Snow Shadow

  “And why didn't you—call the police, I mean?” asked Daniels.

  “Because I saw a member of my own family closing the coffin. The scandal—in the past we have had two scandals—one of which ruined my father's life. And this member—well, there were good reasons for me to consider other factors before I called in the authorities. I still had not adjusted to what I had witnessed. I could not at that moment face a scene with the person involved. The man might return at any moment, and his actions had led me to believe that he was a ruthless person. I withdrew into the library and allowed my relative to leave the parlor unaware of my presence. Later I locked the garden door. If the man did return he was unable to enter the house.

  “Miss Jansen found me quite overcome in the upper hall and took me to my room. My physical condition then clouded my mind for a space. I felt that I simply could not face a public revelation of what had happened. Though I might have known such a deed could not go undiscovered. Now you tell me that Emma was also murdered—”

  “And who was this relative you saw, whom you have been shielding, Miss Austin?” Daniels went straight to the heart of the matter.

  “My nephew's wife, Irene.”

  “And the man?” questioned Mark.

  She shook her head. “He—that was what made me believe I could not trust my eyes—he had one of those ski masks over his head!”

  “But Irene was not disguised?” Mark asked.

  “No.”

  11

  If Miss Austin had surprised Daniels, he showed no sign of it.

  “What contact did Mrs. Irene Frimsbee have with her brother-in-law?”

  “None that I was aware of. That's why—I can't really understand. As far as I know they never met. Roderick had cut almost all ties with the family before Charles married Irene. Why she should now—” A faint shudder shook her thin body. “The why of that scene, to which I was a most unwilling witness, you will have to discover from Irene herself. Charles’ health has been a great worry to her, and her little boy is very delicate. To my knowledge, that is all which has truly occupied her mind for a long time.”

  “And Mrs. Horvath ordered her out of the house she thought was hers only a short time ago.” Daniels made that a statement rather than a question. “Wasn't Mrs. Frimsbee very much upset over that?”

  “Yes, as was only natural. It was her understanding, one which I must state was shared by all of us, that the carriage house had been an outright gift to her husband upon their marriage. She had spent a lot of time and effort bringing it to its present state as a comfortable home. To be deprived of it so arbitrarily came as a shock.”

  “Why did Mrs. Horvath do that?” Mark's lower voice was in contrast to Daniel's official tone.

  “During the past half year my sister has—did— make a number of decisions which appeared strange. It is my belief she was engaged in some private enterprise which she did not wish revealed to the family. She displayed a sudden and unusual desire to assess ready cash and argued that she needed the rent which the Cantrells were willing to pay for the carriage house. In addition she told Irene, most tactlessly, that since Charles’ complete recovery was only problematical and they now had a child—which she deplored, under the circumstances—it was best another arrangement be made as soon as possible.” Miss Elizabeth spoke with the dispassionate summing up of a judge. “I must also, in fairness, add that my sister had a hasty tongue. She very often said, during the heat of momentary annoyance, things which she did not mean later. However, one's words, rather than the emotions from which they spring, are all the hearer has to base a judgment upon.”

  “And Mrs. Frimsbee based hers so? She had good reason to hate her husband's aunt?”

  Mark cut in with another question before she could answer. “You say that it was lately that Mrs. Horvath indicated she needed money for some purpose?”

  “That is correct. Emma had the income of a trust Of course, as we all know, such fixed incomes do not stand up well in this time of continued inflation. Alexis Horvath also held the reactionary belief that women had no place in business. Ever since her marriage, Emma had to be secretive about her money. I believe she had holdings of her own, built up over the years by shrewd investments. But to all outward appearances she lived on the trust income and prided herself on spending every penny of that by the end of the year.”

  “And if she needed quite a sum of money—” Daniels got to the point. “And didn't want to admit she had a nest egg stashed away, she'd have to cut down a lot in public and let everyone know about it?”

