were out in the forest the night this guy downstairs got killed.”
“Who says?”
“You—and don’t ask me why—got dressed up in one of the costumes from the wardrobe room,” he told her. “Then you went out into the night. Didn’t get back until way after midnight.” He moved nearer to her. “You were out there when the guy got killed.”
Fanny wouldn’t look at him. “You’re no cop,” she said in a distant voice. “You’ve got no right to—”
“Fanny, I don’t want to give this to the police. But I may have to.” He got close enough to put his hands on the arms of her chair. “Cole Wilson is a very close friend of mine. I think you know something about what happened to him.”
“But I don’t, Terry, I really don’t.”
“What about the dead man?”
“I didn’t . . .” She tilted forward, rested her head against him, and began to cry. “Terry, I don’t know what I did. I’m not conning you, honestly. Something . . . something happens to me. I don’t know what it is. I really do just black out. I came to the other morning when Candy spotted me. And last night I woke up in the wardrobe room, changing out of that dress and back into my night things. Honestly, I don’t remember anything . . . except . . .”
“Except what?”
“Nothing.” She pulled back from him, shaking her head.
O’Malley walked away from her. “I guess I sound like your typical heartless Hollywood type, Fanny, but I want to finish this picture. You really don’t know where Cole Wilson is?”
The girl wiped at her cheek with her fingertips. “I don’t, Terry. Whatever’s happening to me . . . it has nothing to do with him.”
“Okay,” said O’Malley. “I’ll keep quiet for a while longer. And maybe, Fanny, I can help you.”
“I don’t think anybody can,” she said.
“He’s dead, that’s where he is,” announced Stark angrily.
“So serious?” said Cole. “That’s too bad. And how did you find out that news?”
“I got ways of learning stuff. I know more about this island than anybody alive,” said Stark.
“Another accident, was it?”
“Somebody choked him.” Stark grunted as he settled onto a stool.
“This reminds me of an Agatha Christie novel,” said Cole. “Group of folk on an island and one by one they perish. A great plotter is Mrs. Christie.”
“I don’t need any more of your lip right now.”
Cole said, “This is the hour when the late lamented Tucker brought me my evening meal.”
“You can starve, for all I care.”
“Come now, you don’t want my death on your hands.”
Muttering, Stark got up and fetched a box of crackers from a shelf. He slammed them down on the table. “There, chow down.”
“I have been known to pick up a handkerchief in my teeth whilst performing feats of bareback riding,” said Cole, with a grin. “However, I prefer to use my hands for eating. So much more civilized, don’t you think?”
“If it wasn’t for the dough I’d get off this dump of an island right now. It’s been nothing but headaches.”
“Especially for poor old Tucker.”
“Shut up.” Stark went around behind Cole and went to work on the ropes which held his hands.
“Not that I don’t sympathize with you, old fellow. You’ve had incredibly bad luck on this particular caper. I mean, you’ve already lost fifty percent of your staff . . . and Morrison is late for dinner.”
“That fat slob is late for everything. There, your mitts are loose. Now eat and make it snappy.”
As Cole brought his hands around to massage the circulation back into them he flicked a switch on his belt buckle. The buckle contained a very powerful two-way radio. He hadn’t tried to use it before now because he knew that the rest of his Justice, Incorporated, teammates were far away, in Manhattan. Now, though, some days had passed and perhaps someone had come westward in search of him.
“It may well be that living underground is what makes you so cranky, my dear
“Who says?”
“You—and don’t ask me why—got dressed up in one of the costumes from the wardrobe room,” he told her. “Then you went out into the night. Didn’t get back until way after midnight.” He moved nearer to her. “You were out there when the guy got killed.”
Fanny wouldn’t look at him. “You’re no cop,” she said in a distant voice. “You’ve got no right to—”
“Fanny, I don’t want to give this to the police. But I may have to.” He got close enough to put his hands on the arms of her chair. “Cole Wilson is a very close friend of mine. I think you know something about what happened to him.”
“But I don’t, Terry, I really don’t.”
“What about the dead man?”
“I didn’t . . .” She tilted forward, rested her head against him, and began to cry. “Terry, I don’t know what I did. I’m not conning you, honestly. Something . . . something happens to me. I don’t know what it is. I really do just black out. I came to the other morning when Candy spotted me. And last night I woke up in the wardrobe room, changing out of that dress and back into my night things. Honestly, I don’t remember anything . . . except . . .”
“Except what?”
“Nothing.” She pulled back from him, shaking her head.
O’Malley walked away from her. “I guess I sound like your typical heartless Hollywood type, Fanny, but I want to finish this picture. You really don’t know where Cole Wilson is?”
The girl wiped at her cheek with her fingertips. “I don’t, Terry. Whatever’s happening to me . . . it has nothing to do with him.”
“Okay,” said O’Malley. “I’ll keep quiet for a while longer. And maybe, Fanny, I can help you.”
“I don’t think anybody can,” she said.
“He’s dead, that’s where he is,” announced Stark angrily.
“So serious?” said Cole. “That’s too bad. And how did you find out that news?”
“I got ways of learning stuff. I know more about this island than anybody alive,” said Stark.
“Another accident, was it?”
“Somebody choked him.” Stark grunted as he settled onto a stool.
“This reminds me of an Agatha Christie novel,” said Cole. “Group of folk on an island and one by one they perish. A great plotter is Mrs. Christie.”
“I don’t need any more of your lip right now.”
Cole said, “This is the hour when the late lamented Tucker brought me my evening meal.”
“You can starve, for all I care.”
“Come now, you don’t want my death on your hands.”
Muttering, Stark got up and fetched a box of crackers from a shelf. He slammed them down on the table. “There, chow down.”
“I have been known to pick up a handkerchief in my teeth whilst performing feats of bareback riding,” said Cole, with a grin. “However, I prefer to use my hands for eating. So much more civilized, don’t you think?”
“If it wasn’t for the dough I’d get off this dump of an island right now. It’s been nothing but headaches.”
“Especially for poor old Tucker.”
“Shut up.” Stark went around behind Cole and went to work on the ropes which held his hands.
“Not that I don’t sympathize with you, old fellow. You’ve had incredibly bad luck on this particular caper. I mean, you’ve already lost fifty percent of your staff . . . and Morrison is late for dinner.”
“That fat slob is late for everything. There, your mitts are loose. Now eat and make it snappy.”
As Cole brought his hands around to massage the circulation back into them he flicked a switch on his belt buckle. The buckle contained a very powerful two-way radio. He hadn’t tried to use it before now because he knew that the rest of his Justice, Incorporated, teammates were far away, in Manhattan. Now, though, some days had passed and perhaps someone had come westward in search of him.
“It may well be that living underground is what makes you so cranky, my dear
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