Fletcher Flora

Skuldoggery

1

It was, all in all, quite a pleasant funeral. At the cemetery, the sun was shining but it was cool under the elms beside the family mausoleum, and you could smell the red clover that grew wild in the field beyond. Uncle Homer was there, and Aunt Madge, and Junior, and Flo, and Flo’s twins, Hester and Lester. And, of course Grandfather Hunter. As a matter of statistics, it was Grandfather’s funeral. He was, in a manner of speaking, the host.

Everyone was grateful to Grandfather for dying, and was, consequently, in a good humor. Uncle Homer was sober for a change, even though it was already three o’clock in the afternoon, and Aunt Madge and Flo kept scraps of cambric pressed to dry eyes in a decent pretense of sorrow that was proper and convincing even when Flo, at the church, caught a short nap. Junior and Lester, being young men with expensive tastes and meager funds, amused themselves by anticipating the fruits of Grandfather’s will, which would be all the sweeter for coming to them in the natural course of events, the old man having departed, however reluctantly without the slightest nudge. Of all the mourners, though, the most impeccably impressive by far was Hester. Throughout the brief ceremony, her eyes were lifted to a cotton cloud drifting slowly across a pale blue sky, as if Grandfather were riding it bareback into heaven, and her face was so serene and lovely that Uncle Homer, observing it, felt a faint twinge in his leathery heart and was diverted for a few seconds from his dream of a five-to-one martini.

The ceremony completed and Grandfather properly disposed of, the mourners returned to the two black limousines, supplied by the undertaker, that would return them to Grandfather’s house in town. They returned, as they had come, in family units. Uncle Homer and Aunt Madge and Junior rode ahead in the first limousine, Flo and Lester and Hester following in the second. A glass partition separated chauffeur and passengers, and so it was unnecessary to sustain the fiction of excessive grief, or of any grief at all, although it would have been unwise, of course, to demonstrate excessively any contrary emotion. As for Flo, relief was sufficient, she felt, and she expressed it simply by putting away her scrap of dry cambric and settling back with a sigh between her twins.

“Well, children,” she said, “Father is gone at last.”

“So he is,” Lester said, “and if you ask me, I’ll have to say that he took his own sweet time about going.”

“You’re so impatient, darling,” Flo said. “You should try to develop a little more self-discipline. Things generally turn out for the best in the end. As you see, Father has died naturally of a bad liver, and there are no unpleasant consequences.”

“I wonder,” Hester said. “I must admit that I was rather uneasy until the medical examination was completed.”

“Perhaps it was your conscience, Sister,” Lester said. “Did you tamper with the old man’s soup or something?”

“Nothing of the sort. My concern was quite unselfish. I confess, however, that I should hate to be known as the twin sister of a man who was hanged.”

“No fear. Grandfather’s liver has removed that grim possibility. I’ll not deny that the pressure has been considerable. I have several unreasonable creditors.”

“Darling,” said Flo, “I wish you would try to be more careful with money.”

“Yes, darling,” Hester said. “Especially with money that you don’t have.”

“In present circumstances,” Lester said, “that is merely a technicality. As an heir, I’ve suddenly become a good risk, and I’m sure that everyone concerned will be happy to wait until Grandfather’s will is probated. I anticipate, as a matter of fact, that I’ll be able to reestablish my credit sufficiently to survive on it in the meantime.”

“It would be a gas if Grandfather left you only what you deserve, which is clearly nothing whatever.”

“Don’t even breathe such a hideous thought, Sister. Anyhow, it would be unfortunate for you and Mother, if you were lucky enough to miss exclusion on the same grounds as I. It would reduce me, I mean, to the status of an expensive dependent.”

“In a pig’s eye.”

“You mustn’t quarrel like naughty children,” Flo said. “Father assured me that he remembered us all generously in his will, and so there is no need for apprehension.”

“Nevertheless,” said Hester, “I’ll feel better when the exact terms of the will are known. Grandfather was a crafty old devil in many ways, and I don’t mind saying that he never inspired me with complete confidence.”

“I agree that it will relieve matters to have the terms known at once,” Flo said. “That’s why Homer and I, as Father’s only issue and principal heirs, have arranged to have the will read this very afternoon.”

“Mother,” said Hester, “I wish you wouldn’t be so smug about being a principal heir. It’s entirely possible that you won’t be anything of the kind.”

“Yes,” Lester said, “and I wish you wouldn’t refer to yourself as an issue. It sounds like you’d come out of a vending machine or something.”

“Well, what a perfectly disagreeable thing to say. Lester, you should be ashamed for speaking in such manner to your own mother.”

Flo was so offended by being spoken to in such a manner that she sat erect and expressed her disapproval by staring aloofly out the limousine window past Lester’s handsome nose, finishing the ride in silence. As an appropriate tempo to grief, the cars had been moving slowly through the city streets, the first spaced neatly ahead and constantly in sight of the second, and in due time, in that order and so paced, they reached the house of the late Grandfather Hunter. It was a huge house of yellowish stone set well back from the street behind a deep lawn bearing oaks and pines and sycamores. It was approached by a brick drive and surrounded by an ancient iron picket fence. The drive entered the grounds on the east and exited, after completing half of an ellipse, on the west. On both sides of a walk that bisected the half-ellipse from street to house were a pair of cast-iron deer, one grazing through all the seasons on grass green or brown, the other fixed in an attitude of alarmed listening, presumably to the stealthy approach of a beast of prey from the general direction of the garage in the rear.

The place was, in brief, a monstrosity of the first chop and a white elephant of the highest order. No sane person would have wanted to live in it, unless Grandfather Hunter could have been considered in legal possession of his wits, and probably the best thing that could be done with it, now that Grandfather had vacated, would be to sell it to the city for a museum or an orphanage or maybe a reform school. As the only surviving son, who had every moral right to anticipate this real estate, Uncle Homer had already considered carefully its disposition, and had, indeed, laid out a strategy involving the exploitation of several vulnerable officials. He can be excused, then, for waiting in the drive beneath a portico, after Aunt Madge and Junior had gone inside, to welcome his sister and her twins as if it were his prerogative, as well as his duty.

“Well,” he said, “here we are, aren’t we? Flo, I must say that you’ve survived the ordeal of Father’s last rites beautifully. You look as fresh as a mint julep. Did you ever in the world hear such monstrous hyperbole dished up by a member of the clergy? You’d think they’d have more regard for the truth, wouldn’t you?”

“He was a dreadful old bore,” Flo said, referring to the member of the clergy, “but I confess that I am myself inclined to see Father in a more favorable light, now that he is securely in the family mausoleum. After all, he at least had the virtue of being rich.”

“You are right there, Flo. You have expressed the matter exactly, as usual. Hester, my dear, you are positively radiant. I noticed it at the cemetery. As serene and lovely as an angle. Whatever were you thinking about?”

“That’s easy,” said Lester. “It was all that beautiful money of Grandfather’s.”

“I don’t really remember,” Hester said, “but you may be right.”

Uncle Homer chuckled and patted his neat little pot that was growling softly for gin.

“It’s as well to be candid in these things,” he said. “Flo, you have a charming pair here. You should be proud of them.”

“They’re incorrigible,” Flo said. “They say naughty things to their mother.”

“Is that so? Children, that’s too bad of you. You shouldn’t say naughty things to your mother.”

“We only say them because they’re true,” Lester said.

“Well, never mind. We mustn’t engage in a family spat.” They had by this time moved from the drive into the front hall of the house, which had the dimensions and atmosphere of a small hotel lobby, and Uncle Homer waved a stubby arm at a massive oak door leading from it at the rear. “We are gathering in the library. Brewster is not here yet, but I expect him any minute.”

“Homer,” said Flo, “I hope you’ve made sure that we won’t be interrupted.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. I let it be known explicitly that we would not receive callers after the ceremony.”

They went along the hall and into the library. Aunt Madge and Junior were waiting there, Aunt Madge in a high-backed walnut chair with Grandfather’s Chihuahua looking lonely and deserted on her lap, and Junior idling along the wall-shelves reading the titles of books, which was as much of any book as Junior had ever read, even during the three years he had spent as a freshman in three colleges here and there. As the others entered, he reached the hiatus of a window and a window seat, and he collapsed on the seat and crossed his legs and regarded Hester with the admiration that she customarily incited and expected.

“Greetings, Cousin Hester,” he said. “You too, Cousin Lester.”

“Oh, never mind me,” Lester said. “I don’t mind being omitted.”

“I wouldn’t mind it myself,” Hester said, “so far as that goes.”

“Are you children being disagreeable?” Aunt Madge said.

“Not at all,” Hester said. “Lester was referring, on the contrary, to Junior’s expression of extraordinary affection. He appears to be considering the pleasures of a brood of little cretins.”

“Cretins? What on earth does she mean? Homer, what are cretins?”

“It’s all right, Madge, dear,” Uncle Homer said. “A cretin is what Junior is, and therefore it is perfectly logical that he should have a brood of them.”

“Well, all right, then. I’m sure that Junior will do what is right and logical.”

“In my opinion,” said Junior, “it is a myth that cousins are sexually incompatible.”

“It may be a myth that they are sexually incompatible for the reason of being cousins,” Hester said, “but there are plenty of other reasons I can name if necessary.”

“I’m sure,” said Aunt Madge, “that this is no time to be talking about sex. Hester and Junior, you should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“Quite right,” said Lester. “This is the time to be talking about money.”

Hester sat down on an ancient sofa of leather and oak that she suspected of being stuffed with horsehair. She drew her legs up under her, displaying a pretty pair of nylon knees, and looked at Aunt Madge with a stony expression.

“Aunt Madge,” she said “must you hold that nasty, naked little bitch on your lap?”

“I must say that I agree with Cousin Hester, Mother,” Junior said. “She has the look of an obscene rat.”

Aunt Madge, driven by this critical assault to a defensive attitude, scratched the Chihuahua between the ears with an index finger and assumed a haughty indignation.

“Surely,” she said, “you do not mean this dear little dog.”

“Inasmuch as she is the only nasty, naked little bitch on your lap,” said Hester, “we surely do.”

“I’d like to remind you,” Aunt Madge said, “that she was your late Grandfather’s precious pet, and was allowed every privilege.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” Hester said, “and I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Grandfather,” Lester said, “was in many ways a simple-minded old curmudgeon.”

“As his only surviving son,” Uncle Homer said, “I am in no position to deny it. What I am in a position to do, however, is to offer everyone a nice martini. Father, as you know, was drier than Woodrow Wilson, but I took the opportunity, immediately after his sad departure, to lay in a small stock of gin and vermouth. Just to see me through the difficult days of final arrangements, you understand. It’s in the kitchen, and so I’ll just go and mix up a pitcher.”

He headed directly for the kitchen, and Hester, who had been nagged by awareness of an incongruity she couldn’t quite place, watched him go with sudden sympathy and understanding.

“Now I’ve got it,” she said. “I’ve been wondering and wondering what was different about Uncle Homer. He’s sober.”

“How could you have missed it?” Junior said. “Let me tell you that it’s been almost more than I could bear. Sober, Father is a frightening apparition.”

“Speaking of frightening apparitions,” Lester said, “where in the devil is old Brewster?”

2

As it happened, old Brewster was directly outside in the hall, and he came in immediately as if on cue. In his case, the apparition tag was not altogether inappropriate. He was tall and incredibly thin with a big bald head and a long cadaverous face with eyes sunk deep in purple pockets. His gait when moving normally was not so much a walk as a kind of fast lope, as if at any moment he might break into a gallop, and his arms and legs seemed to fly in all directions in a multiplicity of acute and obtuse angles. Hester had once remarked, in a flash of inspiration, that he looked as if he were constantly in a rush to get to an anatomy lecture on the human skeletal structure. Not as a student or the lecturer, she said, but as a specimen.

“Well, here you are, here you are,” he said. “Ready and waiting, I see. How are you, Madge? Flo? Junior? Hester and Lester? Where’s Homer?”

“He’s out in the kitchen mixing up a batch of martinis,” Junior said.

“Hardly necessary, I should say. Hardly appropriate. It could have waited, I should say, until after the conclusion of our business. I greatly fear, Junior, that your father is an addict.”

“What he is,” said Junior, “is a lush.”

“Perhaps he would have waited,” Hester said, “if you hadn’t been so late. You can hardly expect a person to sit around forever as dry as pop corn. Especially Uncle Homer.”

“Late? Who was late?” Willis Brewster consulted a huge pocket watch and waved it indignantly at the end of its long chain. “Young lady, I was precisely on time. I am always precisely on time. I make a point of it. A point.”

“Well, you needn’t make it over and over. You have come to read Grandfather’s will, if I understand the occasion correctly, and I suggest you get on with it.”

Brewster had appropriated the library table, depositing a worn brief case upon it and himself behind it. Now, before answering, he loosened the straps of the case and removed from it a sheaf of legal-sized sheets. He placed the sheaf beside the case and patted it as gently as if it were the Chihuahua’s head.

“In good time. Good time. As it is, I declare that we are rushing things a bit, I was against it from the beginning. From the beginning. I said so to Homer. Also to you, Flo, if you will be so kind as to remember. I was for a decent interval. A few days, at least. At least. It would have shown proper respect for the late Artemus Hunter.”

“As for me,” said Lester, “I am trying not to lose proper respect for the late Willis Brewster.”

“Late? Never. Not I, young man. Not I. I repeat that I was precisely on time.”

“For God’s sake, Lester,” said Hester, “will you please stop making him repeat things? At this rate, we’ll never know what’s in the will.”

“You mustn’t be so impatient, darling,” Flo said. “Father assured me that we were all remembered generously.”

“It is well known that Grandfather’s idea of generosity was not quite the same as mine. I for one would appreciate being reassured as quickly as possible.”

“We must wait for Homer,” Brewster said. “What the devil is keeping Homer? It strikes me that he is taking an inordinate time. Inordinate.”

“That’s because you are a teetotaler and have no understanding of Uncle Homer’s position,” Hester said. “Making a batch of martinis is a sensitive operation. It requires time and precision.”

“Thank you, my dear, for that perceptive comment,” said Uncle Homer, appearing all at once with a tray bearing a pitcher and six glasses and a small bowl of olives. “Brewster, what’s kept you? We’ve been waiting and waiting for you.”

“He was on time,” Hester said. “Precisely. For God’s sake, don’t get him started on that again.”

“No matter, no matter. Brewster, if you were a little late, no harm has been done.” Uncle Homer set his tray on the table and began to pour martinis around. “There are only six glasses, Brewster, but I seem to remember that you don’t indulge. Will you have a glass of orange juice or something?”

“Nothing to drink. Nothing. I will, however, if you don’t mind, just have one or two of those olives.”

Uncle Homer stared at him for a moment with his little mouth gaping.

“Olives? Did you say olives?”

“Exactly. One or two of them, if you don’t mind.”

“Do you mean that you take olives straight?”

“Certainly. How else would I take them?”

“Surely you realize that olives are deadly poison unless purified in a strong solution of gin and vermouth? I’d just as soon eat a spoonful of cyanide.”

“You’ll change your tune, Homer, when your kidneys fetch you.”

“Oh, well.” Uncle Homer shook his head a few times, as though to clear it, and shrugged his shoulders. “Help yourself, Brewster. Take all you want. I suppose you have the right to jeopardize your own health if you choose.”

He was clearly not, however, going to be a party to a poisoning, even of a lawyer, and he cast an uneasy glance or two at Brewster while he was distributing glasses. He kept the sixth one for himself, draining it quickly and refilling it from the pitcher before finding a chair near Aunt Madge.

“All right, Brewster,” he said. “I see you have Father’s will there. Go ahead and read it.”

“Not quite yet. Not quite.” Brewster spit an olive seed into the palm of his right hand and placed it neatly beside another on the tray. He removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket and patted his lips. “It will be necessary, I’m afraid, to wait for Mr. and Mrs. Crump.”

“Why?” said Flo. “I simply can’t see why Father’s servants are essential.”

“Because they participate in the will in a modest way. A modest way. It was to be expected, of course. Expected. After all, they served your father well for more than thirty years. Naturally, he remembered them. Naturally.”

“Naturally or unnaturally,” Lester said, “I agree with Mother in being unable to see why they have to be here for the reading.”

“You will see in good time. In good time. In the meanwhile, I must insist that we wait for them. I must insist.”

“Well,” said Hester, “where in hell are they? Why haven’t they been around acting like servants? Someone go find them.”

“That will not be necessary,” Brewster said. “They have retired to their quarters briefly, but I have already taken the liberty of requesting their attendance at this gathering. Taken the liberty. It chanced that they returned from the funeral at the same time as I, and I met them at the front door. The front door.”

“Wherever they are, they are not here,” said Aunt Madge, “and I consider it intolerable to say the least. Waiting and waiting for a lawyer is bad enough, but waiting for servants is even worse.”

“My advice is to have patience,” Brewster said. “Patience.”

This would have been difficult advice to follow if much more patience had been required, but fortunately much more wasn’t. In fact, the advice had hardly been offered before there was a deferential knock at the door, and Mr. and Mrs. Crump, in response to Brewster’s bellowed invitation, slipped into the library and stood side by side, as if for their mutual comfort, if not for their mutual defense, against the wall. Mr. Crump was a dehydrated type, withered and tough as a dried apricot, and somehow gave the impression that he would, if soaked in a tub of water, blossom into full form and be filled with juices. Mrs. Crump, on the other hand, was ample and oily and sometimes amiable. At present, however, she folded her arms upon her impressive bosom and looked stern, apparently anticipating and reproving some piece of inappropriate levity. The Crumps constituted the entire staff of household servants, for Grandfather Hunter had lived alone and had long ago closed all his house except the ground floor.

“Ah, there,” Brewster said. “Crump. Mrs. Crump. Be comfortable, please. Sit down if you wish.”

The Crumps did not wish, and Uncle Homer, once these brief amenities were concluded, erupted in a minor frenzy of irritability.

“Damn it, Brewster,” he said, “will you please, please, get on with reading the damn will!”

“As to that,” said Brewster, “I am coming to it. I may say, indeed, that I have come to it. Come to it. First, however, I should like to offer a suggestion which you may or may not, of course, go along with. Artemus Hunter, as any fair-minded person will concede, was a man of both sterling virtue and egregious faults. He was, I may say, flawed. Flawed. Among his faults, the most trying, perhaps, was a tendency toward excessive gaseousness. He was, in brief, windy. As a talker, he was bad enough, but as a writer, he was even worse. Turn him loose with a pen, and he engaged immediately in a veritable orgy of verbosity. A veritable orgy.”

“If you want my opinion,” said Lester, “you are no slouch yourself when it comes to verbosity.”

“Yes,” Hester said. “If you have a suggestion to make, as you said, I would appreciate your making it immediately if not sooner.”

Brewster, impervious to insult and cognizant of his legal position, laid a hand on the thick sheaf of papers on the table before him.

“This,” he said, “is the last will and testament of Artemus Hunter. It is written by his hand. His hand. It contains, I should guess, at least ten thousand unnecessary words. To spare you the ordeal of hearing it through, I suggest that I simply extract the meat of it. Extract the meat. Any or all of you will, of course, be at liberty to read the document in detail later if you choose.”

“For my part,” Uncle Homer said, “I have no desire to listen to ten thousand unnecessary words by Father post mortem. Having already listened to some ten million during his lifetime, I’ve had enough.”

“I am in agreement,” Flo said. “Homer and I are experts on this question, having suffered the longest, and I am ready to testify that listening to ten thousand unnecessary words from Father, or even ten, is no pleasant experience.”

“I have no objection to extracting the meat,” said Hester, “but I want to be sure that it’s all the meat.”

“That worries me a little, too,” Junior said. “Brewster, are you sure you’re not up to some kind of trick?”

“Young man,” said Brewster, “I do not engage in trickery. I am an attorney of the highest repute. The highest repute. I have already assured you that you have the right to read the document yourself if you are not satisfied. I shall, indeed, be happy to read it aloud. Aloud.”

“I’m against that,” said Uncle Homer. “Damn it, Junior, you don’t realize what kind of torture you’re inviting.”

“Oh, go ahead and extract the meat,” Hester said.

“Yes, Brewster,” Uncle Homer said, “extract it, please.”

“And try,” said Lester, “not to repeat yourself seventeen times in extracting it.”

Given license to extract, Brewster abandoned the document on the desk and consulted a sheet of paper that he took from a pocket of his coat.

“To settle the major matter at once,” he said, “Artemus Hunter has left his entire estate, divided into five parts, to his son Homer in the amount of thirty percent, his daughter Flo in the amount of twenty-five percent, and his grand-children, Junior, Lester and Hester, in the amount of fifteen percent each.”

“Dear old Father,” Uncle Homer said.

“Rest his soul,” said Flo.

“There must be a joker,” said Junior.

“The same notion has struck me,” said Lester.

“What I would like to know,” said Hester, “is how much the estate is.”