  “Exactly. Such a situation would appeal to Emma. She knew that the trust income, after her death, would go to Hanno. But I am confident that her personal estate is larger than she allowed anyone to guess. Emma was a devious person. She would display an intense interest in one object, while secretly she was engaged in procuring another. She also had our father's talent for concentration—only she applied that in other fields than scholarship.”

  In ways you did not approve, I translated to myself.

  “You say my sister was poisoned—with ginger?”

  Daniels’ expression expressed surprise. “I don't think ginger was mentioned.”

  Miss Elizabeth made an impatient gesture. “Young man, let us not quibble. I assure you that you shall find me far more cooperative if you tell me the truth and not try to lay traps. Now answer this. Was Emma truly poisoned and was the poison conveyed to her in a box of preserved ginger?”

  For a second or two the lieutenant hesitated. He did not look in my direction but I could guess that he blamed me for this. However, it was plain that in Miss Elizabeth he had met his match.

  “Yes, to both questions.”

  “And the nature of the poison?”

  His hesitation was of longer duration this time. But at last he replied:

  “The pathologist called it ‘staphisagriae semina.’ It comes from—”

  “The ripe seeds of the delphinium.” Her hands were pressed tightly together.

  “You have delphiniums in the garden here.”

  “That is no secret. The Abbey delphiniums in the past years have been most noteworthy.” But her reply sounded absent. She seemed to be thinking of something else.

  “Sergeant!” Blake materialized in the doorway. “Ask Mrs. Irene Frimsbee to come here.”

  We waited in silence. Miss Elizabeth's eyes were closed. As if, her stern duty done, she withdrew from what might follow. There was the sound of protesting voices in the hall, and then, flushed, her hair straggling, her mouth set stubbornly, Irene Frimsbee came in.

  She broke away from that light touch on her arm which the sergeant had exerted, and went to the foot of the bed, where she stood glaring in undisguised anger at Miss Austin, who took no notice of her.

  “What did you tell them?” she cried. “You're mad—absolutely mad! You should have been put away long ago with that old witch of a sister! Cracked old hags, both of you! She trying to stay young, running around with men young enough to be her sons. And you—clinging to this house, pretending your father was a scholar, when he was nothing but a queer old dead-beat living off his relations in order to buy books. You're all mad—” Her voice broke and she began to cry, making no move to wipe the tears from her face.

  “Cut it out, lady!” Sergeant Blake said as if his sense of propriety had been offended.

  Miss Elizabeth might not have heard a word. Daniels, I believed, was well content to let Irene continue. But at the sergeant's words, her mouth closed, she looked around as if sudden realization dampened her rage.

  “You accompanied Miss Austin to visit Mrs. Hor-vath last Sunday?” Daniels began in a formal tone of voice.

  Irene only nodded.

  “And you took your aunt a small gift? A tin of preserved ginger?”

  “She wasn't my aunt. Neither of them is.” Her gaze swung from Daniels to Miss Austin, as if daring the older woman to contradict her.

  “Your husband's aunt,” Daniels amended. “B
ut you did take her a tin of ginger?”

  “She liked ginger.” Irene neither affirmed nor denied his question.

  “Where did you buy this ginger?”

  “I didn't buy it. Someone sent it to Charles.” Her voice was dull, her shoulders sagged. She had a beaten look, as if Miss Elizabeth's failure to answer her tirade had pulled away her prop of righteous anger. “He doesn't like it. When I went out to see him, he gave it to me and said to pass it on to Aunt Emma.”

  “It was in a metal container.” That was Mark. “Was the container sealed in any way?”

  She frowned. “I—I think so. There was a band of red tape where the lid opened. Charles hadn't opened it. He doesn't like it.”

  “So you brought it from the hospital here.” Daniels went on. “What did you do with it then?”

  “I don't remember. It must have been in my room—no,” she corrected that. “I left it on the table in the downstairs hall, the one where we leave mail. I thought if I put it away I might forget about it. Keeping it in sight would remind me.”

  “This table in the hall.” The Lieutenant turned to Miss Austin. “Just where is it?”

