commotion out there, of course, with fingerprint men and flashlights and everybody milling around, the whole mechanism of investigation. The police will find Maria Brown, all right. But about Conrad Stanislowski—I wish we knew more about how he happened to come here. I’d like to know why he begged you not to tell anyone he was here. He told you to wait for a few days before you told us. He said that he could identify himself. Why would he want to keep it a secret, even for a few days? What did he expect to do in that time? Rather,” Matt said slowly, “why should it conceivably be necessary for him to do anything before he could come forward openly and identify himself to us?”
    There was no answer to that. Laura said, “I think he was afraid. There was something about him— I am sure he was afraid of something.”
    Matt lighted a cigarette. “Of course, that suggests some quarrel that it was necessary for him to settle. And it suggests that that quarrel may have ended in murder. The woman you saw could have been the instrument. Did she look, well—foreign? Polish?”
    “Her accent is foreign. I don’t know whether it’s Polish or not. She was dark, pale— I only got a glimpse of her.”
    Matt said thoughtfully, “Orders can come from behind the Iron Curtain. Things like that almost certainly have happened. Maria Brown could have been an instrument. If she were Polish —”