“According to my best estimate,” Brewster said, “it amounts, in round figures, to ten million dollars.”

“An appreciable amount,” Uncle Homer said.

“In my opinion,” said Flo, “there is nothing lovelier than round figures.”

“Especially,” said Lester, “when they have been extracted.”

“Wait a minute,” Hester said. “What happened to the Crumps?”

“That’s right,” Uncle Homer said. “Brewster, you said specifically that old Crump and his wife were remembered. What kind of hellish deception are you up to?”

“So they were,” Brewster said. “That brings us to a certain condition. A proviso, so to speak.”

“What the devil do you mean, proviso? Brewster, I become damn uneasy when you start talking like a shyster. Permit me to remind you that you have already said that the family will inherit the entire estate.”

“So you will. In good time.”

“In good time? What do you mean by good time? By God, Brewster, you are driving me to distraction. Explain yourself immediately.”

“If not sooner,” said Hester.

“Yes.” Lester said. “Time is a proviso that my creditors have not counted on and may not be willing to wait for.”

“It is quite clear and quite legal. Oh, legal, I assure you. Quite.” Brewster waved his extraction with one hand and patted the document with the other. “It is provided that the family shall inherit the estate after, I repeat after, it has been held intact during the lifetime of Senorita Fogarty, and that during her lifetime it shall be used solely to provide for her comfort and welfare. The Crumps are appointed guardians. They are specifically admonished to spare no expense and to take all necessary precautions to assure Senorita Fogarty a long life and a happy one. They will, of course, remain in residence in this house.”

“Are you saying,” said Flo, “that Father was keeping a woman? At his age?”

“Not only a woman,” Hester said, “but apparently a half-breed. Spanish and Irish, from the sound of it They’re the very worst kind.”

“I’ve always contended,” said Aunt Madge, “that he was a wicked old man.”

“Who precisely,” said Lester, “is Senorita Fogarty?”

The answer to this question was clearly the joker that Junior and Lester had suspected, and that Brewster had deliberately kept buried in the deck. Or buried, rather, in his extraction.

“Senorita Fogarty,” he said with an angular gesture, “is there. On Madge’s lap. Fogarty is, it seems, Senorita’s surname. Apparently you were not aware of it.”

Six pairs of eyes turned in various directions to stare at Grandfather’s Chihuahua with unanimous horror.

“Are we seriously to understand,” said Uncle Homer, “that Father left an estate worth ten million dollars in trust for that? For a dog?”

“Exactly and legally,” Brewster said. “During her lifetime.”

Senorita Fogarty was swept with a startled yip from Aunt Madge’s lap.

“Get down,” she said, “you nasty, naked little bitch.”

3

Thus summarily evicted, Senorita Fogarty fell into a fit of trembling that shook her violently from end to end. She looked back at Aunt Madge with confusion and terror in her soft little bulging eyes, and then, as if turning in trauma to the security of the law, she scurried over and stood near the feet of Willis Brewster. The lawyer looked down at her with active distaste, prepared to kick her if she came any closer. He considered Senorita a delight insofar as she was a bedevilment of Grandfather Hunter’s family, that was apparent, but it was equally apparent that he did not intend to tolerate intimacies even from her, however rich she was.

It was Mrs. Crump, in the end, who emerged as Senorita’s protector. Heaving herself into motion, she plunged across the room and swept the little bitch into her arms, pinning her in an instant upon her broad bosom. Senorita let out one terrified yelp and then resigned herself limply to whatever horror might be pending. Mrs. Crump, without a word, favored each of the secondary heirs with a stony stare, showing not the slightest partiality in her formidable animus, and afterward made an exit that was a triumph of outsized disdain.

“What’s the matter with her?” Uncle Homer said. “Where the hell is she going with that dog?”

“I should say,” said Brewster, “that she is removing it from peril. From peril. After all, a dog worth ten million dollars cannot be abandoned to the hazards of ordinary associations. No, indeed. To be charged with the custody of such a dog is a heavy responsibility. One must be constantly on the alert for brigands of all sorts. Of all sorts.”

“Brewster, you scoundrel, are you implying that we are brigands?”

“Pish, Homer. Pish, pish. Permit me to remind you that I’m an attorney of long experience. Long experience. I have seen more than one person tempted to skuldoggery by a lesser motive. Skuldoggery of the most serious nature.”

“Skuldoggery! By God, Brewster, this is simply too much! Do you actually have the effrontery to make jokes about our misfortune?”

“A small pun. You will permit me, please, a small pun.”

“What is the old devil talking about?” said Flo. “What pun?”

“Never mind,” Lester said. “Brewster, you have been damned derelict in this business, and I don’t mind saying so. You’ve known the terms of Grandfather’s will right along, and you would never have been a party to it if you had any sense of honor whatever.”

“Young Lester, I shall not tolerate such aspersions. Aspersions. Your grandfather was in full possession of his faculties, and had every legal right to leave his estate as he pleased. Every legal right.”

“Well,” said Hester, “you should at least have warned us. It’s quite a shock to find yourself suddenly the victim of such a monstrous deception.”

“I was charged with secrecy. It would have been unethical to divulge the terms. Unethical. My advice as an attorney is that you should all accept the situation as it is and resign yourselves to waiting for the demise of Senorita Fogarty as you waited for that of Artemus Hunter. Chihuahuas, I understand, do not live long.”

“When this becomes known in certain quarters,” said Lester, “she may damn well live longer than I.”

“Lester, darling,” Flo said, “I wish you wouldn’t get yourself involved with such unpleasant people. If you are going to gamble, why can’t you do it with nice men who won’t insist upon being paid constantly?”

“I’d be glad to do it,” Lester said, “if only I could find any.”

“As for me, I am inclined to let Lester worry about his own problems,” Uncle Homer said, “for the rest of us clearly have all we can handle already. I hate to admit it, but I’m bound to say that Brewster is right. We must merely wait and hope for a short life for Senorita Fogarty. When she is dead, everything will turn out as we had hoped and had every reasonable right to expect.”

“Unless,” Brewster said, “there is another unfortunate development.”

“Unfortunate development? What kind of other unfortunate development could there possibly be?” Uncle Homer slapped a knee and glared angrily at the lawyer. “By God, Brewster, is there no end to your duplicity. You have no sooner pulled one dirty trick on us than you begin to hint immediately that there may be more to come. Do you have more extractions? If so, you will please inform us what they are at once.”

“I will do so if you will only give me the chance,” Brewster said. “It is further provided by Artemus Hunter that his estate will continue in trust for the comfort and support of any and all issue of Senorita Fogarty, and of any and all issue of the issue of Senorita Fogarty, should there be such issue, and for the entire time, if so, that said issue shall live.”

Everyone stared for some time at Brewster as if he had suddenly sprouted horns and a forked tail, expressions varying from sheer horror in Uncle Homer’s case to a kind of comic incredulity in Flo’s, and then Uncle Homer finally shuddered and rubbed his palms together and said quite calmly in a voice of dreadful restraint.

“Permit me to restate that, Brewster. Permit me to restate it in my own words, and then kindly have the goodness to tell me that I misunderstood. You seemed to say, as I heard you, that Father’s estate will be held in trust, not only for Senorita Fogarty, but for all of her goddam pups, if any, and for all of the pups of her goddam pups, and so on to the end of the goddam line. This is, of course, an absurdity that even Father could hardly have imagined or perpetrated. I am right, am I not, Brewster, in this judgment?”

“You may be right in thinking it’s an absurdity,” Brewster said, “but you are wrong in thinking that your father couldn’t have imagined it or perpetrated it. He could and did.”

“Well, by God,” said Uncle Homer. “I am absolutely appalled. It’s shameful to know that my own father was such an unmitigated monster.”

“He was my father, too, I’m sorry to say,” Flo said, “and in my opinion he was a simple lunatic. What I would like to know, however, is what we can now do about it. Lester, darling, you have always been clever at getting around things. What on earth can we do?”

“That’s easy,” said Lester. “We must have Senorita Fogarty spayed at once.”

“You see?” Flo turned to Uncle Homer with an expression of amazement and delight. “Didn’t I tell you that he is clever in such matters? Lester, darling, it’s absolutely incredible how you think of exactly the right things on the spur of the moment.”

“It would certainly be direct and effective,” said Uncle Homer. “I’ll hand him that.”

“I can see why he thought of it,” Hester said. “After money, it is in his major field of interest.”

“There is only one thing wrong with it that I can see,” said Junior. “It assumes a fact not in evidence. Ask Brewster if it doesn’t. As a lawyer he should know.”

“What fact?” said Hester. “Damn it, Junior, must you spoil everything?”

“It assumes that Senorita Fogarty is not already pregnant,” said Junior.

“Good God!” Uncle Homer, who had been glaring at the lawyer all this time, continued to glare. “Brewster, is Senorita Fogarty pregnant?”

“No, she is not. I can assure you that she is not. I can assure you.”

“Do Chihuahuas actually get pregnant?” Flo said. “I never heard of such a thing.”

“Oh, don’t be absurd, Mother,” Hester said. “Where do you suppose all the Chihuahuas come from? Furthermore, as you can tell from her name, Senorita Fogarty is Spanish and Irish, and is surely subject to all sorts of illicit passions.”

“I don’t doubt for a minute that the damn dog has round heels,” said Junior.

“But she’s so small,” Flo said. “It sounds immoral.”

Willis Brewster hawked loudly and lifted a hand soliciting silence.

“If I may intrude. If I may, please. I am bound to tell you that the question of spaying Senorita Fogarty is strictly academic. Academic. You will recall that Senorita left this room in the custody of Mrs. Crump, who is, I may add, together with Mr. Crump, her legal custodian. They are at present, I should judge, secured in the Crump quarters, from whence, I predict, neither fire nor flood nor threats of hell shall cause them to budge. It would, in brief, be quite impossible to get permission to perform the operation.”

“Well,” said Uncle Homer, “here is Crump himself still with us. Crump, you will kindly go at once and fetch Senorita Fogarty.”

Crump, thus brought to attention, jumped as if stabbed in the stern with a hat pin, and his Adam’s apple leaped wildly in his withered neck. He looked about desperately for a sympathetic eye, and saw with despair that even Brewster’s was no more than judicial, pledged only to justice without favoritism. Finding himself cornered, he weighed the present menace against the wrath of Mrs. Crump, and found his choice, after all, to be remarkably clear and easy. He drew himself erect with all the defiance of a martyr already dehydrated by the heat of burning faggots.

“There they are,” he said, “and there they stay.”

“What’s that?” Uncle Homer’s voice rose and skidded and cracked. “Crump, do you have the damned temerity to stand there and defy your master?”

“Master,” said Crump, “has joined the angels. I don’t have any master now.”

“True,” Brewster said. “I’m bound by my legal profession to support Crump’s position. In this house, indeed, he is the master.”

“Is that so?” said Webster. “I should have said, offhand, that Mrs. Crump is the master.”

“That, young Hester, is a domestic matter, not a legal one.”

“So far as we are concerned, it is a distinction of no consequence,” Hester said. “Senorita Fogarty is still left free to indulge her beastly passions as she pleases.”

“Or what is worse,” Uncle Homer said, “as Crump pleases.”

“There is little doubt,” said Lester, “that the old devil will live here forever in a litter of Chihuahuas.”

“Perhaps not,” Uncle Homer said, staring at Senorita’s legal custodian with an expression of baleful speculation, “perhaps not. Crump, you may come a cropper when you least expect it.”

“That constitutes a threat, Homer. A threat. As an attorney, I cannot brook any threats.” Brewster leveled at Crump a look which appeared in itself threatening. “Crump, you are a catalyst. With all due respect, I suggest that your presence is no longer necessary in this room.”

Crump, having concluded that too much of a good thing could be made of defiance, lost no time in leaving. Uncle Homer stood up suddenly and took a step after him, as if tempted to pursue, but then stopped, reversed himself, and sat down again.

“Brewster,” he said, “you are certainly the greatest shyster and scoundrel of the century. You have permitted us to be thoroughly diddled by a lunatic without taking a single step to prevent it, which was your plain duty. As for me, I intend to go through that abominable document word by word, however deadly, and if I find the slightest shenanigan in your damned extractions, I’ll have your license.”

“As you wish, Homer. As you wish. You are perfectly free to take all precautions. I advise you, however, to use a little restraint. You would not, I’m sure, want to say anything actionable.”

“I intend to read it, too,” said Flo, “for I am convinced that it was drawn by a lunatic and can be broken.”

“And I,” Aunt Madge said, “will naturally remain at Homer’s side.”

“Not I,” said Lester. “I have my MG parked in back, and I intend to get in it and go somewhere for several strong drinks.”

“I happen to have several strong drinks in my apartment,” Hester said, “and if you will drive me there, I’ll give you your share.”

“As for me,” said Junior, “I believe I’ll just come along, although I haven’t been invited. Cousin Hester, you may sit on my lap.”

4

They rode in the MG, Junior and Hester stacked in a bucket beside Lester, to the building in which Hester, on the fifth floor, had her apartment. It was a nice building and a nice apartment that was pretty expensive to live in. As usual, it was considerably littered with various items, intimate and otherwise, that had been left lying around, and Lester and Junior had to move some of these items. Hester went to the bedroom and changed from black into something bright in two pieces. The top piece was a white jersey blouse and the bottom piece was a pair of red velvet pants, and Hester wore them back barefooted into the living room.

“Hey, hey!” Junior said. “You may sit on my lap again if you want to.”

“No thanks,” Hester said. “I’d just as soon sit on the lap of an octopus.”

“Do octopi have laps?” Lester said. “I don’t believe they do, do they?”

“They have arms all over the place, which is more to the point,” said Hester. “I’ll just sit somewhere out of reach, if you don’t mind.”

“You’ll have to clear a spot,” Lester said. “Sister, this is a nice apartment, but I must say that you’re a hell of a housekeeper.”

“I’ll sit on the floor. There is almost always room there.” She accomplished this simply by holding her heels together and spreading her knees and lowering herself vertically to a pow-wow position. “Junior, there is a bottle of gin around somewhere. Why don’t you find it and try to do something with it?”

Junior started looking in and under things for the gin, and Hester found a cigarette in a crumpled pack in the pocket of her blouse, but no match, and Lester leaned forward from his chair and supplied a lighter and leaned back again.

“You wouldn’t care to loan me some money, would you?” he said.

“No.”

“I didn’t think you would. It’s too bad, too. Even a thousand dollars would be helpful.”

“I agree. A thousand dollars would be about as helpful now as anything could be. Except, of course, a million and a half or anything between. Why don’t you sell the MG?”

“In case you haven’t heard, it’s illegal to sell something you don’t own.”

“Surely you have some equity in it or something.”

“Hardly enough to mention or bother with. Payments, to tell the truth, are rather in arrears. Unfortunately, as it turned out, my status as heir presumptive has led my creditors into an excess of generosity.”

“Have you considered getting a job?”

“Quite briefly, for about two traumatic seconds. Anyhow, I’m not trained. I’ve spent my entire youth learning to be an heir, and it’s all I know.”

“Poor brother. It’s bad luck, I know, but my own isn’t much better. As a matter of fact, I don’t have a thousand dollars, or anything like as much.”

“No? You don’t pay for this nest with bird seed, Sister. How do you propose to avoid eviction?”

“I’m thinking about it. Happily, the rent is paid for three months in advance. If something hasn’t turned up by then, I may have to move in with you and Mother.”

“Don’t plan on it, Sister. That will be just about the time, I estimate, when Mother and I are being moved out.”

“Well, I wasn’t seriously considering it, anyhow. The moment I mentioned it, the prospect seemed too dreadful to bear. I am not quite so terrified of employment as you are, and I may find something to do if worse comes to worse. Surely there are jobs around that wouldn’t require me to do anything.”

“Almost any job requires you to do something, but I know of several that wouldn’t require you to do anything that you aren’t eminently qualified to do.”

“If only I could sing or dance or something.”

“Singing and dancing require talent and training. So do acting and modeling. You would do much better, I’d say, to go in for something that requires nothing but looks and instinct.”

“When you come right down to it, there is nothing quite so pleasant as being an heir, is there?”

“No, there isn’t. Not by a long shot. Let’s hope, at least, that Senorita Fogarty turns out to be sterile.”

“Fat chance. Not with all that hot Spanish-Irish blood in her veins.”

“I suppose you’re right. I admit that sterility is rare in half-breeds like that.”

“If necessary, we could all move temporarily into Grandfather’s house.”

“I doubt it. The Crumps are in possession there for the time being, and I don’t see them putting out any welcome mats, especially after Uncle Homer threatened to do old Crump in.”

“Oh, well, perhaps it would be best, after all, simply to find someone to pay my rent.”

“I heard that,” said Junior, suddenly appearing with three glasses, which he distributed, “and I want to be the first applicant.”

“Nonsense, Junior,” Hester said. “It is essential that all applicants have a lot of money.” She paused and looked up at Junior as if she had been struck by a wildly improbable thought. “Junior, do you happen to have, by some incredible chance, a lot of money?”

“Not by any chance whatever, incredible or otherwise. Except for what’s in my pocket, I don’t have any money at all.”

“Well, if that isn’t just like you, Junior! Just when I was beginning to think you might be more attractive than I ever imagined! If you don’t have any money, how do you expect to pay my rent?”

“I could steal some somewhere.”

“Please don’t be absurd, I’m sure you would be no more competent as a thief than you are at anything else. You would solve no one’s rent problem but your own.” Hester drank from her glass and bobbed an ice cube with the tip of an index finger. “While we are here together without the handicap of Mother and Aunt Madge and Uncle Homer, I suggest that we discuss what is on our minds.”

“If we are going to discuss what’s on my mind,” said Junior, “we had better ask Lester to leave the room.”

“I mean,” Hester said, “what are we going to do about Senorita Fogarty?”

“Do?” Lester said. “What can we do?”

“Exactly my question,” Junior said. “Lester has already suggested spaying her, which would have been effective, but old Crump and his wife, as you know, will not be parties to it.”

“If that isn’t just like you two!” Hester said. “The moment a suggestion is made and rejected, you are ready to abandon the whole project. As for me, I am made differently. It is clear that something must be done about Senorita Fogarty, even if it means doing something about the Crumps in the process, and I am determined to do whatever is necessary.”

“It’s easy enough to talk,” said Junior, “but talking and doing are two different things.”

“I repeat,” Lester said, “what can we do? I agree that the damn dog deserves to be taught a lesson by her betters, but I’m all out of ideas.”

“The first thing we must do,” Hester said, “is face the issue squarely.”

“All right,” Lester said. “I’m facing it.”

“I am, too,” said Junior, “and I wish I weren’t.”

“In that case, what must be done is surely apparent. Senorita Fogarty must be eliminated.”

“Eliminated?” Lester said. “You mean murdered?”

“If you care to call it that. I must say, however, that murder seems like a petty high-toned word to be applied to the elimination of a dog.”

“That may be,” Junior said, “but I’m pretty sure, whatever you call it, that it’s illegal. What is the name for dog murder? Caninicide or something?”

“And what is the penalty?” Lester said. “I’m more interested in that than anything else.”

“I’m not sure of the exact law on the matter,” Hester said, “but it is surely no more than a misdemeanor at most.”

“I’m not interested in what it is,” Lester said. “I’m interested, as I made quite plain, in what the penalty is.”

“The penalty would be negligible, I’m sure. Possibly a fine and up to a year in jail.”

“Well,” Junior said, “I don’t object too much to a fine, if it is reasonable, but I am against a year in jail. Definitely if I am the one who has to serve it.”

“So am I,” Lester said. “I kept my hands off Grandfather all the time he was alive, and I don’t intend to jeopardize myself now for a dog.”

“Furthermore,” said Junior, “I’m not at all convinced that a misdemeanor is what it would be. We must remember, too, something about a criminal not being allowed to profit from his crime. I, for one, am reluctant to have my share of Grandfather’s loot divided among those who risked nothing and merely sat around and waited for me to do their dirty work for them.”

“Well, if this isn’t the most abject defeatism I’ve ever encountered.” Hester divided a scornful look equally between the two defeatists. “I suggest doing a simple thing, and you immediately begin thinking of a dozen reasons why it can’t be done. What makes you assume that you’re going to be caught? Haven’t you any confidence in yourselves whatever? The object is to do it without being caught.”

“That’s different,” Lester said. “I’m for it if you can assure me that we won’t be caught.”

“And I,” said Junior, “am at least willing to discuss it a little further.”

“Very well, then,” Hester said. “We are agreed that Senorita Fogarty must be eliminated. The next thing to consider is the method. I’ve been thinking about it, and I have an idea, but I am open to suggestions of something better.”

“There is no need to think of something better if you have already thought of something good enough,” Lester said. “What is it?”