  She opened her eyes. Her gaze was impersonal, detached, as if all of us and the problems we represented no longer meant much to her.

  “It is a small marble-topped table just by the door to the parlor. It is customary to spread out the mail there so that guests may take their own letters at their convenience. Small parcels are also left there. Irene's leaving her package there would be perfectly natural.”

  Perhaps her words did reassure Irene. For her head came up and she faced the lieutenant squarely.

  “I left it right there. That was Friday night. As far as I know it remained there until I picked it up on Sunday.”

  Daniels plainly did not care for the implications in that. But it was Mark who asked:

  “Did you examine it when you picked it up Sunday?”

  “Examine it? No, why should I? I twisted a piece of paper around it. We were in a hurry. There was a taxi waiting. But what's this all about—what was wrong with the ginger?”

  Now it was Miss Elizabeth who spoiled any plan the lieutenant may have had. “The ginger was poisoned— with delphinium seeds.”

  “Oh no!” Irene's hand went to her mouth, she shrank back as if physically threatened.

  Then Daniels attacked. “Why did you substitute the body of Roderick Frimsbee for that of Mrs. Horvath in the coffin? Who helped you do that?”

  Her mouth was agape. She eyed the lieutenant as if he had gone raving mad before her eyes. Her astonishment became fear.

  "I—did—what?"

  “We have a witness to the fact that you helped substitute one body for the other,” Daniels continued relentlessly. “Why was Roderick killed and by whom?”

  I saw Irene sway, as Mark must have seen also. For by the time I reached the girl, he was with me and had caught her as she slumped forward over the foot of the bed.

  We got Irene to the chaise longue and she began to moan, but her eyes remained closed. And I was convinced she would not admit recovery. Daniels rammed his fists into his coat pockets.

  “Fantastic,” he muttered. “The whole thing is fantastic!”

  “No, sir, you can't go in.” We heard the sergeant Daniels strode over and opened the door.

  “What's the matter?”

  “I demand to know, sir, by what right you have intruded on Miss Austin? Just what are all of you doing in her room? She is ill. This treatment will certainly not be countenanced by your superiors. They shall hear of your high-handed action!”

  “Preston!” Miss Elizabeth did not raise her voice, but it brought an end to his protest. Mr. Donner elbowed Ms way past the police.

  “There is no need for a display of knight-errantry, Preston,” she said in a quelling way. “I have thought it wise to tell all I knew. It is now proved that Emma was poisoned, murdered as was Roderick. We must help and not hinder the police.”

  “You have considered this carefully, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “I have, Preston. You know that I believe Roderick's death came out of his way of life. But Emma's is different. I desire to see her murderer caught.”

  “Very well, Miss Elizabeth, if that is what you wish—”

  “Yes, that's right! You're her tame cat, ready to back up what insane lie she tells!” Irene came abruptly to life, pulling herself up on the lounge, her eyes blazding. “Go ahead, help her tell the police how I poisoned Aunt Emma—how I got up at night and dragged her body out of the coffin. And all the rest of the mad story she's dreamed up! What good would all that do me? What would I get out of murdering Aunt Emma—tell me that! Who gets her money now?” She pointed to Miss Elizabeth. “She does! Didn't Aunt Emma tell us so when she said she was going to make that new will? As for Roderick—I'd never seen him before, except in a photograph until Mother Frimsbee had the coffin opened. And that's the truth!”

  Across that frantic declaration. Miss Austin's voice cut like an avenging sword. “Emma was poisoned with delphinium seeds—”

  Irene cowered back as if those words were blows. Preston Donner started.

  “Delphinium—” Then his mouth closed firmly.

  “Suppose,” Daniels said, his voice was close to a purr, “you explain about the delphinium seeds, Miss Austin. Each mention of them apparently is upsetting to you all.”

  Miss Elizabeth, in her role of avenging fate, did have an answer.

