Tenth Commandment by Lawrence Sanders Page A

'according to Mr Teitelbaum, you believed your husband had met with an accident and was suffering from amnesia.'
    'I did think that,' she said, 'but I don't anymore. He's dead. I had a vision.'
    Glynis Stonehouse was inspecting her fingernails. I took out a notebook and pen. 'I hate to go over events which I'm sure are painful to you,' I said. 'But it would help if you could tell me exactly what happened the evening the Professor disappeared.'
    Mrs Stonehouse did most of the talking, her daughter correcting her now and then or adding something in a quiet voice. I took notes as Mrs Stonehouse spoke, but it was really for effect, to impress them how seriously Tabatchnick, Orsini, Reilly, and Teitelbaum regarded their plight.
    I glanced up frequently from my scribbling to stare at Mrs Stonehouse.
    As she talked, sipping her sherry steadily and leaning forward twice to refill her glass, her eyes, as pale as milk glass, flickered like candle flames. She had a mop of frizzy 55
    blonde curls, a skin of chamois, and a habit, or nervous tic, of touching the tip of her retroussé nose with her left forefinger. Not pushing it, just touching it as if to make certain it was still there.
    She had fluttery gestures, and was given to quick expressions — frowns, smiles, pouts, moues — that followed one another so swiftly that her face seemed in constant motion. She was dressed girlishly in chiffon. In her tucked-up position she was showing a good deal of leg.
    She spoke rapidly, as if anxious to get it all out and over with. That warbling voice rippled on and on, and after a while it took on a singsong quality like a child's part rehearsed for a school play.
    On the 10th of January the Stonehouse family had dinner at 7.00 p.m. Present were Professor Yale Stonehouse, wife Ula, daughter Glynis, and son Powell.
    The meal was served by the live-in cook-housekeeper, Mrs Effie Dark. The maid, Olga Eklund, was away on her day off.
    Glynis Stonehouse left the dinner table early, at about 8.00, to get to a performance of Man and Superman at the Circle in the Square. After dinner the family moved into the living room. At about 8.30, Professor Stonehouse went into his study. He came back to the living room a few minutes later and announced he was going out. He walked down the long corridor to the foyer. Later it was determined he had taken his hat, scarf, and overcoat. Mrs Stonehouse and her son heard the outer door slam. The deskman in the lobby remembered that the Professor left the building at approximately 8.45.
    He was never seen again.
    This recital finished, mother and daughter looked at me expectantly, as if waiting for an instant solution.
    'Has Professor Stonehouse attempted to communicate with you since his disappearance?'
    'No,' Glynis said. 'Nothing.'
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    'Was this a common occurrence — the Professor going out at that hour? For a walk, say?'
    'No,' Mrs Stonehouse said. 'He never went out at night.'
    'Rarely,' Glynis corrected her. 'Once or twice a year he went to a professional meeting. But it usually included a dinner, and he left earlier.'
    'He didn't say where he was going when he left on the evening of 10th January?'
    'No,' Mrs Stonehouse said.
    'You didn't ask, ma'am?'
    The mother looked to her daughter for help.
    'My father was -' she began, then said, 'My father is a difficult man. He didn't like to be questioned. He went his own way. He was secretive.'
    'Would you say there was anything unusual in his behaviour at dinner that night?'
    This time daughter looked to mother.
    'Nooo,' Mrs Stonehouse said slowly. 'He didn't say much at the table, but then he never said much.'
    'So you'd say this behaviour that evening was entirely normal? For Professor Stonehouse,' I added hastily.
    They both nodded.
    'All right,' I said. 'There are a few things I'd like to come back to, but first I'd like to hear what happened after the Professor left.'
    At my request Mrs Stonehouse took up her story again.
    She and her son, Powell, stayed in the