“The most important thing,” said Hester, “is to keep it simple. There is almost universal agreement on this among murderers. It minimizes the danger of slipping up on details and such. Therefore, it seems to me that the very best and safest way to eliminate Senorita Fogarty would be to take her out in the traffic and get her run over. It shouldn’t be at all difficult to arrange, and it would have the advantage of appearing to be an accident, and unfortunate consequences could be avoided.”

“Wait a minute,” Junior said. “It might be easy to get Senorita Fogarty run over in the traffic, but it wouldn’t be so easy to get her in the traffic in the first place. What I would like to know, if you don’t mind telling me, is who is going to get her away from old Crump and his wife?”

“Damn it, Junior, must you begin finding fault even before you know what something is all about? I have a perfectly good suggestion to offer if you will only give me time.”

“Go right ahead and offer it. Take all the time your need.”

“Thank you very much. I suggest that Lester is the perfect person to carry out the plan. He is notorious for his ability to charm women when he sets his mind to it, and he is so handsome that he can resort to outright seduction if necessary.”

“Well, with all due concessions to Lester, I am somewhat skeptical about his ability to charm Mrs. Crump, and I am positive that he can’t seduce her.”

“For my part,” said Lester, “ability aside, I have no enthusiasm for the first alternative, and a positive feeling of revulsion for the second. After all, there is a limit to the sacrifices a man can make. For a million and a half dollars, I might undertake to charm Mrs. Crump, but there isn’t money enough in all the mints combined to make me do more.”

“Charm will probably be enough,” Hester said. “I am predicting that Mrs. Crump is as susceptible as any other woman, however unlikely it seems. Lester, all you have to do is hang about Grandfather’s house and be lovable. In practically no time, I’m sure, you will be able to prevail upon Mrs. Crump to let you take Senorita Fogarty for a walk on her leash. After that, it should be no problem to push her under a handy car.”

“What about Mr. Crump? Won’t I have to prevail upon him, too?”

“Don’t be absurd. Mr. Crump will have nothing to say about it. As a matter of fact, after you have worked on Mrs. Crump for a while, she will be thinking seriously about pushing him under a car.”

“All right. I agree to try it if you think it will work. I have nothing to lose but my pride, and that must be secondary for the present to my bank account.”

5

Having culled the dreadful document without significant change to the meat of Brewster’s extractions, Flo had arrived at her apartment, dropped off by Uncle Homer and Aunt Madge, and was in the living room when Lester arrived later. Like Hester, she had abandoned her mournings at the earliest possible moment, and she was in the meticulous process of restoring to her finger and toe nails the scarlet enamel that she had removed in deference to the solemnity of Grandfather’s last rites. She was already beginning to feel somewhat more cheerful, buoyed by the gay color and her almost invincible conviction that everything was certain to come out well in the end, no matter how bad it might seem in the beginning.

“Hello, Lester, darling,” she said. “Have you been at Hester’s all this time?”

“Yes.” Lester sprawled in a chair and elevated his feet to a handy ottoman. “Junior was there with us.”

“Was Junior still there when you left?”

“No. He wanted to stay, but Hester threw him out. I dropped him at his place.”

“I’m relieved to hear it. Junior is a dear boy, but I don’t believe he is altogether reliable where Hester is concerned. He has a naughty mind.”

“Oh, well, Hester has a rather naughty mind herself, so far as that goes, but not where Junior is concerned. Anyhow, you needn’t worry about Hester. You had much better be worrying about me.”

“Darling, are you referring to those foolish little gambling debts? If so, you really have nothing to be concerned about. I talked with Willis Brewster about them, and he assured me that they are not legal obligations. Isn’t that nice? You don’t have to pay them at all.”

“Mother, you can’t imagine how happy you’ve made me. Grandfather had the same opinion, and I’ll tell him he was right just as soon as I see him.”

“Are you drunk, darling? Grandfather is dead.”

“That’s what I mean. But never mind that, Mother. Did you and Uncle Homer find anything in the will that Brewster had failed to extract?”

“Nothing that changed anything. Homer was simply wild, poor dear. It was such a dreadful disappointment after deliberately reading all those pages. We were both convinced after finishing, however, that Father was secretly crazy. There is simply no other tenable conclusion.”

“Whether he was or not, it would be pleasant to make some judge think so. Do you plan to contest the will?”

“We’re thinking about it. Brewster is the executor, of course, and is strictly against it. He declares that the will is perfectly valid and will hold up in any court. Homer called Brewster a fraud and a scoundrel, and Brewster threatened to sue Homer for defamation of character or something, and everything was rather confused and noisy when he finally left.”

“As executor, Brewster is, I’d think, in a strategic position. Do you think he could be corrupted?”

“I agree with Homer that he is already as corrupt as he could possibly be. Darling, what, precisely, do you have in mind?”

Lester raised his feet, pivoting on his stern in the chair, and draped his legs over one arm. This position brought Flo more directly into his line of vision, and he studied her indolently for a minute.

“Lester, darling,” she said, “you mustn’t look at your mother like that. It’s abnormal.”

“I was merely trying to put myself in old Brewster’s place.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because I wanted to see what Brewster sees, and feel what Brewster feels.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be so devious, Lester. Please say directly what you mean.”

“Well, you are a damn good-looking woman, now that I’ve taken the trouble to verify it, and Brewster is a widower of some years’ standing. I’ll lay five to one that he’s ripe. I’ll even go so far as to say smitten and secretly eager.”

“Lester, you are a naughty, naughty boy. Your mind is as naughty as your Cousin Junior’s, I must say.”

“Naughtier, I should imagine. I’m superior to Junior in almost everything.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that your mother try to involve Willis Brewster in an intimate affair in order to influence him in some way?”

“Delicately put, Mother, and reasonably accurate.”

“It’s unthinkable. Other considerations aside, he is far too ugly for my taste.”

“Oh, I admit that he’s a cadaverous old devil, but that seems to me a petty consideration in a crisis like this. I have been assigned the task of working on Mrs. Crump, and I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t take on old Brewster.”

“What’s this about Mrs. Crump? Assigned by whom?”

“It was Hester’s idea. We plan to murder Senorita Fogarty by getting her run over in the traffic.”

“Really? How clever of Hester. Do you think it will work?”

“It all depends on getting Mrs. Crump to relax her custody. Frankly, I’m highly dubious.”

“Nevertheless, it is much more direct and ingenious than seducing Brewster.”

“You only think so because it is I instead of you who must make the sacrifice. If you are reluctant to fondle old Brewster, how do you think I feel about Mrs. Crump? Honestly, Mother, don’t you feel any obligation whatever to your children?”

“If Senorita Fogarty is murdered, I can’t see the necessity of bothering with Brewster. According to the terms of the will, we will then inherit.”

“It is better to have two irons in the fire than one. Mrs. Crump may be impregnable.”

“Well, I don’t want to seem selfish, darling. If the plan to murder Senorita Fogarty fails, I’ll see what can be done about Brewster. I promise.”

“I hope so. After a proper softening, it is entirely possible that old Brewster can be induced to swear on the Bible that Grandfather was mad as the Hatter.” Lester unfolded and stood up. “Do you happen to have any money that I could borrow?”

“Darling, I only have a little left from the last allowance Grandfather gave me. How much do you want?”

“I don’t suppose it would do any good to ask for a thousand?”

“Not in the least, darling.”

“In that case, I’ll take fifty.”

“I do wish you would try to be a little less extravagant. What do you need fifty dollars for?”

“I have a date with Pearl Perkins, if you must know.”

“Such an absurd name. Is it really her own? Is she trying to get into show business or something?”

“She is not trying to get into show business or something, and it’s her real name. Mother, I hope you’re not going to start interfering in my affairs just because you imagine you have me at a disadvantage for the time being.”

“For the time being, darling, we are all at a disadvantage. We will simply have to concede that. Don’t you have any money at all?”

“I have some, but I need some more. Pearl doesn’t like to economize. She’s been spoiled.”

“She may have to learn to like it, whether she wants to or not.”

“Fat chance. Pearl is very adjustable to changes in personnel, but not to working conditions. Her affections are strictly negotiable. Damn it, Mother, you can surely afford to give me fifty dollars to pay for a proper parting.”

“Oh, all right. You run along and get ready, and I’ll have the money for you when you leave.”

“That won’t be necessary. Just tell me where you’ve got it cached, and I’ll help myself.”

“No, no, darling. That wouldn’t do at all.”

“Why? Do you think I’d take something extra for my trouble?”

“We must be realistic, darling. You’ll have to admit that ever since you were a small boy you have shown a remarkable tendency toward thievery.”

“Well, it’s all innocent enough. It’s just that I have absolutely no resistance to temptation.”

Lester wandered off into his bedroom to prepare for Pearl Perkins, and in the meanwhile, after finishing the nails of the foot she was on, Flo went into her own bedroom and returned with fifty dollars. Putting the money on a coffee table, she sat down on the floor beside it and began on the nails of the foot remaining to be done. It was quite a long time, easily long enough to finish and have a small drink and part of a cigarette, before Lester reappeared in evening clothes. She was pridefully aware, as she always was, of his incredible good looks, a male version of Hester, and it was really a shame, she thought, that he was only clever at things that didn’t help much in the way of exploitation. If necessary, of course, he would marry a rich woman and get along comfortably, but the trouble with that, unfortunately, was that he was forever getting involved with someone like Pearl Perkins who wanted to marry a rich man.

“Is that the fifty?” he said.

“Yes, it is, darling, and you must be careful with it, for I’m not at all sure where any more is coming from.”

“I still think you might make it a hundred.”

“I might, darling, but I won’t, and so you had just as well stop urging me.”

“Oh, well.” He took the fifty, counted it, and tucked it away with however much he had to go with it. “Don’t forget about old Brewster. You promised.”

“I won’t forget,” she said, “but I don’t think it will come to anything disagreeable. I’m sure you will be successful in murdering Senorita Fogarty.”

After he was gone, she began to feel slightly depressed, and she smoked another cigarette, which didn’t help, and then had another drink, which also didn’t help, and then she got up and went into her bedroom and counted her money, and this was unfortunate, the least help of all, because there was so little of it. Having counted her money and put it away again, she lay down across her bed on her back and began deliberately to try to think of something cheerful, because it was essential to the stability of her character to be cheerful about something at all times, but now it was extremely difficult to think of anything except what a great problem it was to rear two children and assure them of all the advantages, especially when they were handicapped by a father who had only compounded the problem and a grandfather who had turned out, in the end, to be crazy. Fortunately for Hester and Lester, their father had at least the consideration to remove himself early by means of an automobile accident while under the influence, but this had not been, to be honest, unmitigated good fortune for Flo herself, for Waldo, her husband, had been charming and exciting, if nothing else, and he was very good at certain things that Flo sorely missed after the accident. This was not to say, of course, that she would have taken him back if it had been possible, for she wouldn’t have, even if it were, because life was so much simpler and more manageable without him, although at times somewhat duller.

It was just too bad that things had been spoiled. It had started out to be such a good day, too, what with Father having died and being buried and all. It was simply the worst kind of luck that Senorita Fogarty had turned up in the will to delay a proper settlement, but no one could be blamed for not anticipating it, except Father himself and old Brewster, for who would have dreamed that Father was in love with a Chihuahua? Now that things had developed as they had, of course, one would think that Homer would devise something effective to do, but all Homer could do was threaten to kill Crump and contest the will, both of which old Brewster would prevent if possible, and it had been left to Hester to make the only sensible suggestion, which was to murder Senorita Fogarty, by getting her run over in the traffic.

Hester was such a dear child. She was not only beautiful, but unexpectedly clever, and it gave Flo a feeling of warmth and pride just to think about her. It would surely be a comfort to talk with her this very minute, and Flo thinking so, sat up on the edge of her bed and picked up the telephone from a table and dialed Hester’s number. Hester’s telephone rang and rang and was not answered, which meant, of course, that Hester had gone out, or had been taken out, and Flo hung up and began to wonder if it might not be a good idea to go out somewhere herself. There was no place she could think of to go alone, though, and none of the several men she usually could rely on to take her places had made any arrangements for tonight because of an absurd notion that she wouldn’t care to go anywhere on the night of the day of Father’s funeral.

Stuck and resigned, she began to think positively that everything would be fine in the end, and pretty soon, because of the positive thinking, she began to feel much more cheerful and to hum a little tune under her breath.

6

Pearl Perkins, to continue the alliteration, was pert. She had a piquant face with wonder in its eyes and a small body that could create wonder in the eyes of others. The sum of her separate parts and talents was an effect of innocent sophistication that was almost perfect dissimulation for one of the most artful minds that ever schemed for next month’s rent. She and Lester, however, had long since reached a stage of comfortable disillusionment. For her part, she had learned that he could rarely be counted upon to pay the rent or anything else, and he, for his, that she was about as innocent as a weasel in a henhouse. This did not, strangely enough, cause their precarious relationship to disintegrate, as might have been expected, but rather to assume a somewhat safer realism in which spades were spades. He was so devilishly good-looking that it was a kind of asset just to be seen with him and removed the tediousness from certain episodes of generosity in which, for economic reasons, she sometimes found it expedient to engage. On the other hand, he simply found her so variously talented and so perfectly rapacious that she had assumed in his affections an elevated place that no one else had or could.

Tonight, having extended his credit a little further at a service station on the way, he parked his MG at the curb in front of her apartment house, and presented himself, a few minutes later, at her door. He rang and waited and rang again, after which, nothing having happened in response, he opened the door and went in. Sure enough, as he had expected, he immediately heard the faint sound of rushing water from a distant shower head, which meant that Pearl was running late with her toilet, not because she had been doing anything of any urgency beforehand, but simply because she had delayed starting until the last minute what had just as well been started earlier. He found a chair and collapsed on the back of his neck, stretching his legs and crossing his ankles, and pretty soon the sound of water stopped abruptly and was followed, after an interval sufficient for a brisk toweling, by the sound of bare feet padding across a carpet.

“Hey,” said Lester loudly.

“Oh,” Pearl said. “Is that you, Lester?”

“Yes, it is. You didn’t answer the bell, and so I just came on in.”

“I left the door unlocked for you.”

“I wish I’d known that. I could have avoided breaking it down.”

“What? What did you say?” Pearl’s head was projected suddenly through a crack in the bedroom door. “Lester, you’re the most insatiable liar imaginable. What makes you tell such whopping big lies for no good reason?”

“It’s a kind of compulsion. I’m sick.”

“Well, it makes you rather interesting, to be honest about it. I’m running a little late, as you can see.”

“My pet, you are always running a little late. I expect it and accept it.”

“That’s sweet. You’re really very sweet, Lester. Why don’t you make yourself a drink or something? There’s makings in the kitchen.”

“I’d rather come in there and talk with you.”

“Sweetie, I’m just out of the shower. I’m not decent.”

“I’m prepared to tolerate a little informality.”

“No, no, Lester. You musn’t be so impetuous. It’s far too early in the evening.”

“Oh, all right. I suppose I had better make myself a drink, then. Do you want me to make one for you?”

“Please do. I’ll be out in just a minute.”

Her head was withdrawn from the crack, and he got up and went into a small kitchen and began looking in cabinets for the makings. He knew from experience that the estimate of time until her appearance in a condition of decency was grossly optimistic, and so he poked about leisurely and found, after a while, a piece of a bottle of brandy and a bigger piece of bourbon. The rest of the makings turned out to be ice cubes and tap water, and he put some of each into two glasses with bourbon and carried the glasses back into the living room. On the back of his neck again, ankles crossed, he sipped from one glass and held the other with his left hand on the arm of the chair.

“There wasn’t any mix but water,” he said.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m constantly forgetting to get things.”

“It’s all right. I put bourbon in it. Bourbon and water is a very satisfactory drink.”

“Did you make one for me?”

“I did. It’s ready and waiting for you.”

“Thank you, sweetie. I’m having a little trouble with something. I’ll be out in just another minute.”

She did not specify what it was that she was having a little trouble with, and the possibilities gave him material for pleasant speculation.

“Do you want me to help you with whatever is the trouble?” he said.

“No, no. You needn’t bother.”

“It wouldn’t be any bother.”

“There’s no need now. I’m coming right away. I’m anxious to hear how everything went regarding the funeral and the will and all.”

“I must admit that I am somewhat less than anxious to tell you.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, sweetie. I had my dress over my head.”

“I said I’ll tell you when you come out.”

“Well, I’m coming. All I have to do is brush my hair. I wonder if I should have gone to the funeral.”

“Good God, no! Why should you have?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It seems little enough to do for someone who left all that money and everything. Was it just too awful?”

“I really couldn’t say. Most of the time I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“That was clever of you, sweetie. I always think the best way to survive something unpleasant is simply not to pay attention to it.”

“I’m glad you always think so, because you may soon have occasion to practice it. Damn it, Pearl, I do wish you would come out of there.”

“I’m ready, sweetie. I’m coming this instant.”

And so she was and did, wearing a black dress with a short bouffant skirt and sandals with very high thin heels to make her look taller than she was. She kissed Lester lightly on the tip of his nose, claimed her drink and curled up on the end of a sofa.

“Now, sweetie,” she said, “I’m prepared to listen, and you must tell me all about it.”

“Must I? Yes, I suppose I must. Nothing is to be gained by delaying it.”

“What are you trying to say, sweetie? I don’t like the sound of it. Did something go wrong?”

“Not exactly. I mean, things could have gone worse than they did, but they didn’t, although they may go that way yet before it’s finished.”

“Lester, I wish you wouldn’t be so devious. You are clearly trying to avoid telling me what happened. It may be necessary to sue you for breach of promise or something if you aren’t careful. Did you read the will?”

“Not verbatim. We extracted the meat of it.”

“Well, that’s just as good. It told you what your grandfather did with his money, didn’t it? Tell me directly how much you get.”

“A million and a half, more or less, in a way.”

“What the devil do you mean by more or less, in a way? Lester, it’s the most difficult thing in the world to pin you down to a candid statement. Either you get the million and a half, which would be nice, or you don’t, which would be unfortunate so far as you and I are concerned.”

“I get it, all right, but not till Senorita Fogarty dies.”

“What does Senorita Fogarty have to do with it?”

“Damn it, I just told you. Grandfather left everything in trust for her until she dies.”

“Well, what a perfectly treacherous thing to do. I don’t even know Senorita Fogarty. Who is she? Is she some nasty old woman your grandfather was keeping?”

“Not quite. It would be easier to accept if she were. To put it bluntly, Senorita Fogarty is Grandfather’s Chihuahua.”

“Don’t be absurd, Lester. A Chihuahua is a dog.”

“I know what a Chihuahua is. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Lester, sweetie, you are simply telling me the most monstrous lies. I warn you that it won’t work. I’m not so easily deceived. You could surely have thought of a more credible story than that to trick me out of what you practically promised.”

“Credible or not, it’s true. As you say, I’m not crazy enough to make it up from nothing. Only Grandfather was that crazy.”

“That’s so. It must be true, and I’ll have to believe you. Is it so bad, however? How long can Senorita Fogarty be expected to live?”

“Not long at the worst, and a lot less with a little luck. If she doesn’t have any issue in the meanwhile, that is.”

“You mean pups?”

“That’s what I mean. Everything stays in trust for her pups, if there are any, and for her pups’ pups if there are any of those.”

“My God, Lester, this could just keep going on and on. What can be done to prevent it?”

“There is a plan afoot to murder Senorita Fogarty by getting her run over in traffic.”

“That sounds reasonable. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I can’t think of anything, but I’ll let you know if I do.”

She held her glass in front of her with both hands and looked at him over it with a curious expression in which the ambivalence of her feelings was clearly detectable. She was chagrined and somewhat angry, that was obvious, but at the same time she was already regretting what might become necessary for her to do. The truth was, she would be very reluctant to discard him, and would be happy and relieved if he could somehow be salvaged, but it was, of course, essential that he be solvent when salvaged, and assured of a substantial part of a million and a half dollars, if not all of it. She was hardly prepared to take on a dependent, however handsome and otherwise satisfactory, out of sheer sentiment.

“Lester,” she said, “it was too bad of you to deceive me this way.”

“I haven’t deceived you, damn it. If you ask me, it is I who have been deceived.”

“At least you were surely aware that your grandfather was crazy and was therefore subject to doing crazy things. You might have warned me. It’s quite a shock to learn suddenly that it’s questionable if you will ever inherit a single penny.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll murder Senorita Fogarty one way or another before she is allowed to become a mother. You can count on it.”

“Well, I certainly hope so. I’ve become quite attached to you, as I’ve made abundantly clear on several occasions, but you can see that I can’t afford to have you cluttering up the place and distracting me from more lucrative prospects. It simply wouldn’t be sensible.”

“Oh, I know. I don’t expect you to make any unreasonable concessions or anything.”

“In that case, we’ll just hope for the best, and in the meantime, let’s go out somewhere and have a good time and refuse to worry about it.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. We’ll decide on the way.”

“To tell the truth, I was rather hoping we could stay here tonight.”

“No, sweetie. That would never do. It would be far too depressing under the circumstances. Besides, you would surely want to be entertained in a manner that I’ll have to think about until I know how the will comes out.”