  “My sister was not interested in gardening. But the fame of our delphinium beds is widespread. She promised seeds to some friends of hers two years ago. She took to harvest the seeds herself, most unfortunately as it turned out. At the time there was a small abrasion on her hand, and that was irritated to a serious infection. The doctor warned her that she was highly allergic to the plant. She was seriously ill for several days.”

  “And all of you,” Daniels said, including Donner and Irene, “knew about this?”

  Irene made no reply. The look of fright on her face answered for her. Preston Donner gave a curt nod.

  “Who else knew about it?”

  “All those who were living here at the time,” Miss Austin replied. “Including my sister Anne and Hanno—”

  “Miss Lowndes was not a resident here then?” Mark wanted to know.

  “No.”

  “But,” Daniels observed, “she could have heard of Mrs. Horvath's allergy from any one of you.”

  “A stranger—why should she—” Miss Austin began.

  “No.” The fire had gone of Irene, she spoke in a dull, beaten voice. “You prefer to lie about me. Why? What have I ever done to you?”

  She got up, her hand on the bedpost for support.

  “I have always tried to be honest.” She might have been talking to herself rather than attempting to justify her actions to us. “I couldn't pretend to grieve for Aunt Emma. She was dirt-mean to us. Sometimes I think she enjoyed seeing how miserable she could make people. But I didn't kill her, and I didn't have anything to do with the switching of the bodies.”

  “Miss Austin, are you willing to swear that the woman you saw that night was Mrs. Frimsbee?” asked Mark slowly.

  Miss Elizabeth's reply was firmly final. “I will swear to that in court—if such a distasteful action becomes necessary.”

  “How you must hate me,” Irene said in a drained voice, “and I don't even know why.”

  “The tin of ginger was left on a table in the hallway from Friday night to Sunday morning,” Mark observed. “Mr. Donner, we understand that table is also used for mail, and those who live here visit it to pick up their letters. Did you have any on Saturday?”

  “Mail—Saturday? Why yes, I received the catalog of the Lewiston sale. It must have come Saturday because I at once wired in a bid on the Trancati folder. That I can be sure of.”

  “Do you remember any other mail or small packages on the table when you picked up your catalog?”

  “I came home at half-past three
.” Preston began to reconstruct his afternoon in his usual hesitating and precise voice. “I went right over to look at the mail. Mine mainly consisted of business communications. There were four or five letters, several magazines, my catalog. But packages—” he closed his eyes as if so to better visualize the table. “No, I don't remember any packages at all.”

  “Not conclusive,” Daniels commented to Mark.

  “Yes, but a start.”

  “Mrs. Frimsbee.” Daniels was back to Irene. “There are some more questions.”

  Irene drew away from the bedpost, which had been her support.

  “Stuart's sick, one of his bad colds. Do you mind if go to look in on him now?”

  “The sergeant will go with you.”

  But before she was out of the room Preston Donner cried out and sprang to the side of the bed. Miss Austin, her iron will giving way at last, had slumped among her pillows. For one horrified instant I thought she was dead.

  Confusion followed. The doctor was summoned, Maud called. When they were in charge of the sickroom, Mark drew me aside.

  “Stick to Irene,” he ordered.

  “You think she might try to run away? But I'm sure she won't leave her child.”

  “No, I'm sure of that. So you think she's guilty?”

  I was not sure. Irene's attitude had impressed me. I did not believe she was enough of an actress to put on such a show of bewildered innocence. On the other hand, Miss Elizabeth's testimony—

  “If Miss Elizabeth just didn't seem so sure—”

  “Yes, but even an honest witness can be wrong. Only, stick with Irene.”

  Though I did not want to, I found myself promising that I would do so. I went to knock on her door as Mark disappeared down the stairs. Sergeant Blake opened, and there was a shade of relief on his face.

  “Glad you are here, miss. The lieutenant said it is okay.” He stepped by me and was gone.

  Irritated I rapped for the second time. What I could do, I had no idea, and if I wasn't asked in—did Mark expect me to play sentry in the hall?