He stopped. After a moment he shrugged. “But on the other hand, she may have been only an innocent bystander. She was a lodger in the house; perhaps she heard something of the murder, obviously Conrad told her your name and she may have phoned to you merely in the hope of helping him. But then he died and she simply got scared and ran away. There are people like that. Afraid of trouble. Afraid of the police. Another possibility is that she knows some evidence which she feels is dangerous to her and she is afraid to see the police. There are all sorts of possibilities, too many of them! Well, the police will certainly find Maria Brown. You said you started to question Jonny about her father. Did you?”
“No. I went back to her room and that’s when she was crying so hard and trying not to. I was sure then that he was really her father, so I didn’t question her. She was only beginning to stop crying when the phone rang and it was Maria Brown.”
“Didn’t she show any sign of knowing her father?”
“No, not a thing. She didn’t speak. She didn’t smile. She just froze. You know—whenever she is frightened or confused, she shrinks into herself and doesn’t even move.”
“I know. That’s the habit of fear. Yet perhaps that very cautiousness shows that she did recognize him. Perhaps she was waiting for him to speak or make some move or— Oh, I don’t know! How did you feel about it, Laura? Did you feel that he was her father?”
“Y-yes. At least at first. Then later I thought perhaps he was an impostor. But I went back to Jonny and she was crying, so I was sure he was her father.”
“And while he was here you believed him?”
“Yes, I did. It puzzled me. It was an extraordinary kind of thing. He seemed frightened and hurried and I couldn’t understand why he asked me to keep his arrival a secret, but somehow I—I did believe him.”
Matt gave her a long look, rose and began to pace up and down, his tall figure and dark head outlining themselves against the gray walls and the primrose yellow curtains at the end of the room. He stopped to pick up an ash tray, look at it with unseeing eyes and put it down again; he came back to lean one elbow on the mantel and look, in deep thought, at nothing. He had a thin, rather bony Irish face with a hawky nose, a sharp jaw line, and deep-set eyes below eyebrows that were so black they were like slashes across his face. It was not a handsome face, but it was sensitive and intelligent, and lighted by his eyes which could turn as vividly blue and sunny as a summer sea. They were then, though, a slatey cold gray. He said, “This Brown woman could have known Conrad in Poland, or she could have known of him. He went to the rooming house at 3936 Koska Street, so it is perfectly possible that he knew her address and went to the rooming house because she was there. Now then—she could have had orders to kill him. Or she could have killed him because of some private quarrel between them. The third alternative is that she was merely an innocent bystander. But if she stabbed him, then she either regretted it and telephoned you for help, or she phoned to get you to come to the house and thus involve you in the murder.”
“Me! But the police can’t say I did it!”
“I’m only suggesting possibilities,” Matt said quickly. “If she actually murdered him, perhaps she didn’t expect either you or the doctor to get there so soon, before she could get away. But on the other hand, as I said, if she was only an innocent bystander trying to help him, that would explain what she said to you on the steps. ‘Go away. I should not have done it,’ could mean simply she shouldn’t have phoned to you and got you into it. If, that is, somebody else killed him.”
“Who?”
“Well, for one thing he as much as admitted that he was a renegade Communist. He said he was only a minor official but still —” Matt went to the sofa and sat down, stretching out his long legs.
“No. I went back to her room and that’s when she was crying so hard and trying not to. I was sure then that he was really her father, so I didn’t question her. She was only beginning to stop crying when the phone rang and it was Maria Brown.”
“Didn’t she show any sign of knowing her father?”
“No, not a thing. She didn’t speak. She didn’t smile. She just froze. You know—whenever she is frightened or confused, she shrinks into herself and doesn’t even move.”
“I know. That’s the habit of fear. Yet perhaps that very cautiousness shows that she did recognize him. Perhaps she was waiting for him to speak or make some move or— Oh, I don’t know! How did you feel about it, Laura? Did you feel that he was her father?”
“Y-yes. At least at first. Then later I thought perhaps he was an impostor. But I went back to Jonny and she was crying, so I was sure he was her father.”
“And while he was here you believed him?”
“Yes, I did. It puzzled me. It was an extraordinary kind of thing. He seemed frightened and hurried and I couldn’t understand why he asked me to keep his arrival a secret, but somehow I—I did believe him.”
Matt gave her a long look, rose and began to pace up and down, his tall figure and dark head outlining themselves against the gray walls and the primrose yellow curtains at the end of the room. He stopped to pick up an ash tray, look at it with unseeing eyes and put it down again; he came back to lean one elbow on the mantel and look, in deep thought, at nothing. He had a thin, rather bony Irish face with a hawky nose, a sharp jaw line, and deep-set eyes below eyebrows that were so black they were like slashes across his face. It was not a handsome face, but it was sensitive and intelligent, and lighted by his eyes which could turn as vividly blue and sunny as a summer sea. They were then, though, a slatey cold gray. He said, “This Brown woman could have known Conrad in Poland, or she could have known of him. He went to the rooming house at 3936 Koska Street, so it is perfectly possible that he knew her address and went to the rooming house because she was there. Now then—she could have had orders to kill him. Or she could have killed him because of some private quarrel between them. The third alternative is that she was merely an innocent bystander. But if she stabbed him, then she either regretted it and telephoned you for help, or she phoned to get you to come to the house and thus involve you in the murder.”
“Me! But the police can’t say I did it!”
“I’m only suggesting possibilities,” Matt said quickly. “If she actually murdered him, perhaps she didn’t expect either you or the doctor to get there so soon, before she could get away. But on the other hand, as I said, if she was only an innocent bystander trying to help him, that would explain what she said to you on the steps. ‘Go away. I should not have done it,’ could mean simply she shouldn’t have phoned to you and got you into it. If, that is, somebody else killed him.”
“Who?”
“Well, for one thing he as much as admitted that he was a renegade Communist. He said he was only a minor official but still —” Matt went to the sofa and sat down, stretching out his long legs.
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