7

The place they eventually went to, after being at a couple of other places first, was the King Louie Lounge. As every school boy knows, there was a long line of Louies who were kings of France at various times, and one of these Louies was good enough to be made a saint afterward, and another was considered so great that he was called the Sun King to indicate just how great he was considered, although there was later some doubt about it. In between, there were a lot of Louies who weren’t any better than they should have been, and following was one who lost his head as a consequence of being a lot worse. Anyhow, with all these Louies available, almost anyone would have thought that the King Louie Lounge was named after one of them, probably the Sun King, but it wasn’t. It was named after King Louie Oliver.

King Louie Oliver wasn’t a real king, of course, of France or elsewhere, and about the only thing he had in common with most of the royal Louies was that he wasn’t any better than he should have been, even if you discounted the many who said, usually in an official capacity, that he wasn’t as good. But he seldom if ever lost his head, which was a great advantage in his lines of work, which was operating the King Louie Lounge and several other enterprises about town. As a matter of fact, he seldom lost anything at all, especially money, it being practically always just the other way around. This was a truism to which Lester could have testified under oath if it had been beneficial to his health and well-being to do so.

Unfortunately, King Louie happened to be standing at the front of the Lounge talking with the hostess when Lester and Pearl entered. He was a short man with smooth black hair and an olive complexioned face as round and benign as a full moon. His brown eyes were limpid, and his small scarlet mouth was soft. The attitude he employed with men and women alike was one of solicitous tenderness, and many of both had been deceived by it temporarily into a disastrous credulity. Now, seeing Lester before Lester could escape, he approached with mincing steps and a cooing sound that ended with a soft embrace.

“My dear,” he said, “how nice to see you out tonight. You’re looking charming. Perfectly charming.” Releasing Lester, he turned to Pearl and claimed her hands. “It’s Miss Perkins, isn’t it? Lovely! Lester, you have an eye for the lovely ones.”

“Well, you know how it is,” Lester said. “As the saying goes, lucky in love, unlucky at cards...”

“Where I am concerned,” said Pearl, “it’s a matter of being lucky in both or neither.”

“Lester is referring to a little matter that exists between us. A very small matter that involves hardly more than our honor. Isn’t that so, Lester?” King Louie quivered with coos, and waved away the hostess, who had been hovering. “No, no. I’ll show Lester and Miss Perkins to a table myself. It will be my pleasure, my dears.”

He led them to a table and held a chair for Pearl while Lester helped himself, after which he pulled up a third chair from another table and joined the party. He sighed and gazed at Lester with limpid tenderness. Lester could feel a free drink coming on, which quickly came, and would not have objected even if he had been in a position for it, which he definitely wasn’t.

“Cheers,” said Lester. “Here’s to stud.”

“Stud?” Pearl said. “Lester, what a thing to say! Are you being dirty?”

“Not I,” said Lester. “On the contrary, I’m clean. I’ve recently been cleaned by an expert.”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Do you, Mr. Oliver? What on earth does he mean? He’s been rather unstable all evening.”

“He’s referring, I believe to a game of chance. He’s had the most atrocious luck at it. Oh, the most atrocious!” King Louie quivered and tapped Pearl on the hand and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The dear boy owes me money.”

“That’s nothing unusual,” she said. “He owes practically everyone money.”

“So I’ve been informed. He’s sadly overextended, I understand. Too bad, too bad. Perhaps it was rash of me to offer him credit.”

“Rash! It was positively insane.”

“I don’t think so. Really, I don’t. We mustn’t do the dear boy an injustice. No, we mustn’t.” King Louie turned his eyes upon Lester and smiled a red wet smile. “He comes from such a good family, as you know. A family of substance, I might add. Besides, our little debt is a debt of honor, isn’t it, dear boy? Oh, yes. Other financial obligations are legally actionable in one way or another, but ours is strictly one of honor. We wouldn’t dream of reneging on a debt of honor, would we, Lester dear?”

“If you are depending on Lester’s sense of honor,” said Pearl, “you are simply whistling up the wind.”

“I hope not. I do sincerely hope not. People without honor are somehow always so unlucky. The strangest things are likely to happen to them. I know of a certain man like that, poor fellow, who had a serious accident in which his nose was broken, his jaw shattered, and both arms and legs broken.”

“What kind of accident? Did he fall into a cement-mixer or something?”

“He never reported. He seemed to prefer secrecy, oddly enough.”

“Probably he was drunk when it happened. What ever became of him?”

“He died after a while. Under the circumstances, it was probably fortunate. But we are upsetting Lester with our conversation. Why are you so white, dear boy? You’ve lost all of your color.”

“He’s always upset by hearing about broken noses and jaws and things like that,” Pearl said. “He’s so handsome himself, it makes him incredibly vain.”

“He’s lovely,” said King Louie. “A lovely boy. It would be a shame if something like that happened to him.”

“Yes, it would. I don’t believe I’d care for Lester with a broken nose and jaw, let alone his arms and legs.”

“Damn it,” said Lester, “I wish you wouldn’t talk that way. I’ve had a long and difficult day, and I don’t feel like listening to it.”

“Forgive us, dear boy,” King Louie said. “I’d quite forgotten. The last rites for your grandfather were held today. A sad occasion.”

“As it turned out,” said Pearl, “it was a lot sadder than Lester anticipated.”

“Pearl,” Lester said, “will you please, for God’s sake, shut up?”

“Why, Lester, whatever is the matter with you? There is no reason at all that I can see for being rude.”

“Yes, Lester,” said King Louie, “you shouldn’t be rude. I am quite interested in Miss Perkins’ remark. Did something unexpected happen?”

“We stuck the old man away, that was all. There was nothing to it.”

“I was given certain assurances, as I recall, about an inheritance. There was to be, I believe, an immediate reading of the will. I’m loath to make this sordid reference, dear boy, but I’m wondering if the will has been read.”

“Oh, it’s been read, all right. Extractions were, that is. They were read this afternoon.”

“If I may be so blunt, what about your inheritance?”

“Senorita Fogarty got it,” said Pearl.

“Indeed! And who is Senorita Fogarty? A kept woman? One of the old man’s little secrets? Oh, this is unfortunate, Lester. This is too bad.”

“Senorita Fogarty is a Chihuahua,” Pearl said.

“A dog! Lester, is this true? Have you been disinherited in favor of a dog?”

“No, damn it,” Lester said, “it is not true. At least, it’s only partly true. I mean, Senorita Fogarty only gets to use the estate for a while, and then the rest of us get it. You’ll only have to wait a little longer. Not as long as you may think. I’ve got plans for Senorita Fogarty.”

In the midst of this speech, King Louie had begun to rise, and by the time it was finished, he had risen. He looked down at Lester sadly, one pudgy arm raised from the elbow, palm of the hand outward, in an arresting gesture.

“Please, Lester. No more protests. No more assurances. I can’t tell you how bad I feel about this. I can’t tell you how distressed.”

Turning, he walked away among the tables, ending all prospects of additional free drinks. Lester stared after him bitterly, and then transferred his bitterness to Pearl across the table.

“Thanks,” he said. “You were a great help.”

“Are you being sarcastic? What harmful did I say? I’d like to know what.”

“Oh, never mind. There’s no point in discussing it.”

“So far as I could tell, Mr. Oliver was very nice about everything. Didn’t you hear how sympathetic he was?”

“Sure, sure, He’s only a little less sympathetic than a cobra. Can’t you recognize a threat when you hear one?”

“Was he making a threat? Was that what he was doing? Well, I may not be able to recognize a threat, especially when it sounds like sympathy, but at least I can recognize your twin sister Hester, and there she is.”

“Hester? Where?”

“Behind you. She’s coming this way, and right after her, if I’m not mistaken, is your Cousin Junior.”

“Junior? Impossible. Hester wouldn’t go out anywhere with Junior.”

“Nevertheless, they are together, and here they are.”

And so they were. Hester sat down in the chair vacated by King Louie, and Junior pulled up another, which necessitated a little shifting and made things rather congested.

“Hello, Sister,” Lester said. “What are you doing here with Junior, of all people? I was under the impression that you wouldn’t be caught dead with him in public.”

“Well, he called and asked me, and I was so bored that I thought it might be better than doing nothing. I’m not sure that it is, however.”

“Isn’t it pretty risky?”

“There’s very little risk in public, and I’m far too elusive to be tricked into privacy. How are you, Pearl?”

“I’m all right, now that you are here. I must say that Lester was becoming insufferable.”

“Lester is often insufferable. You must simply learn to tolerate it.”

“It was all brought on, I’m beginning to understand, by King Louie Oliver.”

“I thought that was King Louie sitting here. What did he want?”

“It seems that Lester owes him some money, and he wants to be paid. I can’t say that I blame him, to be honest. I didn’t quite get the point of things at the time, but I think now that he was threatening to break Lester’s nose and jaw and arms and legs. I’ll have to give him credit for being a gentleman about it. He was very polite.”

“Does King Louie do that kind of work? Surely not. It’s too much like common labor. I imagine that he hires someone to do it for him.”

“Probably. Does he, Lester? Would King Louie hire someone to break your nose and jaw and arms and legs?”

“Whatever he does,” Lester said, “I want to say how much I appreciate your concern. It’s most touching.”

“Naturally, I’m concerned,” said Pearl. “Do you think I could go on caring for someone who was all broken bones and splints? It would be difficult, to say the least.”

“Oh, well,” Hester said, “it may be for the best, after all. It may stimulate Lester to do something constructive about Senorita Fogarty while the doing is still good.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” said Junior. “Lester, I hope you will do something without delay.”

“Junior,” Hester said, “you’ve behaved very well so far. You’ve been perfectly silent. Please don’t spoil things.”

“As for me,” Lester said, “things are already spoiled. I want to get out of here, that’s what I want to do. Are you coming, Pearl?”

“I may as well,” said Pearl. “It has been a dull evening altogether, and it doesn’t look like it’s getting any better.”

8

However strong his incentive, Lester’s will was considerably weaker. Daily during the next week, he arose resolved to tackle Mrs. Crump without further delay, but the resolution, faced with practical problems, always diminished and was sooner or later appeased with a promise of action tomorrow. In the meantime, however, he was developing psychosomatic pains in his arms and legs, as well as in his nose and jaw, and at last he forced himself into the neighborhood of Grandfather’s house. Irresolute, filled with the most dreadful forebodings, he idled along the iron picket fence, staring moodily at the ugly old shack, and once he lowered himself to his haunches and peered this way and that through the pickets. It had occurred to him that he might surprise Senorita Fogarty at play on the lawn. If so, and if she could be lured within reach, it would be possible to simplify matters by direct action, thus circumventing Mrs. Crump herself. But this was, of course, no more than wishful thinking. In the first place, Senorita Fogarty, as the world’s richest Chihuahua, would surely not be permitted to gambol unrestrained on the grass like any common mutt. In the second place, even if she were, she detested Lester too thoroughly to be suckered by any deceit he might conjure up. Finally compelled to face these realities squarely, Lester breathed deeply and stiffened his spine and approached the gate. Admitting himself, he went up the front walk between the cast-iron deer to the front door.

He put a thumb against the bell button and leaned upon it. After a minute, in response to the imperious bell, there was the sound of a heavy tread, and the door swung open, following a brief business with the lock, to reveal Mrs. Crump standing spraddle-legged in the aperture like an embattlement.

“Oh,” she said, “it’s you.”

“Yes, it is,” Lester said. “How are you, Mrs. Crump?”

“What do you want?”

This repeated emphasis of the second person pronoun, coupled with her pointed refusal to be decoyed into amiability, did nothing whatever to increase his optimism, which was hardly existent anyhow. Having come this far, however, he was determined now to try the issue, however disastrous the consequences.

“I want to come in, if you don’t mind,” he said.

“What for?”

“My dear lady, I’ve come here in the best of spirits and with the most innocent of intentions. I am reconciled to things as they are, and I wish to be friends.”

“Come off!”

“I assure you that it’s true. May I come in and convince you?”

“Fat chance!” Mrs. Crump defied him with her expression to convince her of anything, including the law of gravity. “I guess you can come in, though, if you want to. I won’t say I don’t mind, but I guess it won’t do any harm.”

“Thank you. You’re exceedingly gracious.”

His irony was injudicious, at least, but Mrs. Crump was apparently impervious. He slipped past her into the hall and felt, hearing her lock the door after him, as if he had committed the gravest tactical error since Custer.

“I’m making a cake in the kitchen,” Mrs. Crump said. “If you want to talk to me, you’ll have to come in there.”

“A pleasure,” said Lester. “The best room in the house, I always say.”

He followed her to the kitchen at the rear of the house and perched himself on the observation point of a long-’ legged stool, which had, in addition to its strategic advantage, the comfortable familiarity of being somewhat similar to those usually lined up along one side of a bar. He watched her bitterly as she resumed stirring a batter in a bowl. It was no more than he should have expected, of course. Give underprivileged folk like the Crumps an inch, he thought, and they immediately take a mile. Elevate them suddenly to a position of affluence, and they at once begin eating cake and in general living like rich pigs. What made it worse, they were squandering the substance that properly belonged to others.

“Well,” said Mrs. Crump, “if you’ve got any funny business in your mind, you might as well get it off.”

“I have no business on my mind, funny or otherwise,” Lester said. “My call is purely social. Where, by the way, is Crump?”

“Crump’s out.”

“Really? What good luck! It’s apparent that I’ve come at just the right time.”

“Is it? Why?” Mrs. Crump glared at him with dour suspicion. “I warn you you’d better not try any fancy work on me, young feller. I can take care of myself. Crump, wouldn’t be any advantage at all.”

As if to support her claim, she waved the heavy wooden mixing spoon larded with yellow batter, and Lester’s pessimism was for a moment superseded by terror.

“I don’t see why you persist in thinking the worst of me,” he said hurriedly. “Am I so bad as all that?”

“You’re too pretty and too sneaky by far, if you want to know the truth.”

“Surely you don’t mean that”

“Don’t I just!”

“Do you know what I think? I think you’re actually a warm and affectionate woman, that’s what. You are, besides, quite charming in a buxom style.”

“And you’re a liar in any style you care to mention.”

“Well, you’re determined to repel me, I can see. I won’t be discouraged though. I’m convinced that you only need to be released. Crump has done you no good.”

“Crump’s no prize, that’s sure, but he’s my husband, and I’m stuck with him, and I know my duty to him.”

“Duty? Onerous word! More than one fair person has wasted away under its curse. Come, Mrs. Crump, you must abandon yourself to life before it’s too late.”

“I’ll abandon myself to violence, that’s what I’ll do. I got a notion you’re leading up to something dirty.”

“What a fantastic notion! Mrs. Crump you’ve misunderstood my meaning, which was absolutely pure.”

“Do you know what I’d do to a man who threatened my chastity?” Mrs. Crump’s bulk was planted firmly in front of her chastity in a defensive position. “I’d take a meat cleaver to him.”

Lester, who had been prepared to attack or retreat, as developments warranted, decided that it was high time to do the latter. No meat cleaver was in evidence, but he slipped off the stool and got behind it, just in case one suddenly appeared.

“Mrs. Crump, I assure you that your chastity is in no danger. Not the slightest. I only came here to restore good relations, and I’m anxious to show my good faith in any way I can. Perhaps I could perform a small service for you or something.”

“What kind of service?”

“I could exercise Senorita Fogarty for you.”

“You mean take her outside?”

“Yes. For a short walk, perhaps. Surely you recognize the importance of exercise. She has literally God knows how many foot pounds of energy for every pound of dog.”

“Nothing doing. Crump walks the dog. Why are you so interested in doing it all of a sudden? You must be up to something.”

“Nothing of the sort. It’s just that my good feelings include Senorita Fogarty, as well as you and Crump, even though she has deprived me temporarily of my birthright. I’ve renounced resentment and recriminations. Incidentally, I haven’t noticed Senorita Fogarty about. Where is she?”

“Closed in my room, that’s where. And there she stays until you’re gone.”

“Surely I’m permitted to see her? The least you can do is to award me visiting privileges.”

“No privileges. No nothing. She hates you as it is, and you’d only upset her. She’s already a little off her feed.”

“Oh? Is it serious?”

“It would suit you fine if it was, wouldn’t it? No such luck for you, though. She’s missing her Master, poor dear, that’s all. She needs something to take her mind off her sorrow. Companionship is what she needs.”

Lester’s heart, which had lately leaped with hope, now sank in despair. Such a horrible possibility came to mind that he could scarcely bear to contemplate it.

“A nice little bitch would be the thing,” he said. “You understand, I hope, that a male would be unthinkable. It might even be fatal.”

“Fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Crump. “I was just telling Crump this morning that Senorita Fogarty needs a family of her own. A sweet little stud and a diet of oatmeal would restore her to health in no time.”

“Great God!” Lester’s mounting horror caused his voice to ascend and thin. “Woman, what kind of depraved monster are you? You were just ready to defend your own infernal chastity with a meat cleaver, and now you propose to expose Senorita Fogarty to the most flagrant kind of lust!”

“Dogs are married,” Mrs. Crump said. “They’re born married.”

Lester, confronted by such incredible unenlightenment, could tolerate no more. The woman was clearly shot through with a kind of low peasant cunning, as well as a precarious temper, and retreat was indicated. Abandoning his position, which had been vulnerable from the beginning, he fled the kitchen and the house, and did not stop to reconnoiter until he was, at the curb of the street, stationed in the bucket behind the wheel of his MG.

The one thing that seemed to him imperative was to report quickly the dreadful intelligence that he had gained from his brief, inglorious skirmish with Mrs. Crump. It was an uncalculated compliment to Hester that he thought of her immediately as the proper agency to receive the report. Her superior ingenuity aside, she was, after all, the creator of the present plan, which had just resulted in a rout, and it was therefore her right to know of it first off. So thinking, he drove directly to Hester’s apartment, but as bad luck would have it, Hester wasn’t in.

It was damn inconsiderate of Hester, he thought, to be gone somewhere just when there was the most critical kind of emergency. However ingenious she might be, she was not to be relied on without reservation. He wondered where she was, but the possible places were so numerous and so varied that this was an altogether hopeless effort. The only sensible thing to do was to wait until Hester showed up in her own good time, and so he drove to his own apartment to wait, and there, as good luck would have it, was Hester talking with Flo and Uncle Homer.

Flo had obviously not been up very long, for she was still wearing a nightgown under a robe, and she was having a martini for breakfast with Uncle Homer, who was having several for tea. It was after four o’clock, and so Uncle Homer, who had drunk his breakfast and lunch long ago, was naturally not sober, but neither could he properly be called drunk. Uncle Homer never became properly drunk. So long as he could walk at all, he could walk unerringly in a straight line, and the only visible effect of innumerable martinis was an almost imperceptible process of ossification that suddenly, usually long after dinner, left him as immobile as a stone. Hester also had a martini, but it didn’t seem to be something she particularly wanted or needed. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, and the martini, untasted, was balanced on its stem between her knees.

“Oh, here you are,” Lester said. “I just came from your place. Why the devil don’t you ever stay home?”

“I was just about to ask the same of you, Brother. I came here specifically to see you, and what I want is an accounting. As you may recall, you promised in good faith to get Senorita Fogarty run over in the traffic, but a whole week has passed, and you’ve done nothing whatever about it. Why haven’t you?”

“That’s what I wanted to report. I’ve just come from Grandfather’s house and an encounter with Mrs. Crump. Are you by any chance planning to drink that martini?”

“I’m not sure. I’m considering it.”

“I wonder if you’d mind giving it to me?”

“I don’t really mind, but I don’t want you to get yourself all befuddled before you tell me exactly what happened.”

“A solitary martini couldn’t befuddle anyone,” said Uncle Homer. “It serves as a tonic to sharpen the wits and restore the soul. Give the boy your martini, Hester. It’s apparent that he needs it.”

Hester complied, seeing the need as clearly as Uncle Homer, and they all watched Lester with overt impatience while he drank the martini and consumed the olive.

“Now, Lester,” Hester said. “There is absolutely no excuse to delay an instant longer. Tell me at once what happened at Grandfather’s.”

“Yes, my boy,” said Uncle Homer. “We’re all ears.”

“As for me,” Lester said, “I’m lucky to have any ears whatever. Or anything else, for that matter.”

“Was Mrs. Crump uncooperative?” Hester said.

“That’s hardly the word for it. The damn woman is utterly impregnable. Moreover, she is constantly seething on the verge of violence.”

“I must say, Lester, that I’m disappointed in you. I was sure that you could corrupt her easily if you only tried. Did you really try? Perhaps another attempt would be more successful.”

“Oh, no! No, by God! You will never get me to volunteer, and that’s that.”

“The trouble with you, Lester, is you have no tenacity. You are always ready to give up far too easily. Perhaps you simply used the wrong technique. What did Mrs. Crump say?”

