“You said she stared at Jonny. Did she seem to recognize her?”
“No! That is—I didn’t think of that, Matt. I don’t know. It all was so hurried. She did stare at Jonny. She looked as if she couldn’t take her eyes from her. But then she saw the taxi—”
The buzzer in the hall sounded sharply. Matt sprang up. “There they are. Just tell them what you told me.”
Somehow Laura had expected a whole body of policemen, big bulky figures in blue uniforms. Instead Matt ushered in a slight, rather elderly man in a wrinkled gray suit. He had hazy gray eyes and a long, tired-looking face.
“This is Lieutenant Peabody,” Matt said. “Miss Laura March.”
The Lieutenant said, “How do you do?”
Laura, her voice unexpectedly husky, said, “Will you sit down, Lieutenant Peabody?” Suddenly and indeed absurdly the instinct of a hostess caught at her. Her home, her guest. Except he wasn’t a guest; he was a policeman coming to question her about murder. She steadied her thought and her voice and said to Matt, “I expect Lieutenant Peabody might like a drink, too.”
“Yes, of course.” Matt started for the door. “What will it be, Lieutenant? Scotch, bourbon?”
“Thank you,” Lieutenant Peabody said, “I am on duty. Not that it isn’t the kind of night that calls for a drink. But not now.” He sat down on the long sofa, at right angles to Laura, and suddenly and very wearily sighed. But in the same instant his hazy glance drifted around the room, noting details, seeing the tiny red Garnet roses on a side table, the picture which had belonged to Laura’s father, a Normandy landscape, gay with its sunlight and blue sky and its purple-pink plum trees. He examined the Chippendale wall-desk which, too, had belonged to Peter March; he eyed a table with a piecrust edge. He seemed to approve the chairs, the sofa, the odd bits Laura had added, and to guess that she had done so, a piece at a time as she could pay for them, around the nucleus that Conrad Stanley had saved for her, from her home.
Yet in the same long and observing moment Laura felt that the police lieutenant had also noted and filed away every detail of her appearance. At last his glance lingered openly on the little gay heap of colored hair ribbons which still lay on the floor. And Matt said, “I’ve already told Lieutenant Peabody all that we knew of Conrad Stanislowski, Laura. Why he came here—Jonny—all that.” He turned to Lieutenant Peabody. “Miss March has been telling me what she knows of the thing. The fact is Stanislowski was here for only a few moments. He talked very briefly to Miss March. Some time after he had gone, the Brown woman phoned for help, so Miss March went out to the rooming house and there she found him murdered. She had the little girl with her so—”
Lieutenant Peabody interrupted. “First, Miss March, I want to know about this Brown woman. Describe her, will you? Tell me exactly what she said to you over the telephone.”
SEVEN
L AURA TOLD IT BRIEFLY . When she had finished the short recital the Lieutenant nodded. “Maria Brown is probably an assumed name. The landlady didn’t know much about her but said she was obviously a foreigner. The landlady doesn’t know where she came from; she had a sort of part-time job in the Loop. She took the room about a month ago and has paid her rent for another few weeks. How old is she? Young? Middle-aged?”
“She looked middle-aged,” Laura said unexpectedly, “but she moved like a young woman.”
A flicker of satisfaction touched the Lieutenant’s face. “You’d know her if you saw her again.”
“Yes. I think so.”
“What did she wear?”
“A brown coat—tailored, with pockets. A black beret. She had a sort of carryall with her.”
“What kind of taxi was it? Yellow, checkered—”
“Yellow.”
The Lieutenant rose. “The telephone?”
“In the hall,” Matt said. “I’ll show you.”
At the doorway the Lieutenant turned back to Laura.
“No! That is—I didn’t think of that, Matt. I don’t know. It all was so hurried. She did stare at Jonny. She looked as if she couldn’t take her eyes from her. But then she saw the taxi—”
The buzzer in the hall sounded sharply. Matt sprang up. “There they are. Just tell them what you told me.”
Somehow Laura had expected a whole body of policemen, big bulky figures in blue uniforms. Instead Matt ushered in a slight, rather elderly man in a wrinkled gray suit. He had hazy gray eyes and a long, tired-looking face.
“This is Lieutenant Peabody,” Matt said. “Miss Laura March.”
The Lieutenant said, “How do you do?”
Laura, her voice unexpectedly husky, said, “Will you sit down, Lieutenant Peabody?” Suddenly and indeed absurdly the instinct of a hostess caught at her. Her home, her guest. Except he wasn’t a guest; he was a policeman coming to question her about murder. She steadied her thought and her voice and said to Matt, “I expect Lieutenant Peabody might like a drink, too.”
“Yes, of course.” Matt started for the door. “What will it be, Lieutenant? Scotch, bourbon?”
“Thank you,” Lieutenant Peabody said, “I am on duty. Not that it isn’t the kind of night that calls for a drink. But not now.” He sat down on the long sofa, at right angles to Laura, and suddenly and very wearily sighed. But in the same instant his hazy glance drifted around the room, noting details, seeing the tiny red Garnet roses on a side table, the picture which had belonged to Laura’s father, a Normandy landscape, gay with its sunlight and blue sky and its purple-pink plum trees. He examined the Chippendale wall-desk which, too, had belonged to Peter March; he eyed a table with a piecrust edge. He seemed to approve the chairs, the sofa, the odd bits Laura had added, and to guess that she had done so, a piece at a time as she could pay for them, around the nucleus that Conrad Stanley had saved for her, from her home.
Yet in the same long and observing moment Laura felt that the police lieutenant had also noted and filed away every detail of her appearance. At last his glance lingered openly on the little gay heap of colored hair ribbons which still lay on the floor. And Matt said, “I’ve already told Lieutenant Peabody all that we knew of Conrad Stanislowski, Laura. Why he came here—Jonny—all that.” He turned to Lieutenant Peabody. “Miss March has been telling me what she knows of the thing. The fact is Stanislowski was here for only a few moments. He talked very briefly to Miss March. Some time after he had gone, the Brown woman phoned for help, so Miss March went out to the rooming house and there she found him murdered. She had the little girl with her so—”
Lieutenant Peabody interrupted. “First, Miss March, I want to know about this Brown woman. Describe her, will you? Tell me exactly what she said to you over the telephone.”
SEVEN
L AURA TOLD IT BRIEFLY . When she had finished the short recital the Lieutenant nodded. “Maria Brown is probably an assumed name. The landlady didn’t know much about her but said she was obviously a foreigner. The landlady doesn’t know where she came from; she had a sort of part-time job in the Loop. She took the room about a month ago and has paid her rent for another few weeks. How old is she? Young? Middle-aged?”
“She looked middle-aged,” Laura said unexpectedly, “but she moved like a young woman.”
A flicker of satisfaction touched the Lieutenant’s face. “You’d know her if you saw her again.”
“Yes. I think so.”
“What did she wear?”
“A brown coat—tailored, with pockets. A black beret. She had a sort of carryall with her.”
“What kind of taxi was it? Yellow, checkered—”
“Yellow.”
The Lieutenant rose. “The telephone?”
“In the hall,” Matt said. “I’ll show you.”
At the doorway the Lieutenant turned back to Laura.
Similar Books
