The Cases of Susan Dare by Mignon G. Eberhart Page A

came to her again.
    “See here,” he said. “You look like a ghost. Have you had anything to eat?”
    “No,” said Susan.
    A moment later she was in the kitchen, accepting provender that Jim Byrne brought from the icebox.
    “You do manage to get things done,” she said. “I thought newspaper men wouldn’t even be permitted in the house.”
    “Oh, the police are all right—they’ll give a statement to all of us—treat us right, you know. More cake? And don’t forget I’m in on this case. Have you found out yet what Caroline was afraid of?”
    “No. I’ve not had a chance to talk to her. Jim, who did it?”
    He smiled mirthlessly.
    “You’re asking me! They’ve established, mainly, three things: the servants are clear; there was no one in the house besides Jessica and David and Caroline.”
    “And me,” said Susan with a small shudder. “And—Marie.”
    “And you,” agreed Jim imperturbably. “And Marie. Third, they can’t find the gun. Jessica and you alibi each other. That leaves David and Caroline. Well—which of them did it? And why?”
    “I don’t know,” she said. “But, Jim, I’m frightened.”
    “ Frightened ! With the house full of police? Why?”
    “I don’t know,” said Susan again. “It’s nothing I can explain. It’s just—a queer kind of menace. Somewhere—somehow—in this house. It’s like Marie—only Marie is dead and this is alive. Horribly alive.” Susan knew she was incoherent and that Jim was staring at her worriedly, and suddenly the swinging door behind her opened, and Susan’s heart leaped to her throat before the policeman spoke.
    “The lieutenant wants you both, please,” he said.
    As they passed through the hall, the clock struck a single note that vibrated long afterward. It had been, then, eight hours and more since she had entered that wide door and been met by Jessica.
    Lights were on everywhere now, and there were policemen, and the old-fashioned sliding doors between the hall and the drawing room had been closed, and they shut in the sound of voices.
    “In there,” said the policeman and drew back one of the doors.
    It was entirely silent in the heavily furnished room. Lights were on in the chandelier above and it was eerily, dreadfully bright. The streaks showed in the faded brown velvet curtains at the windows, and the wavery lines in the mantelpiece mirror, and the worn spots in the old Turkish rug. And every gray shadow on Jessica’s face was darker, and the fine, sharp lines around Caroline’s mouth and her haunted eyes showed terribly clear, and there were two bright scarlet spots in David’s cheeks. Lieutenant Mohrn had lost his look of youth and freshness and looked the weary, graying forty that he was. A detective in plain clothes was sitting on the small of his back in one of the slippery plush chairs.
    The door slid together again behind them, and still no one spoke, although Jessica turned to look at them. And, oddly, Susan had a feeling that everything in that household had changed. Yet Jessica had not actually changed; her eyes met Susan’s with exactly the same cold, remote command. Then what was it that was different?
    Caroline—Susan’s eyes went to the thin bent figure, huddled tragically on the edge of her chair. Her fine hair was in wisps about her face; her mouth tremulous.
    Why, of course! It was not a change. It was merely that both Jessica and Caroline had become somehow intensified. They were both etched more sharply. The shadows were deeper, the lines blacker.
    Lieutenant Mohrn turned to Caroline. “This is the young woman you refer to, isn’t it, Miss Caroline?”
    Caroline’s eyes fluttered to Susan, avoided Jessica, and returned fascinated to Lieutenant Mohrn. “Yes—yes.”
    David whirled from the window and crossed to stand directly above Caroline.
    “Look here, Aunt Caroline, you realize, that whatever you tell Miss Dare, she’ll be bound to tell the police? It’s just the same thing—you know that,