“She threatened to use a meat cleaver on me, that’s what.”

“Actually? How crude!”

“Yes,” said Uncle Homer. “One can never look for anything the least original or refined from people of that class.”

“Lester, darling,” Flo said, “I am constantly getting the most disturbing reports about you. It was only recently that someone threatened to break your arms and legs and heaven knows what all.”

“Believe me,” said Lester, “you are not half so disturbed as I am. What’s more, it has occurred to me that I’m the only one who is being threatened all over the place with all sorts of mayhem, and I’d like to know why.”

“Well, it’s in a good cause,” Uncle Homer said. “You owe something to your family, my boy.”

“Lester can’t help being cowardly,” Hester said, “and we mustn’t blame him for it. Lester, did you even get a glimpse of Senorita Fogarty while you were there?”

“No, I didn’t. She was closed in Mrs. Crump’s room, and I was denied visiting privileges. Moreover, she’s under the weather, mourning for Grandfather. Mrs. Crump plans to cure her with oatmeal and sex.”

The abrupt disclosure of this news made Uncle Homer jerk so violently that his martini slopped over and the olive leaped out of the glass onto the floor.

“Sex!” he said. “Did you say sex?”

“That’s what I said, and I’ve been trying to say it ever since I got here. Mrs. Crump is determined on a stud.”

“Can’t something be done to stop her?” said Flo. “Can’t she be arrested for flagrant immorality or something?”

“She says it’s not immoral,” Lester said. “She says all dogs are born married.”

“Is that true? Hester, are all dogs born married?”

“Whether they are or not,” said Hester, “it has no biological significance. For my part, I am not concerned with that. As usual, you have allowed yourselves to be diverted by a secondary issue. My concern is with the oatmeal.”

“Oatmeal?” Uncle Homer said. “Oatmeal won’t keep the damn dog from getting pregnant. Will it? If it will, I never heard of it.”

“It won’t keep her from getting pregnant,” said Hester, “but it could keep her from becoming a mother. It could, that is, if it were loaded with arsenic or something.”

“Hester, darling, you’re perfectly right,” Flo said. “Arsenic in Senorita Fogarty’s oatmeal would settle everything satisfactorily.”

“Well, someone go and put it in,” said Uncle Homer. “Lester, you go.”

“Not I,” Lester said. “I was there once, and I absolutely refuse to go back.”

“There’s no great hurry,” said Hester. “I don’t know just what the gestation period for a Chihuahua is, but at least it is long enough to allow us time to proceed carefully. It would never do to fail in this as miserably as Lester has failed in corrupting Mrs. Crump.”

“Well, it will have to be done sooner or later,” Uncle Homer said, “and in my opinion Lester should be required to do it. After all, he is the one who started the whole thing.”

“Like hell,” Lester said. “I won’t do it.”

“Has anyone thought how it’s to be done?” Flo said. “How is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Hester. “I’m trying to think of a way.”

“Maybe you had better have a martini after all,” Uncle Homer said. “It will sharpen your wits.”

9

It was no later than the next day, as things went, that Lester’s resolution regarding the arsenic in the oatmeal began to waver. He had been driven by desperation into taking a walk, a form of extreme exercise that was a fair measure of his need for therapy. He had a vague idea that it would assemble his addled thoughts and somehow remove his troubles, but he was convinced after a few blocks that walking as therapy was greatly overrated, if not a plain fraud, and he returned to his apartment with the idea of resorting to gin, which was a proven treatment that could be relied upon in many cases, although not all.

Flo, who had been out when he left, was back when he returned, and came at once to the door of her bedroom to see who was there.

“Oh,” she said. “Is it you, Lester, darling?”

“As you can see,” he said, “it is.”

“I wondered where you were. Where were you?”

“If you must know, I was taking a walk.”

“A walk? Whatever for?”

“Because I wanted to, that’s what for.”

“Well, it seems like an absurd thing to do for no better reason than that. I must say, Lester, that you’ve lately become very difficult to understand. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“No, I’m not, as a matter of fact.”

“You must try to take a positive attitude, darling. Nothing is to be gained by always thinking the worst. By wandering off as you did, you missed a telephone call.”

“Telephone call? Who called? Was it Pearl?”

“No, it was a man. Someone called King Louie, I asked him King Louie who, and he said you’d know. Do you?”

“Unfortunately, I do. What did he want?”

“He wanted to talk with you, naturally, and I told him that you had just walked out for a while, never dreaming that you actually had gone on walking and walking, and then he said something that seemed odd, to say the least. He said walking was a very convenient thing to be able to do, and wouldn’t it be a shame if you couldn’t. What did he mean, exactly?”

“He meant exactly what he said. What else did he say?”

“Nothing much. He said he’d call you again later. Do you want to call him back?”

“No, I don’t. Excuse me, Mother. I think I’ll go lie down.”

“Why don’t you, darling? Clearly, you are not well.”

He went into his bedroom, but he didn’t lie down. He sat on the edge of his bed and tried to decide who was the more fearsome, King Louie or Mrs. Crump, and there didn’t seem to be much choice between the two. After a while, however, he decided that he might as well try to gain access to the oatmeal after all, inasmuch as King Louie’s hired laborers were a virtual certainty, barring solvency, whereas Mrs. Crump’s meat cleaver might, with luck, be avoided. It was a difficult decision, but having made it, he felt a little better, although not much, and he was able to give his attention to another problem that was on his mind, and the problem on his mind was Pearl.

He had not seen Pearl since they had gone to King Louie’s Lounge, and whenever he’d tried to see her she had been otherwise engaged, which meant in simplest terms that he was a candidate for consignment to the discard, if he hadn’t already been consigned. He had just about resigned himself to this humiliation, but now his resignation was disturbed by his instant hope that it was she who had called, and if he was going to take another precarious chance with Mrs. Crump, he thought, he at least owed himself another one first with Pearl. So thinking, he picked up his telephone and dialed Pearl’s number, and after a couple of rings he heard Pearl’s voice.

“Hello, Pearl,” he said. “This is Lester.”

“I know who it is, Lester. What do you want?”

“I was just sitting here thinking about you, and I thought I might run over and see you.”

“Think again.”

“Oh, come on, Pearl. There’s something important I want to tell you.”

“No, no, Lester. You mustn’t start lying again. I am having trouble enough being firm as it is.”

“Firm about what?”

“About not seeing you any more, of course. Frankly, Lester, you are the type of person a girl is always thinking about and wanting to see, even after it has obviously become a waste of time.”

“Let me come over, and we’ll see if it’s a waste of time.”

“That’s not what I mean, Lester. I admit that you are amusing when you are in the mood for it.”

“I’m in the mood now, damn it Are you?”

“I won’t say I’m not, but I can hardly afford distractions that come to nothing in the end but entertainment. You must realize, Lester, that you have been a great disappointment to me. I have to apply myself to projects with a reasonable chance of coming to something substantial.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing all week?”

“Since you ask, I don’t mind saying that I have.”

“Listen, Pearl. I said I have something important to tell you, and I have. It’s the strict truth.”

“What you think is important might not be what I think is important at all. Can’t you be a little more definite?”

“It’s about Senorita Fogarty.”

“And the will?”

“Yes.”

“Does it improve your prospects for getting all that money away from her?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“I don’t know, Lester. The last time I saw you, you were planning to get her run over in the traffic, and so far as I know nothing has been done about it yet.”

“That plan has been abandoned. It ran into complications.”

“What makes you think this one will be any simpler?”

“Wait and see if it isn’t. Damn it. Pearl, the least you can do is let me tell you about it.”

“Well, all right, Lester. You may come over, although it’s against my better judgment! I’ll meet you at the curb out front.”

“You needn’t do that. I haven’t forgotten the way up.”

“Sweetie, you aren’t coming up. I haven’t seen you for a week, as you know, and I don’t intend to expose myself to excessive temptation. It wouldn’t be safe or sensible.”

Chances for a drink at Pearl’s looking dim, he had a quick one before leaving, and it was fortunate that he did, for sure enough, when he arrived there, she was waiting for him by the curb in front. She crawled in beside him with a casual display of knees, and they peeled off in the MG with a rush that was less an expression of Lester’s eagerness to leave in a hurry than of his reluctance to leave at all.

“I hope, sweetie, for your sake,” she said, “that this doesn’t turn out to be another one of your deceptions. You had better tell me at once whatever it is about Senorita Fogarty.”

“Give me a little time, Pearl. I’ve just got here.”

“It seems to me that you have already had ample time. I don’t see why it should take a week or longer to murder a Chihuahua.”

“That’s because you were not assigned the job of doing it. I tell you there are complications that make it very difficult, if not impossible. It’s easy enough for you to be superior and critical, but for me it’s another matter entirely.”

“What happened to the original plan, that’s what I’d like to know.”

“Well, you can hardly get Senorita Fogarty run over in traffic when you can’t even get close to her. Anyone should be able to understand that.”

“That may be true, but I still can’t understand why you can’t get close to her. What’s to prevent you?”

“Not what. Who. Mrs. Crump, that’s who.”

“Have you even tried to get around Mrs. Crump? I’ll bet you haven’t.”

“I’ll bet I have. Pearl, I wish you’d try to have a little more confidence in me.”

“You haven’t done anything yet to inspire confidence, sweetie. You’ll have to admit that yourself. What happened with Mrs. Crump?”

“Never mind what happened. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s sufficient to say that she has necessitated a change of plan.”

“Now we have come back to it, and it had better be good. What change?”

“It is now the plan to put arsenic in Senorita Fogarty’s oatmeal.”

“Oatmeal! Does the damn dog eat oatmeal?”

“She’s been off her feed. Mrs. Crump thinks oatmeal will be good for her.”

“I doubt it. I can’t imagine oatmeal’s being good for anyone, even Senorita Fogarty.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. Anyhow, Mrs. Crump has decided that Senorita Fogarty needs oatmeal and sex.”

“Well, I can see sex. Sex might be helpful.”

“Have you lost your mind? Damn it, Pearl, the moment that dog gets introduced to sex we’re finished. We can kiss Grandfather’s money goodbye.”

“You can also kiss me goodbye. On second thought, we’ll skip the kiss.”

“I know. You don’t have to say it. However, I’m sure we will be able to load Senorita Fogarty’s oatmeal with arsenic in time. Luck has been so bad lately, it’s bound to start getting a little better.”

He’d had a vague notion of driving somewhere in the country, but some kind of morbid attraction seemed to be working against it, and he was suddenly aware that he was on the street that ran in front of Grandfather’s house. As he approached, the front door opened, and Crump appeared, walking down between the cast-iron deer from the house to the street. Senorita Fogarty’s guardian was dressed to the teeth in his Sunday best, a rusty black suit and stiff shoes. He turned, after coming out the gate, and headed for the corner at the other end of the block from the one where Lester, reflexively, had stopped to watch.

“What’s the matter?” said Pearl. “Lester, why have you stopped the car?”

“There’s Crump,” Lester said.

“That little man with the bowed legs? What of it?”

“I wonder where the little devil is going?”

“What difference does it make? Lester, you have been brooding and brooding over this matter until you have become a mental case or something. It is much more to the point, in my opinion, where we are going, and back to my apartment is where it had better be, if you don’t mind.”

“I believe I’ll follow him and find out.”

“Not with me, sweetie. Following a bow-legged man is not quite my idea of how to spend an afternoon, even an afternoon as dull as this one.”

“Oh, come on, Pearl. Do try to cooperate a little. It wouldn’t hurt you to come with me. After all, you have as much to gain or lose as I do.”

“Well, there’s something to that, I guess. I’ve admitted that I would like to keep you at hand, provided that you can arrange to get your share of your grandfather’s money. I’ll come along. Probably he’s only going to the market or somewhere.”

But it soon became apparent that Crump, wherever he was going, wasn’t going to the market. At the corner he waited for several minutes until a bus came along, which he boarded. With Lester and Pearl trailing in the MG, he rode the bus across town for about two miles, then descending and waiting for a trolley bus, which he also boarded, clutching his transfer. The trolley bus took him about three miles farther on his way, by which time it had become apparent that Crump’s errand was a long one, and then, after waiting again on a corner, he was picked up by another bus that took him well beyond the city limits and deposited him at a terminal.

“Wherever can he be going?” Pearl said.

“I don’t know,” said Lester, “but I’ll lay ten to one that he’s up to something tricky.”

“I must say,” Pearl said, “that I am becoming more and more interested all the time. I’m glad I came along.”

And there was still farther to go. The rest of the way had to be made by Crump on foot, and he started off briskly down the asphalt road. It was now essential to secrecy to trail him at a greater distance, and Crump, ascending and descending the elevations of the road, was sometimes briefly out of sight. About a mile had been covered when Lester and Pearl, reaching the crest of an elevation behind him, were startled to find that he had disappeared completely.

“My God,” said Lester, “where has Crump gone?”

“Drive a little faster,” Pearl said. “Surely he didn’t simply vanish.”

Half a minute later, the mysterious disappearance was solved. Crump had merely turned off onto a long, curving drive that went up a slope to a remote house. Pearl saw him and pointed him out.

“There he is,” she said.

“I see him,” Lester said. “I’ll drive down the road and turn around. While we’re waiting for him to come out, we must decide what must be done.”

Having turned, he came back part way and stopped beside an Osage Orange hedge. It was apparent that he was in a condition of extreme agitation.

“What did you mean about what must be done?” Pearl said. “Lester, please stop shaking. What in the world has come over you?”

“Didn’t you read the sign beside the drive that old Crump turned into?”

“No, I didn’t. I was busy watching Crump.”

Lester’s voice was weak and tremulous from shock.

“My God, Pearl, that place is a kennel!”

10

Half an hour later, Crump reappeared. He came out of the drive and turned onto the road and started trudging back in the direction from which he had come. He was now walking a little lop-sided, due to the fact that he was carrying in his right hand something that looked from a distance like an odd-shaped traveling bag of some kind. Lester, peering intently, made a sound that was a cross between a whimper and a groan.

“What’s the matter with you?” Pearl said. “Are you sick or something?”

“Yes, I am,” Lester said. “I’m about as sick as a man can get.”

“You’d better get out of the car while there’s still time.” Pearl, who had become temporarily accessible for the purpose of limited entertainment that had helped to pass the time while they waited for Crump, scooted over in her bucket as far as she could with a look of alarm. “Lester, get out at once.”

“I’m not sick that way. Damn it, Pearl, don’t you see what that is old Crump is carrying?”

“It looks to me like some sort of case.”

“It’s not a case. It’s a cage. The old devil has bought another Chihuahua.”

“Really? Do you think so?”

“I don’t think. I know. He’s delivering sex to Senorita Fogarty.”

“Well, have you ever in your life heard of such a dirty trick before!”

“Crump is a monster, that’s what he is.”

“There is no good now, however, in calling names. The question, as I see it, is what are you going to do about it?”

“Whatever is done must be done quickly, but I can’t think of anything to do.”

“That’s your trouble, Lester. You must be directed in every little thing. If it’s not Hester, it’s I. It’s surely apparent in this instance that direct action is called for.”

“You’re right. This is no time to hesitate. Pearl, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to run old Crump and his cursed stud down from the rear. From this distance, I can easily get up to seventy miles an hour before reaching them.”

“The hell you are!” Pearl grasped the handle of the door with one hand, as if prepared to get out immediately. “Lester, you’re absolutely without any judgment whatever. Besides risking a serious crash, you would certainly be caught by the police. Moreover, if I know you, you would get me involved and into more trouble than I have any taste for.”

“You suggest something, then. How do you expect me to accomplish anything if you keep vetoing everything I think of?”

“Why don’t you simply take the stud away from him? He’s such a scrawny little man, even you should have no difficulty in that.”

“What good would it do? He’d just get another one.”

“Not if you were sufficiently fierce. I’m sure you could frighten him out of the notion if you made the effort.”

“Maybe I could frighten Crump, but Mrs. Crump is something else. Our recent encounter convinced me of that. Anyhow, someone might come along and see me.”

“Lester, it’s apparent that you are only making excuses to avoid doing anything at all. What you must do is offer Crump a ride. Then you can take him off on a side road where there will be practically no chance of interruption.”

“I hope you’re right. If you’re not, things may become a little difficult.”

“They’re going to become impossible if you delay much longer. Crump is getting farther and farther away all the time, and there will be no chance for direct action if you let him reach the bus stop.”

“All right. You needn’t keep harassing me, Pearl. Let’s go.”

He reached for the ignition key, and Pearl at the same time unlatched the door and stepped out into the road.

“I wish you’d break the habit of speaking in the plural all the time, Lester. If you think I’m going with you, you can think again.”

“Oh, come on, Pearl. Get in again.”

“Not I. I’m willing to make suggestions and help in other ways, but I’m not prepared to become an accessory in stealing Crump’s stud.”

“I must say that that’s a very poor attitude. It’s all right, I suppose, for me to take all the chances by myself.”

“You may as well stop trying to influence me, Lester. It won’t work. I’ll wait right here for you, and don’t forget to pick me up as soon as possible, or you’ll be sorry.”

Pearl went over and sat down on the grass under a tree, and Lester, definitely deserted and on his own, started the MG and drove off after Crump, who had disappeared over a rise in the road. When he was in view again, he was trudging along briskly, listing now to the left, having switched the cage from one hand to the other. He moved over toward the shoulder when he heard Lester approaching from the rear, but he did not pause nor look around. Lester, coming slowly abreast, stopped and hailed him with a creditable note of surprise.

“Well, Crump, what brings you way out here?”

Crump leaped and spun in the air, and Lester had the impression that he was about to take to the fields. He held his ground, however, getting between Lester and the cage in a defensive position. It was clear that even the prospect of a ride was not sufficient to make Lester welcome or wanted. Crump’s attitude, in fact, was one of overt suspicion.

“I might say the same to you,” he said.

“What’s that you’re holding behind you?”

“Never mind what it is.”

“It looks like a cage.”

“Whatever it is, it’s none of your business.”

“Come, Crump. Let’s be friends. Hop in. I’ll give you a lift home.”

“Nothing doing. I rode the bus out, and I’ll ride it back.”

“I’ll take you up to the end of the line, then, I’m going right past.”

“No, thanks. I’ll walk.”

“Damn it, Crump, don’t be such a contrary old devil. Get in at once if you know what’s good for you.”

“I know what’s good for me, and I know what’s bad for me, and I know better than to have any truck with the likes of you.”

So saying, he started down the road again, and Lester was tempted to run him down from behind, advice to the contrary notwithstanding, but another car came along just then from the opposite direction, and he decided that the odds against doing it successfully were excessive, if not formidable. There was nothing to do but go back for Pearl, and he went.

Pearl was sitting with her back braced against the trunk of the tree and her legs stretched straight in front of her. They were nice legs and made an attractive pair. She had removed her shoes for comfort’s sake, and was wiggling her nylon toes in a diminutive ecstasy of freedom. Lester drove past her on the road, made a sharp U-turn, and came back alongside, where he stopped.

“Are you back already?” she said.

“As you see,” he said, “I am.”

“It doesn’t seem to me that you’ve had time to accomplish anything. Where’s the stud?”

“With Crump, that’s where.”

“Where’s Crump?” Pearl scrambled to her feet, slipped her feet into her shoes, and walked across to the MG. “Lester, you didn’t ignore my advice and run him down after all, did you?”

“No, I didn’t, but I was tempted.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened. I offered him a lift, and he declined. It’s incredible how wily the old devil is.”

“Did you get a close look at the cage?”

“Close enough. He had a Chihuahua in it, all right.”

“And you let him get away! Lester, I give up. I absolutely do. In my opinion, you are hopeless. You permit yourself to be temporarily disinherited by a dog, and now you are simply going to stand back and let it be made permanent by endless litters.”

“Damn it, Pearl, I can’t help it if old Crump is riddled with suspicion. Anyhow, Senorita Fogarty may have sex tonight, but it will be some time before she has pups. In the meanwhile, something must be done.”

“Frankly, I have no confidence in your ability to do it.”

“Well, you might at least be fair about it. You know as well as I that this is a very complex situation. It needs another head, that’s what, and Hester’s is the head it needs. What we must do, Pearl, is find her right now and inform her of developments.”

“There you go again, Lester, speaking in the plural. You’d think you had a frog in your pocket or something.”

“Don’t you want to come with me?”

“No, I don’t, frankly. I only want to go home, if you will be so good as to take me.” Pearl crawled into her bucket and pulled her skirt down over her knees as a clear indication of her position. “Please drive me there, Lester, with both hands on the wheel.”

“Well, all right, if you insist. But I don’t see why you have to be so unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? I? It’s hardly unreasonable to try to salvage at least part of a day that has been largely wasted.”

“Oh, I don’t know. How about the time when we were waiting for old Crump to come out of the kennel?”

“You know very well that I’m especially susceptible when bored,” Pearl said. “It wasn’t fair of you to take advantage of me.”

11

Hester, the other head, had in the meanwhile been busy. Her business had begun, in fact, the previous afternoon immediately after leaving Flo and Uncle Homer and Lester, and it had been in the beginning a kind of preliminary session of furious thinking. It was apparent that someone had to assume the initiative in the matter of nudging Senorita Fogarty into dog heaven, and it was equally apparent that Lester was not the one to do it. Indeed, Lester had proved himself incredibly incompetent at every turn, and it was impossible to believe that he would suddenly improve.

Her approach to the problem was direct. If Senorita Fogarty, languishing in grief, was going on a diet of sex and oatmeal, she must be reached, clearly, through one of the media, and the one indicated was the latter, as Hester had already said, for the former seemed to offer nothing but a hideous restoration of Senorita’s interest in living, which was precisely the thing to be prevented. How, then, was the oatmeal to be dosed with sufficient poison to dispatch Senorita in short order? And how, when this was accomplished, was it to be made available in Mrs. Crump’s kitchen?

Hester, being clever, quickly had a couple of ideas. She also had the idea that whatever was done had better be done soon. Mrs. Crump had told Lester that the diet of sex and oatmeal was merely projected, not already established, but it would certainly be established without delay. Hester concluded this from the simple observation that one does not ordinarily begin treating an ailing patient next week. One begins today, or tomorrow at the latest. Hester’s plan depended upon the treatment’s beginning tomorrow, and her optimism in this respect was supported by the fact that Mrs. Crump had not divulged her insidious intentions until this very afternoon. It was likely, therefore, that Mrs. Crump, who invariably did her shopping before noon, would have to lay in a supply of oatmeal tomorrow. Provided, of course, that there was not a supply at hand. Hester was inclined to scoff at this possibility, for she herself never ate breakfast at all, unless you counted black coffee, and she was cheerfully convinced that no one, not even the Crumps, would willingly consume oatmeal in preference to something edible. It would be necessary, at any rate, to go on the assumption that the oatmeal would be purchased tomorrow before noon, and the most logical person to carry in a supply properly dosed in advance was, in Hester’s judgment, no one but Mrs. Crump herself.

There remained, of course, the problem of laying hands on an appropriate poison. For the solution of this problem Hester had, ironically, Crump himself to thank. Having a mind that was littered with remote odds and ends, she still remembered an afternoon long ago when, as a small girl, she had watched Crump at war with moles in Grandfather’s yard, and she still retained a bit of significant information acquired in that experience that would be useful now. Thus doubly armed with determination and a solid plan, she made her way to the shopping center near Grandfather’s house at which Mrs. Crump did her shopping. It included, besides a supermarket and several other shops of various kinds, a hardware store.

In the supermarket, she explored the alleys until she found the shelves containing the cereals. There was a variety of oatmeals represented, and she was faced with the necessity of anticipating the selection of Mrs. Crump with her own. The odds against this might seem formidable, but in fact it was almost a sure thing. Among the boxes, there was one, labeled “Mother Murphy’s Quick-Cooking Oats,” that was easily distinguishable for its size, if not for the quality of its contents. Inside in the oatmeal, as the label guaranteed, was a free spoon. Moreover, despite its economy size and the premium, it was cheaper by several pennies than any other brand on display. It required only the most rudimentary knowledge of Mrs. Crump’s stringent sense of thrift to assure that she would by nature be seduced by Mother Murphy. Hester, therefore, helped herself to a box and carried it to the checkout counter with complete confidence in her judgment.

Outside again, she walked along the sidewalk to the hardware store, into which she turned, making her way toward the rear among a hazardous collection of lawn-mowers and bicycles. She was met halfway by a dehydrated clerk wearing a green eyeshade and sleeve garters. He seemed astonished that a nylon and fur female like Hester should have wandered inadvertantly into a crude shelter for nuts and bolts. He asked her what he could do for her in a voice that implied deep skepticism of there being anything.

“I would like,” she said, “some cyanide peanuts.”

His eyebrows climbed. His expression was sympathetic.

“Rats?” he said.

“Moles,” said she.

“Worse,” he said. “But these will do the trick. Nothing like a little cyanide to remove rodents.”

Or presumptuous Chihuahuas, she thought. It was really rather astonishing, although handy, that something like cyanide, which could turn up your toes in an instant, could be bought in any hardware store without even a register to be signed that might possibly turn up later to complicate developments. The clerk brought down a small box from a top shelf, which he reached by means of a step-ladder, and Hester, after paying, put the box in the brown paper sack with Mother Murphy’s Oats, and went, carrying the sack, back to her apartment. She felt, all in all, that she had made a couple of quite shrewd purchases at very little expense to herself.

Opening the box was a delicate operation, calling for the most meticulous care. Fortunately it was simply sealed, one flap overlapping another and glued down. By inserting a thin blade under the top flap, Hester was able to work the two apart without damage to either, thus revealing in time Mother Murphy’s nutritious treasure within. It was then in order to add the cyanide peanuts. First, however, realizing that peanuts in a box of oats could very well excite suspicion, Hester reduced them to a lethal powder, employing an empty gin bottle as a rolling pin. Then she mixed the powder well into the oats, using Mother Murphy’s premium spoon. After that, nothing remained to be done except to seal the box again, which was accomplished neatly with care and a little glue.

Having completed the first phase of her plan, Hester set the box aside and went about her affairs, including dinner and dancing and a few hours sleep, until the second phase brought her, at the intolerable hour of nine o’clock in the morning, to the doors of the supermarket, which were just being opened to the public. It was necessary, of course, to be at her post and alert the first thing, so that Mrs. Crump couldn’t get in and out ahead of her, and it was also necessary to remain discretely inconspicuous, so that Mrs. Crump wouldn’t see her and be roused to the guard.

After an interminable wait that was, in fact, little more than an hour, Hester was rewarded by the sight of Mrs. Crump claiming a wheeled basket from the supply at the front of the store. Pushing the basket ahead of her, she began a tour of the aisles, stopping here and stopping there, putting in this and putting in that, Hester trailing all the while at a safe distance, and bearing at the ready the doctored box of oats and peanut powder, the stuff of such a hot breakfast as Mrs. Murphy had never dreamed of. Eventually, Mrs. Crump turned down the crucial aisle and slowly approached the cereal shelves. Hester found herself suddenly holding her breath and aware of her pulse. Would Mrs. Crump stop, or would she not? Was Mrs. Crump after the curative companion to sex, or had the cure, after all, been already undertaken? Everything now depended upon Mrs. Crump’s next move.

Her next move was a stop. She surveyed the display of oats and selected, sure enough, Mrs. Murphy’s. She put the box in her basket. She moved on, out of the cereal aisle and into an aisle of refrigerated cases. She parked her basket and began to move along slowly in front of the cases, accumulating on the way to the bacon a package of short ribs and two pounds of ground beef.

In the meanwhile, although she didn’t realize it, she had acquired cyanide in her oats. Hester, knowing that this was the moment of crisis, the time for the switch if ever it would be, acted with decision and dispatch. She approached Mrs. Crump’s basket quickly and quietly. She switched boxes deftly. She retreated undetected. On the way out of the store, she left Mrs. Crump’s box of oatmeal on the shelf from which it had come. She wondered if Senorita Fogarty would be lucky enough to get a whack at sex before breakfast. Not really having anything personal against Senorita, she hoped so.

And so it had been for Hester, when Lester arrived late in the afternoon, a pleasant and profitable double-lap of the clock. She was relaxed and hopeful and in good humor. Lester, on the other hand, was naturally depressed and desperate, and he rather resented Hester’s disgusting optimism, which he considered fatal at the worst and Pollyannaish at the best

“What the devil’s the matter with you?” he said as he entered.

“Nothing’s the matter,” she said. “Nothing at all. The truth is, I’m feeling exceptionally well, in spite of getting very little sleep last night.”

“You may think that nothing’s the matter, but there is, and I am here to tell you what.”

“What?”

“Just wait till you hear.”

“Is it necessary to wait? Why can’t you just go ahead and tell me?”

Lester had folded into a chair, but he got up again immediately and began to pace the floor and snap his fingers.

“Crump has bought a stud,” he said.

“Well, what’s so unexpected about that? We knew that a stud was intended.”

“Damn it, Hester, I wish you wouldn’t be so philosophical about everything. What was intended is different from what has been done. I tell you that Crump has already bought the filthy little beast, and he is at this moment taking him home to Senorita Fogarty on the bus.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw him, that’s how. Pearl and I followed him in the MG, and he went out to this kennel and bought the stud. He’s carrying him home in a cage with a handle on it.”

“In that case, there is obviously nothing to be done about it. The stud must be accepted.”

“I suppose a litter of pups must be accepted too?”

“Not at all. As I explained before, there is quite an extended period of time, due to gestation, between sex and pups.”

“Nevertheless, I am convinced that no time should be wasted. Senorita Fogarty’s oatmeal must be poisoned at once, even if it means my having to attempt it myself.”

“Fortunately for all of us, that won’t be necessary.”

“Why won’t it?”

“Because I have already thought of a way to do it. In fact, while you were running around getting excited about studs, I have accomplished it.”

“The hell you have!” Lester stared at Hester in disbelief. “How did you manage it?”

“That’s my secret. It only required a little ingenuity and effort.”

“Oh, come on, Hester. Tell me how.”

“I won’t do it. Why should I? If you had had any talent yourself, you’d have thought of a way of your own.”

“Are you lying? You better hadn’t be. There’s no time for that.”

“Think as you please. As for me, although I have done a service for all of us, I expect no credit.”

Lester, convinced, folded into the chair again and looked at Hester with his expression of skepticism changing to admiration and wonder.

“All right, Hester. No one denies that you are especially clever at thinking up things. At least you can tell me what you used. You mentioned arsenic as a possibility.”

“I changed my mind. I decided that cyanide would be more effective.”

“Where in the devil did you get cyanide?”

“At a hardware store.”

“Are you serious? I thought you had to buy something like that at a pharmacy at least, and sign for it at that.”

“What you do with your brain, Lester, cannot properly be called thinking at all. As a matter of fact, you can buy cyanide at the hardware store simply by asking for it. All you have to do is buy it in peanuts or something.”

“In peanuts!”

“Certainly. For moles and rats and things. All we need do now is wait for Senorita Fogarty to have breakfast. I wonder if we will be required to go to her funeral. I must say that I hope not, but as Grandfather’s first heir, she will probably rate it.”

“Hester, you have taken a great load off my mind.” Lester sighed and stretched his legs and felt hopeful for the first time since when. “Do you happen to have a drink around the place?”

12

If one can expect an ailing patient to be put under treatment without excessive delay, one should also be able to expect a quick report of the patient’s death if the treatment is fatal. The trouble was, Hester didn’t get any report. So far as she knew, Senorita Fogarty continued to live, replete with sex and gorged with cyanide peanuts. It wasn’t natural or reasonable, and Hester wondered why.

Perhaps, she thought, the oatmeal diet had been abandoned even before it started. If so, it was damned deceptive of the Crumps and just showed you how thoroughly unreliable they were. They had been instrumental in putting Hester to a great deal of time and trouble, conceiving and executing her plan and all, and it was simply infuriating to think that it might all go for nothing. It was more hopeful to sustain a little longer, if possible, the conviction that the diet had merely been postponed temporarily, for one reason or another, and would shortly be imposed.

Or maybe it hadn’t been postponed at all. Maybe it had been imposed immediately with all the results that could reasonably be expected from a cyanide breakfast. This was Hester’s second thought, and it shook her up. Was Senorita Fogarty indeed deceased? Could it be that the Crumps, with peasantlike cunning, were with-holding the truth in an effort to prolong their plush condition?

Once it had occurred to her, there was simply no living with the thought in peace and patience. It was imperative that she find out at once if it were true or not, and she began to seek the best way to do it. She thought at first that she would squeal to old Brewster, thus rousing his suspicions and launching an investigation, but it didn’t take her long to reject this plan as untenable. For one thing, it was far too risky. Old Brewster, having a legal mind addicted to a nasty kind of logic, would certainly want to know what made her think Senorita Fogarty might be dead, and this could invoke embarrassing questions and unfortunate answers.

Having rejected Brewster, she thought of employing a spy. An inventory of spies available, however, revealed no one but Uncle Homer, Aunt Madge, Flo, Junior, and Lester, not necessarily in the order of their availability or competence. As a matter of fact, when it came to competence, it didn’t make a penny’s worth of difference what order they were in. Lester had already demonstrated a pitiable incapacity for seduction or sedition or anything useful, and there was no rational reason to believe that any of the others were any better.

Finally, on the principle that what is done is best done by oneself, she dressed for the street and walked to the neighborhood of Grandfather’s house. She did not repeat Lester’s error of making a bold approach, however. This would have entailed an encounter with Mrs. Crump, and Hester’s assets, which were considerable, were not the kind that were most effective with the distaff side. Her chances of eliciting anything of consequence in the way of damaging admissions were better by far with Crump himself, and it was her intention to catch him abroad on an errand. It was some forty-eight hours after the oatmeal switch when she took up a position at the corner of the block, and almost forty-nine when her patience was rewarded. The door of Grandfather’s house opened and closed, and sure enough, here came Crump.

But not Crump alone. Prancing ahead of him at the end of a leash in revolting nudity was no one but Senorita Fogarty. Hester’s heart, beginning to sink, had a momentary lift. Was it actually Senorita, or was it the stud? Watching Crump and the Chihuahua approach, Hester leaned forward a little to the side to achieve an adequate angle of vision, and her heart went on sinking. The difference between a bitch and a stud is not hard to detect, even in Chihuahuas, and this was no exception. It was Senorita Fogarty, all right, as offensive as ever and certainly alive.

Crump, being near-sighted, did not recognize Hester until he was almost abreast. Then he swerved and stopped and took a closer hold on the leash. Alarm and suspicion were apparent in his expression, but there was also a portion of something warmer. Instinct and experience made him wary, but his wariness, complete and truculant where Lester had been concerned, was somewhat modified for Hester. In brief, Crump had an eye, however defective, for a pretty girl.

“Hello, Crump,” said Hester. “Walking Senorita, I see.”

“So I am,” Crump said, as if prepared to defend his right.

“She looks very lively, I must say.”

“Why shouldn’t she?”

“No reason at all. On the contrary. You’re taking excellent care of her, Crump. I can see that. Grandfather would be pleased.”

“That’s more than can be said for some people I know.”

“You mean Uncle Homer? He has behaved badly, I admit.”

“Not only him.”

“Well, we were naturally disappointed. Surely you can forgive us that.”

“Maybe yes. Maybe no. It depends.”

“You’re justified in being skeptical, Crump, but I for one am prepared to be amiable.”

“We’ll see.”

“That’s fair enough. You may be surprised to discover how amiable I can be with the proper person.” This was a bold stroke, possibly abortive, and Hester did not press it. “As you see, I was just on my way to make a call on you.”

“In the middle of the morning? That seems a queer time to come calling.”

“I didn’t think of that. I guess it’s because I’m used to running in and out of Grandfather’s old house at all hours.”

“If you’re going to the house now, you’d better be careful. Mrs. Crump’s in a bad humor.”

“I’ve changed my mind about going to the house. I’d much rather walk along with you.”

“With me? Why?”

“Can’t you guess? You’re much too modest. To be candid, you have a much warmer personality than Mrs. Crump.”

“That may be. Almost anyone has a warmer personality than Mrs. Crump.”

“Do you mind having me with you? I’d love to come.”

“I guess it can’t do any harm.”

So Hester reversed directions and walked along. Senorita Fogarty trotted ahead. Crump seemed suddenly a little straighter, even his legs.

“Where are we going?” said Hester.

“To the park,” said Crump.

“That’s nice. It will be pleasant sitting together on a park bench, won’t it? We can talk.”

“Senorita likes to play on the grass and watch the kids.”

“Surely you don’t let her off the leash.”

“Not much. On the leash she is, on the leash she stays.”

“That’s wise. She is much too valuable a dog to let loose.”

“She is that. I’m ever mindful of it.”

“I’ll hold the leash for a while if you want me to.”

“Holding it’s no trouble. I’ll do it myself.”

“Isn’t that the park down there?”

“It is. As you see, it’s only a short piece.”

“I used to play here once in a while when I was a little girl.”

“I know. I remember.”

“It seems a long time ago, doesn’t it?”

“Not long. Like yesterday. It probably seems long to you, young as you are.”

“You’re not so old yourself.”

“Old enough.”

They turned into the park, just a square city block reserved for kids and dogs and anyone else with time to kill. There were gravel walks and grass and green benches. There was even a tiny pond with a pair of ducks afloat on it. Hester and Crump sat on one of the benches, Crump securing Senorita’s leash to a front leg of it. Hester sat close, and Crump, after a start, sat fast. Experimentally, Hester touched his leg now and then with her near knee.

“Would Mrs. Crump object if she knew we were sitting here together?” she said.

“You can believe she would.”

“Why? Does she have a jealous disposition?”

“I’d say so.”

“I can’t understand why. She must feel uncertain of herself because you look so much younger than she does.”

“Oh, now. I’m no cause for jealousy.”

“Perhaps you just think you’re not. Was Mrs. Crump beautiful when you married her?”

“I can’t remember that she was. Then or any time since.”

“How surprising! I’d have sworn she probably was.”

“Why?”

“Because you must have been the kind of man who attracted beautiful women.”

“I never noticed it. If I ever had the knack, I’ve lost it.”

“That’s absurd. Don’t you think I’m beautiful?”

“I do. There’s no doubt about it.”

Crump was perspiring freely. He shot a look sidewise at Hester who was close enough for even his myopia, and tenaciously held his place on the bench. Hester gently nudged him with her knee.

“Well, then, you see? It’s absurd to say you’ve lost the knack. You’ve only grown more distinguished looking. It’s a shame, really, that Mrs. Crump has not been able to keep up with you.”

This clearly opened such gaudy prospects to Crump that he could contain himself no longer. He unfastened the end of Senorita Fogarty’s leash and stood up in a state approaching agitation.

“Speaking of Mrs. Crump,” he said, “I’d better go. She’ll be looking for me.”

“Must you? So soon?”

“I’d better. She doesn’t like me to keep Senorita out too long.”

“I’d walk back with you, but I’m afraid she might see us.”

“So she might You better hadn’t.”

“I’d like to sit here with you again, however. Do you come every morning?”

“If it’s fair.”

“I may make a practice of it myself. Would you like that?”

“It’s a public park. Everyone’s welcome.”

“Wouldn’t I be just a tiny bit more welcome than just anyone?”

“I won’t say you wouldn’t.”

“That’s better. Will you tell me your first name? If I ever knew it I must have forgotten.”

“It’s Chester.”

He said it over his shoulders, departing, and Hester walked across the small park and out the other side with the intention of returning home and taking a hot bath. She had made appreciable progress, she thought, at a considerable sacrifice.

13

The hot bath, as it turned out, was delayed. Arriving home, Hester found her apartment in possession of an occupation force. It had been invaded, in fact, by every member of her family, including Aunt Madge. She felt that the tactics employed had been unfair, constituting a breach of privacy at least, and her first inclination, which she suppressed, was to throw them out immediately.

“What are you doing here?” she said. “Why is it that I can’t come home after a hard morning without finding my apartment infested by practically everyone?”

“You mustn’t be rude, darling,” Flo said. “We only came to consult you because you are so clever and have the best ideas about what to do about things.”

“I’m beginning to wonder about that,” said Lester. “I have been abused from the beginning for my incompetence, but I haven’t noticed any better results from anyone else. Hester, what has happened to the cyanide peanuts? Surely it doesn’t take two days for a dog to die from a dose of cyanide.”

“Never mind the cyanide peanuts. I’m investigating that in my own way. Furthermore, Lester, I want to commend you for the way you keep a secret. I told you about the peanuts in confidence, and you have plainly blabbed to everyone.”

“I did not. No such thing. I only told Mother.”

“And I only told Homer,” Flo said.

“As for me,” said Uncle Homer, “I have no secrets from my wife.”

“Nor I,” said Aunt Madge, “from Junior.”

“When it comes to that,” Uncle Homer said, “I’m inclined to believe that Junior himself should be kept a secret.”

“Well,” said Hester, “I just hope that all this natural candor doesn’t impel someone to confide in old Brewster or the police or someone who might cause all kinds of trouble.”

“Speaking of peanuts,” Junior said, “I’m hungry. Hester, do you have anything around the place for lunch?”

“No, I don’t, unless you count gin.”

“I count it,” said Uncle Homer.

“Junior,” Hester said, ignoring Uncle Homer’s blatant hint, “why don’t you stand up? How the hell do you expect me to sit down when there is no place left to sit?”

“Darling,” said Flo, “there would be plenty of places if you didn’t leave things thrown everywhere. I’m bound to say that you are not a very good housekeeper. You should try to be a little more tidy.”

Junior stood up and cleared a place and sat down in it. Hester sat down where Junior had been.

“Now,” she said, “I would like to know exactly why everyone is here. I’m the only one who has done anything constructive so far about Grandfather’s will, and I’m still working at it, but I can’t accomplish anything if I’m expected to make reports constantly and get harassed at every turn.”

“I told you, darling,” Flo said. “We have come to consult you because you’re clever. We all admit it, and it was only pique on Lester’s part to even think of questioning it. We would like to know, however, why we have not been notified of Senorita Fogarty’s death. Homer called this morning to ask me if I’d heard anything, and I hadn’t, so we all decided to come here and discuss it with you. Who would have dreamed that you’d be up and gone at such an hour?”

“How the hell did you get in?”

“I let us in,” Lester said. “The last time you loaned me your key, I took the liberty of having a duplicate made. You never know when something like that will come in handy.”

“That’s true. You never know, either, when you may be shot for trespassing.”

“Don’t talk like that, Hester. I do wish you wouldn’t.”

“Yes, darling,” said Flo. “The poor dear is already being sufficiently threatened from certain quarters. It’s cruel of you to add to his worries.”

“I believe that the immediate problem is the elimination of Senorita Fogarty,” Uncle Homer said, “not of each other. Hester, the most distressing possibility has occurred to me. It has occurred to me that your ingenious little plan may have worked to perfection, and that Crump, the scoundrel, is keeping the death from the proper authorities.”

“I’m way ahead of you. I thought of that first thing, but it isn’t so.”

“What makes you so sure? That Crump is a stealthy, conniving old devil who is capable of any chicanery.”

“I’m sure because I saw Senorita Fogarty only this morning. Crump had her on a leash. He took her to a park for fresh air and exercise.”

“Did she appear to be under the weather?”

“No, she didn’t, now that you mention it. She seemed to be in the best of health. Maybe she made such a rapid recovery that Mrs. Crump decided to suspend the oatmeal diet.”

“In that case, perhaps she has suspended sex, too.”

“It isn’t likely, unfortunately. Sex is not so easily suspended as oatmeal. We know that Crump laid out good money for a stud, and he will certainly try to realize something from his investment. At any rate, I can’t imagine Senorita Fogarty simply giving him up, now that he has been made available.”

“Say!” said Lester. “Maybe it was the stud you saw. Are you sure it wasn’t?”

“Oh, Lester, try not to be so obtuse. Don’t you think I can tell the difference between a bitch and a stud? I don’t mind admitting, if you want to know the truth, that I am losing patience with all of you. It is too early to give up on the oatmeal, for Senorita Fogarty may have a relapse yet, and in the meanwhile I am working on an alternative plan that will be put into effect if it becomes necessary.”

“What alternate plan?” said Lester.

“That’s for me to know. I have learned that it’s bad policy to confide in blabbermouths. In my opinion, you should all be doing something to help yourself instead of simply waiting for me to do everything for you. Mother, it was suggested some time ago that you cultivate old Brewster to see if anything could be done to corrupt him. Have you done the least thing about it?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Flo. “I just haven’t been able to bring myself to it.”

“Well, its all very well to be finicky, I suppose, especially if you can leave it to me to be otherwise. There are degrees of corruption, after all. It may not be necessary to reduce old Brewster to his underwear or less, but at least you could try to put him in a friendly state of mind so that he wouldn’t be suspicious of every little mishap that Senorita Fogarty encounters.”

“Flo, I agree,” Uncle Homer said. “It’s the least you could do.”

“Have you done anything yet, Homer?” said Flo. “If so, what?”

“As the senior member of the family,” Junior said, “Father drinks gin and devises ways to slaughter Brewster.”

“Junior,” said Aunt Madge, “you shouldn’t say things like that about your father, even when they’re true.”

“He’s an insolent whelp,” Uncle Homer said. “He shows absolutely no respect.”

“Worse than that,” Hester said, “he shows absolutely no brains or initiative. Junior, you are certainly the worst of the lot. So far as I know, you have done nothing about anything, and in my opinion it is high time you were doing something.”

“I can’t think of anything to do,” Junior said. “You always think of everything first.”

“That’s because I have something to think with.”

“Think of something for me, then. I’d be willing to do something if only someone would tell me what.”

“Well, it will have to be something relatively simple, and I think I know just the thing. It is extremely important now that we keep as close watch as possible on Senorita Fogarty, and you are the one to do it. In Grandfather’s back yard there is an old garden house which you can approach from the rear without being seen, if you are careful. From there, you can observe the back of the house and report what goes on in the back yard, especially between Senorita Fogarty and the stud.”

“Do you mean that I’m expected to hide in a garden house and spy on the orgies of two Chihuahuas?”

“You see? There you go first thing. I suggest something useful for you to do, and you immediately begin trying to get out of it.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, but someone will have to bring me a hot lunch.”

“Oh, don’t be absurd. It isn’t necessary for you to be on duty all day long. Crump takes Senorita Fogarty to the park in the mornings, and so I would suggest an hour or two in the afternoon as being best for observation.”

“All right,” said Junior, “but I may not be able to make it every afternoon.”

“I don’t see why not,” Uncle Homer said. “You never do anything else.”

“That’s that, then. Junior will spy, and I will develop my alternate plan, and Mother can work on old Brewster, if she will, and for the rest of you, it must be a period of watchful waiting.” Hester stood up in what was clearly a movement of dismissal. “And now I am going to take a hot bath, as I intended to do before.”

“If you like,” said Junior, “I’ll come and scrub your back.”

“Control yourself, Junior,” Aunt Madge said. “Hester, it’s shameless of you to incite him so.”

“He’s a hopeless bounder,” said Uncle Homer. “He’s as insatiable as Crump’s stud.”

Hester walked into the bedroom and closed the door. Pretty soon there was the sound of water running into the tub. Flo sighed and stood up.

“Hester’s a brilliant girl, but obstinate,” she said. “I can tell you right now that she won’t come out until we are gone, and so we may as well go.”

“First,” said Uncle Homer, “I believe I’ll just look around and see if I can locate a drink of gin.”

14

After a full month of devising ingenious schemes for slaughtering Brewster, who was hardly more guilty of any offense than Senorita Fogarty herself, Uncle Homer was full to his gills with furies and frustrations, as well as, most of the time, gin. During this time, he was posted sporadically on current events by Hester, who had apparently worked out a method of observing Crump and Senorita in the mornings, and by Junior, engaged in desultory espionage in the afternoons. It must be stated that there was, on the whole, very little to report, and practically nothing of an optimistic character.

According to Hester, Senorita Fogarty was, to all appearances, sustaining a state of disgusting health. The only cheerful note in this was the incidental intelligence that she was also sustaining an apparent state of maidenhood, if not chastity. Uncle Homer knew little about dogs in general and less about Chihuahuas in particular, but he supposed that Senorita’s temporary immunity to motherhood had something to do with periods of heat, which Senorita was presumably in and out of on a peculiar schedule of some sort. He also played hopefully with the idea of sterility, but he had no faith in it.

The afternoon espionage added little to Uncle Homer’s sum of knowledge. The period of Junior’s duty corresponded exactly to the time during which he had previously taken an after-lunch nap, and Uncle Homer soon began to suspect that he had merely transferred the practice from bedroom to garden house. The boy was as empty of pertinent intelligence as a bass drum.

Anyhow, fretting from ignorance and inactivity, a condition which did not ordinarily disturb him, Uncle Homer decided at last to do something on his own. After all, he was the head of the family, and it was his right, even his duty, to participate in family affairs. It was all well enough to put matters for the most part into the hands of clever youngsters like Hester, but they needed, in the long run, the stability and sagacity of age and experience. The only trouble was that Uncle Homer, like Junior, didn’t know what to do. On the basis of age and experience, supported by gin, he tried to decide, and the best decision he could reach, after serious thought, was to call on the Crumps and observe personally whatever was to be observed.

Having reached the decision, he prepared himself, along about the cocktail hour one afternoon, and went. He was uncertain of his reception, inasmuch as he had made himself persona non grata by his rash threats against Crump’s life, but he depended upon his family status to gain him admission and perhaps a drink, although he doubted the latter concession seriously, and was resigned to a brief draught. At any rate, polished and primed, he was shortly prodding the bell at the front door of Grandfather Hunter’s hideous stack, and so it came to pass, as the old tales have it, that it was no one but he, Uncle Homer Hunter himself, who encountered the first big break in the trying case, and carried away, in due time, the first stupendous news.

The door was opened to him, not by Crump or Mrs. Crump, but by a seedy little man, somewhat resembling a spider covered with cobwebs, who had a stethoscope hanging from his ears. This was, Uncle Homer knew, Sigmund Quinn, M. D., Grandfather Hunter’s personal physician for about forty years, and he removed the stethoscope from his ears and peered at Uncle Homer, whose heart had leaped with sudden hope, forgetful of the fact that Dr. Quinn was not a veterinarian.

“Well, Dr. Quinn,” Uncle Homer said, “what brings you here? Nothing critical, I trust.”

“It’s Homer, isn’t it? Come in, come in. Don’t just stand there ringing the infernal bell. Come in.”

Uncle Homer entered, removing his hat and discarding his stick in the hall.

“Is someone ill?” he said.

“No,” said Quinn.

“I see. You are merely making a social call on the Crumps.”

“Don’t be an ass. People who are making social calls don’t presume to answer doorbells. Why the devil should I make a social call on the Crumps?”

Uncle Homer didn’t know and was forced to admit it. Curiosity demanded an explanation of Quinn’s presence, however, and Uncle Homer tried to phrase a discreet question that remained unspoken, being anticipated.

“Someone’s dead,” Quinn said.

Uncle Homer nearly staggered. Dedicated to the elimination of Senorita Fogarty, he assumed rashly that it was she who had died, stoked at last with cyanide peanuts. It would be just like the Crumps, considering Senorita’s position and importance, to insist upon the best medical attendant, and just like them, moreover, to assume that old Quinn was it, or anything like it. Thus deluded by hope, he was deserted by sagacity.

“Too bad,” Uncle Homer said. “She never quite recovered from Father’s death. Grieved constantly, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. In fact, I don’t believe it. Not for an instant.”

“It’s quite true. Literally wasted away. Mrs. Crump, I believe, was considering a diet of sex and oatmeal.”

“Homer, you’re an unmitigated ass. Always were and always will be. Who in tarnation are you talking about?”

“Who’s dead?” said Uncle Homer, suddenly wary.

“Mrs. Crump.”

“Mrs. Crump!”

“Certainly. I keep telling you. Went instantly. Dropped over like that.” Dr. Quinn snapped his fingers to illustrate the way Mrs. Crump had dropped over. “She and Crump were having tea at the time.”

Uncle Homer, who had gone cold with the thought of an unfortunate possibility, felt himself warming up again. After all, one did not, whatever else one did with it, put oatmeal into a cup of tea.

“How sad,” he said. “And what a shock to poor old Crump, having her go just when they were having tea.”

“Tea,” said Dr. Quinn, “and oatmeal cookies.”

Uncle Homer, now having hot and cold flashes, wished desperately that he had his stick back to lean upon.

“Did Crump,” he said, “have oatmeal cookies too?”

“I think not. Crump is a man of low tastes, admittedly, but he hardly shared Mrs. Crump’s depravity in such matters.” Dr. Quinn’s eyes narrowed and he leaned toward Uncle Homer as if he were going to ask him to stick out his tongue. “Are you suggesting foul play on Crump’s part?”

The last thing Uncle Homer wanted was to suggest foul play on the part of anyone, and so he made haste to deny it.

“No, no. Nothing of the sort Where is Crump, by the way?”

“In the library. I’ve been trying to talk some sense into him. The man’s a mule, that’s what. An absolute mule.”

“Crump’s an obstinate old devil. I’ve always said so. What’s got his back up now?”

“The autopsy. He absolutely will not listen to reason on the subject.”

“Autopsy!” The horror of that prospect was instantly discernible in Uncle Homer’s voice. “What’s this about an autopsy?”

“I want one. A woman drops dead, you want to know why. Especially if she’s as big as a circus horse and twice as strong. I suspect her liver. I’d give a farm for a good look at that woman’s liver.”

“Well, I’m not a doctor and have no professional opinion, but it seems to me that dropping dead over a tea cup would make you suspicious of her heart.”

“Nonsense! That’s just the kind of addleheaded assumption I should have expected from you, Homer. There’s far too much of that sort of thing. Everything’s blamed on the heart. Someone drops dead, blame it on the heart. Doctors are expected to scratch out a death certificate and forget it. Take the easy way out. I maintain that the heart is often innocent. Something else is frequently to blame. Frequently.”

“Crump refuses his permission?”

“Adamantly. He’s balking like a mule, I tell you. Do you think you could make him listen to reason?”

“No, no. No chance. Crump and I are not on easy terms.”

“Try. Come on in the library and give it a try. Weight of opinion, you know. It might have some effect.”

“My opinion would weigh on the other side.”

“What’s that? Homer, I hope you are not even a bigger ass than I thought.”

“Crump’s right. Why do you want to butcher the damn woman?”

“Damn it, Homer, an operating room is not a slaughter house. We’d patch her up as neat as hemstitching.”

“Nevertheless, I can’t see any justification for your morbid desire to go poking around inside of her. It’s abnormal.”

“I just told you. I want a close look at her liver.”

“Leave her liver in peace. That’s my advice.”

“You know what you can do with your advice, Homer. Why the devil am I standing here wasting time with you? What do you want? Tell me immediately why you are here.”

“I came to call on the Crumps, that’s why.”

“Nonsense. Why should you call on a dead woman?”

“How the hell would I know Mrs. Crump was dead? To the best of my knowledge, she was in top condition.”

“Did you come here to create trouble, Homer? I warn you that it won’t work.”

“Well, I can see that there is no use in talking any longer with you. You’re as obstinate as Crump himself. I’ll just go into the library and offer my condolences and be on my way.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Crump is contrary enough without your support. I am in authority here, Homer. If you know what’s good for you, you will leave at once without causing further dissension.”

So saying, Dr. Quinn turned and scurried down the hall to the library, slamming the door behind him. Uncle Homer, relieved at having his escape forced upon him, recovered his stick and scurried the other way. On the street, he turned without hesitation in the direction of Hester’s apartment. There was no doubt in his mind that Hester’s cyanide peanuts had gone astray, winding up by way of Mrs. Crump’s oatmeal cookies in Mrs. Crump’s stomach, and it was therefore fair and imperative for Hester to be informed of events with all dispatch. He had a strong and uneasy feeling that things were getting out of hand. If old Quinn were allowed access to Mrs. Crump’s liver, he might decide in the process to have an incidental look at Mrs. Crump’s stomach, and that could be troublesome, to say the least. Everything depended, indeed, upon Crump’s mulish qualities. The man must be encouraged to stand firmly on his convictions, and that was all there was to it. Unless, of course, old Quinn could persuade the proper authorities to secure a court order or something. Uncle Homer had a vague notion that this was quite possible, but it seemed to him an extreme action just to insure a look at a liver, however unusual.

At Hester’s apartment building, he took the stairs and arrived panting at Hester’s door. The response to his imperious ringing was so long delayed that he was about to give up and go away when the door was opened to reveal Hester on the other side. It was immediately obvious why Hester had been so late in reaching the door, for she had had to wake up and put on something, though not much, before coming. It was also obvious that she was not in the best of humors.

“Is that you, Uncle Homer?” she said. “I’m all out of gin, and so you had just as well go away.”

She started to close the door, but Uncle Homer neatly inserted a foot in the crack.

“Let me in, Hester. Something dreadful has happened.”

“Don’t try any tricks, Uncle Homer. You are always exaggerating and upsetting people over nothing.”

“It’s no trick, Hester. Please let me in.”

“First, tell me what has happened.”

“Mrs. Crump is dead.”

“You see? You are exaggerating as usual. What is so dreadful about Mrs. Crump’s being dead?”

“She died,” said Uncle Homer, “while eating an oatmeal cookie.”

Hester peered at Uncle Homer closely, to see if this was just an elaboration of the trick, and then she stepped back from the door, making way for Uncle Homer to enter.

“That’s different,” she said, “and may justify prompt consideration. How do you know?”

“Because I’ve just come from Father’s house,” Uncle Homer said, clearing a chair and collapsing in it. “Old Dr. Quinn let me in and told me all about it. Is it true that you have no gin?”

“Never mind the gin, damn it. Just tell me about the oatmeal cookies.”

“Mrs. Crump was eating one with her tea, and she dropped over dead.”

“Well, if that’s not the most unpredictable and absurd thing I’ve ever heard of! Who would have expected her to share the damn dog’s oatmeal? How’s Crump?”

“Crump’s unscathed. Apparently he doesn’t care for oatmeal cookies.”

“Very sensible of him, I must say. Did you talk with him?”

“No. Old Quinn has him in isolation.”

“Whatever for? Cyanide peanuts may be fatal, but they are hardly contagious.”

“That’s not the point, Hester. Old Quinn doesn’t know anything about the cyanide peanuts. He suspects Mrs. Crump’s liver, and he wants to look at it.”

“You mean he wants to open her up and go snooping around inside?”

“Exactly. He’s been trying to bully Crump into giving his permission.”

“What’s Crump’s position?”

“He’s against it.”

“Quite rightly. Uncle Homer, you should have encouraged him.”

“I couldn’t get to him. Old Quinn doesn’t want him subjected to influence. He’s a tyrannical old scoundrel, Quinn is. We can only hope that Crump stands fast.”

“Uncle Homer, you might have tried a little harder. This could develop into a very serious business, if you ask me. Things could become unpleasant at least, even though everything is Mrs. Crump’s own fault.”

“Somehow, if things come to the worst, I doubt that that will be the official viewpoint.”

“Well, she had absolutely no business making cookies out of Senorita Fogarty’s oatmeal. I don’t suppose you made the slightest effort to steal the cookies and bring them away.”

“How could I? They were in the library with Crump, and I wasn’t permitted to enter.”

“In my opinion, you are far too easily intimidated. At least you could have slipped into the kitchen and appropriated the rest of the oatmeal.”

“To tell the truth,” said Uncle Homer, “I didn’t think of it.”

Hester curled up on the end of the sofa with her feet under her and her knees out. She was clearly thinking fiercely about developments, and Uncle Homer, uneasily aware that he had acquitted himself with less than distinction in a crisis, waited in silence and longed for gin.

“Well,” said Hester at last, “I have had to think and act for everybody from the beginning, and it’s now apparent that I must think and act for myself. In the meanwhile, let’s hope that neither Quinn nor Crump gets hungry enough to eat oatmeal cookies.”

15

Apparently neither Quinn nor Crump did. Indeed, the only threat to the life of either developed naturally from their dispute over the autopsy. The former was threatened by apoplexy, and the latter was threatened by the former. Crump, however, was superb. Under the most intense pressure, his adamantine resistance to the butchery of Mrs. Crump remained unshaken, and Quinn was eventually forced to capitulate. Unprepared to commit himself to the dark suspicions that would have hauled in the cops and a court order, he put the blame on Mrs. Crump’s heart after all, and was thus deprived of a look at her liver and the chance to make a substantial contribution to the sum of medical knowledge.

On the whole, Crump took the passing of his mate with remarkable fortitude. It may be said, in fact, that he blossomed. An observant cynic would have said that he seemed to be relieved of a burden. It’s true that he behaved decorously so long as Mrs. Crump was laid out in the house, preserved for visitors in embalming fluid, but she had no sooner been transferred permanently to the cemetery than Crump emerged from his autumnal bud. There was a touch of spryness in his walk, an added sparkle to his eye. The very next morning after the last rites, he showed up in the park wearing a new sports coat with a giant check and a pair of pants with an ivy league cut. On the bench, while Senorita Fogarty frolicked on the grass at the end of her leash, he even exchanged with Hester sly nudges of the knee.

This was the same day that Junior came a cropper in the garden house. His duty there had been sporadic at best. It was onerous and unproductive, and he skipped it as often as he thought he could get away with it, which was more and more frequently as the days passed. Inasmuch as nothing was ever observed that seemed to him the least significant, all his reports were substantially the same, and it was a simple matter, he discovered, to falsify them. The passing of Mrs. Crump had made him hopeful that his espionage could be discontinued with official sanction, but he was given to understand by Hester, to whom he reported, that Mrs. Crump, alive or dead, was hardly a factor in the private sex life of Senorita and Crump’s stud.

“It must be private,” said Junior, “because I’ve never seen any sign of it. If you want to know what I think, I think Crump’s stud is an imposter.”

“Don’t be absurd. How could be a stud be an imposter? It’s against nature.”

“Well, a stud is supposed to do only one thing that I know of, and I’ve never seen him do it. I’ve never even seen him try. A stud that doesn’t act like a stud must be an imposter, that’s all I can say.”

He offered this as an irrefutable conclusion, having thought it through by the rules of logic in the form of a syllogism, but Hester was neither convinced nor impressed.

“How do you know he doesn’t try?” she said.

“I didn’t say he doesn’t. I said I’ve never seen him.”

“Maybe he’s just waiting until Senorita Fogarty is ready.”

“Damn it, you used to claim that Senorita is always ready. You know you did. It’s in her blood or something.”

“I’ve remembered since that dogs have certain times, regardless of blood. They’re different from humans that way.”

“However they are, I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life trying to find out. Anyhow, I’ll bet that Lester got all excited and made a mistake about the whole thing. I don’t believe there’s any stud there, or ever was one.”

“You’re trying to evade your plain duty, that’s all. Of course there’s a stud. Lester saw Crump bringing him home in a cage. Why on earth would you claim that there isn’t one?”

“I’ve told you and told you. Because I’ve never seen one.”

“You said you’ve never seen him trying. Are you saying now that you’ve never seen him at all?”

“That’s what.”

“Junior, you make no sense whatever. First you say baldly that Crumps stud is an imposter, and then you say that he doesn’t even exist How can he be an imposter if he doesn’t exist?”

“Well, I don’t want to get into any debate about it, because I wouldn’t have a chance, and I know it. All I can say is that it’s damn odd, to say the least, that old Crump never ties the stud out in the backyard with Senorita Fogarty.”

“Do you know what I think? I think you don’t even know who is tied in the backyard and who isn’t. Uncle Homer has said several times that you’re doing nothing in that garden house but taking after-lunch naps, and now I’m compelled to agree, although I have held out all along for giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

This was so near the truth, even though slightly exaggerated, that Junior was prompted immediately to swear to its falsity.

“Father’s nothing but a damn liar,” he said, “and that’s a fact. He’s always saying things like that about me for no good reason, and I’m tired of it.”

“All right. You needn’t get so belligerent about it. It has just occurred to me that Mrs. Crump may have been responsible for the stud’s absence from the backyard.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Mrs. Crump, you will recall, was delicate about sex and things like that. In fact, she was literally a mass of inhibitions. She would certainly have felt that the proper place for intimacy was in the house, and probably in a certain room with the blinds pulled and the door and all the windows locked.”

“That’s true, all right. Mrs. Crump was unreasonable in such matters.”

“Crump himself, however, may be something else entirely. I have cause to know that he has recently been shedding inhibitions like mad, and there’s no reason to believe that he would impose restrictions on Senorita Fogarty that he ignores himself.”

“What cause?” said Junior, getting directly to the crux.

“Never mind what cause. It is sufficient to know that Crump will probably alter the established routine and put Senorita and the stud in the backyard together. Therefore, Junior, it is more important than ever that you remain on duty. I’ll expect you to be at your post tomorrow afternoon as usual.”

“I don’t want to go. It gets damn dull in that garden house.”

“Junior, you will resort to anything to get out of doing your part. You will go whether you want to or not, or suffer the consequences. And stay awake. I warn you that I may decide to make a surprise inspection, and it will be too bad if I find you taking a nap.”

And so, under such duress, Junior had appeared in good time, shortly after lunch, at the iron picket fence at the rear of Grandfather’s property. He vaulted the fence and scooted across the yard to a huge oak tree some fifteen feet away, where he took cover. After loitering behind the trunk for a few minutes, to determine if he had been observed or not, he made a dash for the garden house, perhaps another ten feet up the yard, and plunged through its narrow entrance into its murky, octagonal protection. The garden house was small and gave Junior an uneasy sense of claustrophobia, as well as a strong feeling, should someone appear suddenly in the entrance, of being caught like a rat in a trap. He had tried once to estimate the interior dimensions, but this had quickly become far too complex for someone who didn’t have the least idea of how to compute the area of an octagon, and he had given it up in favor of napping, which was less demanding.

The walls of the garden house were constructed of diagonal slats that crossed each other in a fancy style to give the effect of loose weaving. This created little diamond-shaped apertures through which light filtered, but it was impossible for anyone outside to see anyone inside. Moreover, if the eye was applied closely to an appropriate aperture, a good view could be had of the back of the house and of the yard between. It was, in brief, an ideal post for a spy, and Junior, eye to aperture, spied in good faith for fully ten minutes.

After five, Crump appeared with Senorita Fogarty on a leash. He fastened the leash to something that had been driven into the ground, and returned to the house. Senorita watered the grass and lay down in the sunshine. Junior watched and waited, expecting Crump to return, but Crump didn’t. Neither Crump nor Crump’s stud. If Crump was adopting the attitude of a libertine, as Hester had implied, he had obviously not yet reached the point of granting equal license to Chihuahuas.

Well, it was clearly another dry run. In spite of Hester’s unreasonable insistence, nothing was to be gained from looking through holes at nothing. He had come against his better judgment, which had been vindicated, and no one could fairly say that he had failed to do his part. Besides, his back was beginning to ache from bending over to spy. He straightened and stretched and sat down on a seat that was nothing more than some boards, braced beneath, that had been fitted and attached to seven of the octagon’s eight sides. The seat was far from comfortable, and pretty soon he decided to lie down for a minute or two, assuming that even Hester would not object to such a minor relaxation of discipline. Each section of the seat was too short to permit stretching out straight, and so he had to bend in the middle to lie at an angle, his legs along one side of the octagon and his trunk along another. To accomplish this, he had to lie on his left side, and it just happened that he was a left-side-sleeper. The position affected him like a soporific, and in less than three minutes, in spite of petty discomforts and the threat of a surprise inspection, he was digesting his lunch and whistling through his nose in perfect peace.

Thus Crump caught him. Alerted by a thin whinney while he was in the act of retrieving Senorita Fogarty, Crump followed the sound to its source, and there was Junior, as described, and pathetically vulnerable. A sharp rap on the shin brought him up instantly to the dreadful apparition of Crump in the entrance. Crump was holding at the ready position some kind of wicked weapon that looked like a giant corkscrew, and it took several seconds of adjustment before Junior recognized it as the special stake, available at pet shops and department stores everywhere, to which Senorita Fogarty’s leash was secured when she was put out to graze.

“Get up!” said Crump. “Get up and out, you young son of a bitch!”

Crump’s choice of terms had the adhesive effect of pulling Junior together. Such strong language, he felt, was wholly indefensible, and it put him, somehow, in a more favorable position. It was not that Junior was particularly sensitive about insults to Aunt Madge. It was merely that there were certain folk, after all, who lacked the status to be insulting. Crump, in short, had gone too far.

“Who are you calling a son of a bitch, you old son of a bitch?” he said.

“You know who. You’re who. What are you doing in my garden house?”

“Your garden house! Crump, you are an intolerable old scoundrel, and that’s for sure. It’s Grandfather’s garden house, and I have a perfect right to take a nap in it if I please.”

“Not while it’s in my custody, you don’t. You’re trespassing, that’s what, and if you don’t get out at once, I’ll run you through.”

He brandished the giant corkscrew, and Junior, having no desire to be opened like a bottle of champagne, backed away and began to sidle around the octagon. Out and away was what he wanted, and he had some idea of slipping past Crump and getting there as fast as possible.

“Back off, Crump!” he said. “Stab me with that infernal thing, and you’ll be in more trouble than you can handle.”

“You’re a spy, that’s what you are. You came here to spy on me, and I know it. I’ve got the right to stab a spy on my own property.”

Junior, now in position to spurt past Crump and escape, did not linger to debate either rights or ownership. With a sudden shout, calculated to distract Crump and disrupt any planned attack, he spurted and escaped. Vaulting the back fence, he trotted around the block to the street that passed in front of Grandfather’s house, thankful to be free and unperforated. He was not yet out of danger, however, for along the sidewalk, walking swiftly from the direction of Grandfather’s house, came Hester. Junior did not see her until they had come almost together at the corner, and so it was too late to retreat and take cover, as he would have otherwise have done. She was carrying, he noticed, a large leather handbag that seemed to be bulging with something.

“Junior,” she said, “why are you trotting around the block? Aren’t you supposed to be on duty in the garden house? Go to your post at once.”

“I’ve been there,” he said.

“Well, then, go back.”

“I can’t. Crump caught me, and I was lucky to escape with my life.”

“In my opinion, it would have been no great loss to anybody if you hadn’t. How did he happen to catch you? Were you sleeping again?”

“Not at all,” he said, making a King’s X behind his back. “Crump slipped up behind me, the crafty old devil, and had me cornered before I knew it.”

“Junior, I might have known that you would make a mess of things. You are incapable of completing the simplest assignment successfully. Well, you are of no use here any longer, and so you had just as well come along with me.”

He fell in beside her, and they walked along. Her treatment of him had not been nearly so severe as he had feared, and she appeared to be, actually, in quite a good humor.

“What are you doing here?” he said. “Were you on the way to inspect me?”

“No. I went to Crump’s, but he didn’t answer. I guess he was out in the back yard.”

“Why would you go to Crump’s?”

“Why not? Crump and I are on very good terms these days.”

“Oh, come off, Hester. Crump is not on good terms with anyone.”

“That’s what you think.”

“What did you want to see him about?”

“If you must know, I wanted to try to hook something out of his kitchen. When he didn’t answer the door, I simply took the opportunity to walk in and help myself.”

“What did you hook?”

“I’m not telling.”

“Where is it? In your bag?”

“Yes, it is,” she said, “and it’s becoming quite heavy. Junior, if you had any manners, you’d offer to carry it for me.”

“Give it to me,” he said.

He took her bag, and pretty soon she took his arm. It made him feel as if they were conspirators, which they were, or lovers, which, unfortunately, they weren’t.

16

It had been ever so much easier than she had thought it would be. Indeed, the ease with which things had developed had quite restored her old self-confidence in such matters, and it just showed you that there really wasn’t much difference between what you could do successfully at forty-two and what you had done at twenty, except that you were naturally compelled to do it with older men. Not that it had gone as far now as it sometimes had then, but it was clearly not a question of intent or objective. It was merely a question of time. One simply slowed up a bit as one grew older.

The time, Flo thought, might be at hand. And she wondered, if it was, what she should do. Hester had assured her that it would be unnecessary to reduce old Brewster to his underwear, but nothing had been said, conversely, about being reduced by old Brewster to hers. He was, to be sure, a lively old shyster. It made her wonder what he had secretly been up to all these years. Because he did not drink or smoke or swear, she had assumed that he wasn’t interested in other forms of entertainment either, and this had been a mistake at best, and might turn out to be a tactical blunder.

It had all started, after she was goaded into it by Hester, with an invitation to lunch, instigated by Flo. In the beginning, Brewster had been the same cranky old devil as always, as sour and suspicious as an owl at noon, but he relented a little with the corned beef and cabbage, and by the time they had come to coffee, he was as loquacious and oily as if his cup were filled with gin. It was positively astonishing, the change in him. Or, if not the change, the revelation of his secret self. The man was, she saw, an absolute menace. Anyhow, she was into it, and had to go on, and after the luncheon there were other dates for this and that, and finally there had been, just day before yesterday, a trial assignation in his quarters, a sort of dry run to see how things might go with live ammunition. Or had it been? Brewster had made the supreme concession of serving her martinis while he had grape juice, and this had the effect of making her drunk while he remained sober, which was, as anyone could see, a risky situation. She did not wonder until later if he had arranged it on purpose, the sly old rake, and the big question was what had happened along toward the end when everything had gone foggy and couldn’t be remembered exactly afterward. Well, whatever it had been, it was all for the children, as well as for herself, and there was even, when you stopped to think, a kind of nobility in it. At any rate, Hester certainly couldn’t accuse her again of being a slacker.

Especially, she thought, after tonight Tonight there was a little dinner in Brewster’s quarters, and anyone with half a brain knows that little dinners in such circumstances frequently last until breakfast. She had thought twice about coming, but far too much had been gained to be lost now by an excess of propriety, and it wasn’t so much propriety, anyhow, as a reasonable fear that Brewster, abed, left his teeth on the dresser. Oh, well, it was too late now. She had just left the cab at the curb, and now she was in the elevator, which was stopping at the proper floor, and down the hall, just around the corner, was Brewster’s door.

At the door, she rang, but no one came, which was exasperating. Under the circumstances you would think that old Brewster would be eager, and consequently prompt. Perhaps, though, he was off somewhere in the apartment with a door closed, and did not hear the bell. She had suspected several times that he was somewhat deaf, and once, in a movie, had practically had to shout a diplomatic intimacy that she had meant to whisper. After ringing again without response, she turned the knob and opened the door, expecting to see soft lights and drawn drapes and other licentious arrangements. Instead, she saw nothing. The room was dark.

Reaching around the door jamb, she found a switch and turned on the ceiling lights. And now she was really exasperated, for it was instantly apparent that Brewster had made no arrangements at all, licentious or otherwise. It looked, in fact, like Flo would even have to do without her dinner. But her exasperation was not unqualified. Her feelings were, to be exact, ambivalent. She didn’t know whether to feel reprieved or offended.

Where could Brewster be? Obviously, wherever he was, it was elsewhere. Could he have forgotten about their date for dinner? Well, hardly. Flo was not ready by at least a decade to admit any such radical diminishment of her powers. Could he have been unavoidably detained somewhere by important legal business or something? This was possible, but surely, in that case, he would have phoned. Could he, being a deceptive and ornery old curmudgeon, have deliberately stood her up after craftily leading her on? Pride answered no. So did eros. Hers in the first instances, his in the second. He was not likely to abandon a program in which she was prepared, at some sacrifice, to perform in a style he had not known since when, if ever.

Should she, she asked herself, wait? She decided that she shouldn’t, and old Brewster could damn well whistle for his dinner, and for anything else he wanted and wasn’t going to get. One sacrifice was more than enough, even though it hadn’t actually got beyond a good intention. Before she left, though, she had better make a quick tour of the apartment, just to be sure that he wasn’t around somewhere after all. It would be just like him to have gone off for a nap, anticipating an exhausting evening, and to have slept right on without waking. Men as old as Brewster, while capable of periodic vitality, were notoriously short-winded in the long run.

With this in mind, she began her tour in the bedroom, walking there directly from the door, but Brewster wasn’t on the bed, or under it, or anywhere else in the room. Just to be methodical, she looked next in the bathroom, hoping earnestly that Brewster wasn’t lurking in there nude, which would have been, all in all, a more horrific and astonishing sight than it was to find him lying on the floor behind the sofa, which is where he was and where she found him when she returned to the living room.

It was a very queer place to take a nap, she thought.

She prodded him in a thigh with her toe, and decided that he was not napping, but dead.

It was unfortunate and somewhat sad, she thought, that he had died just when she was making life a little more interesting for him.

She bent closer, seeing the back of his head, and decided that he had not died at all, at least not without assistance, but had been killed.

She was naturally somewhat confused by this unexpected development, and she didn’t quite know what to do. Should she call a doctor? Or the police? Or both? Or neither? The first seemed unnecessary, and the second inadvisable. What seemed advisable, now that Brewster’s whereabouts had been established, was to put herself somewhere else as quickly as possible, and that’s what she did, or started to do, turning off the lights on her way out.

On the street, she found a cab and was going home in it when it occurred to her that she ought to be going, instead, to Hester’s. If anyone were at home, it would probably be only Lester, and Lester, although a dear boy, would be of no value in a crisis like this, and might actually, on the contrary, be a positive hindrance. Hester, however, was another proposition entirely. Hester was cool and clever and thought of things. Flo was about to lean forward and give the driver new directions, but she realized then that there was no justification for assuming that Hester would be at home this time of night, since she rarely was, and it would be better, on second thought, to call and find out before going there. If Hester were at home, she might even be prevailed upon to come to Flo’s instead of the other way around.

Hester, as it developed, was not at home. She was right at Flo’s all the time, which just shows you that it is possible for things to break good right in the middle of breaking bad. Hester and Lester, neither having anything better to do, were drinking gimlets and listening to recordings on the stereo. This wasn’t much to be doing, admittedly, but Hester, who had been busy, had simply neglected to make proper arrangements, and Lester, who had been in communication with King Louie again, couldn’t think of any other place that would be safer under the circumstances. When Flo entered, Hester rolled off her stomach and sat up on the floor, where she had been lying.

“Mother,” she said, “where have you been?”

“Hello, darling,” Flo said. “You can’t imagine how glad I am that you are here. I’ve been to dinner with a man.”

“In that case, why are you home so early? You must have eaten and run.”

“I ran without eating, to tell the truth, and that’s what I want to talk with you about!”

“There’s no good in talking with me about it. You simply have to run from some men, that’s all. Unless, of course, you choose to be agreeable. I must say, however, that most of them can at least wait until after dinner.”

“That’s not what I mean, Hester.” Flo sat down and took a deep breath and held it several seconds, which was a little trick she practiced to calm her nerves. “This man was hardly in a condition to make advances.”

“Why not? He must have been dead.”

“That’s exactly what he was. How on earth did you know?”

“Oh, come, Mother. Why must you exaggerate everything? Tell me the truth.”

“Hester, you can’t exaggerate death. It’s impossible.”

“What man are you talking about?”

“Willis Brewster.”

“Brewster!” Lester, who had been brooding silently to the accompaniment of a piano and a clarinet and a bass fiddle, turned his head and stared at Flo owl-eyed. “You mean you went to dinner with old Brewster!”

“That’s what I said. Lester, why don’t you listen? I’m not in a humor to repeat everything.”

“By God, it’s incredible. Why would you go to dinner with old Brewster? For that matter, why would anybody?”

“Well, it’s all the fault of you and Hester. You kept egging me on to corrupt him for the good of the family, and I’ve been trying. With surprising success, too, I might add.”

“We didn’t egg you on to have dinner with him. That’s a bit too much to ask of your own mother.”

“Oh, he wasn’t too bad, really. Quite lively and full of interesting ideas. Anyhow, Brewster is dead. I went to his apartment to have dinner, and there he is at this instant lying behind the sofa with his head knocked in.”

“His head knocked in!” said Hester. “Killed?”

“That’s what I said. Didn’t I? At least, I meant to say it.”

“Mother, don’t you have any restraint whatever? You didn’t have to go to the extreme of having dinner with old Brewster, as Lester said, but what’s more to the point, you didn’t have to kill him.”

“I didn’t kill him. Why should I?”

“For the same reason anyone else might have,” said Lester. “Because he was a sour old devil who frequently needed it.”

“However that may be, I didn’t do it.”

“If you didn’t,” Hester said, “who did?”

“I don’t know. Someone else.”

“I wonder,” Lester said, “if it could have been Uncle Homer? He was always threatening old Brewster with some kind of violence.”

“If so, Homer will simply have to get out of it the best he can. I am concerned with getting out of it myself.”

“You’re already out of it, aren’t you? Did anyone see you there, or anything?”

“I don’t think so. After I decided not to call the police, I just came away. Was it the right thing, Hester?”

“We will see in good time whether it was or not. Mother, I wish you wouldn’t get into such difficulties. I have enough to think about as it is.”

“I was only trying to help. It’s unkind of you, Hester, to criticize me for doing what you and Lester kept urging me to do.”

“Well, you might have used a little more discretion about it. However, there is no good in crying over spilled milk.”

“What I want to know is what else I should do. Is there anything?”

“Not that I can think of. Old Brewster will be found after a while, and we will see what develops then. What worries me is that everything seems to be getting out of hand. In the beginning, Senorita Fogarty was the only one we wanted eliminated, but everyone else is being eliminated, one by one, instead. It’s all very confusing, I must say.”

17

While Flo did nothing, the police were doing something. If they did not actually get started until the next morning, it was only because Brewster was not brought to their attention until then. Their attention was requested by the superintendent of the apartment building, whose own attention had been dramatically requested by a maid who was part of a housekeeping service offered for a fee to interested tenants. Armed with an electric sweeper, a bundle of rags and a bottle of furniture polish, she had entered Brewster’s quarters at nine o’clock, expecting him to be abroad on his business, and had found him, instead, still lying behind the sofa where Flo had left him. The maid, once comprehension set in, abandoned her equipment and took off down the hall making a noise very much like a siren. She was intercepted by the superintendent, who was on patrol in the hall, and it was only a short while thereafter when an official squad under the command of Detective-Lieutenant Sylvester Bones appeared on the scene. Two hours later, following a preliminary investigation that culminated in the removal of Brewster to more appropriate quarters, Lieutenant Bones, like a bird dog on a scent, was ringing the bell at Flo’s.

As a matter of observation, Bones looked somewhat like a bird dog. He was long and lean, and he had sad brown eyes lined up between a pair of generous ears that appeared to be constantly on the verge of flapping. In addition, his nose had a disconcerting habit of twitching periodically. This was really a kind of tic, but it looked like sniffing, and the tendency was to give him credit for sensory skills that he did not in fact have. The bell was answered by Flo, summoned by it from the kitchen, where she had been in the act of spooning coffee into a pot to start her day.

“Mrs. Jarbelo?” said Bones.

That was Flo’s last name, carried over from her departed husband, and she acknowledged it.

“If you’re selling something,” she added, “there is nothing I want to buy, and besides, there’s a rule against salesmen. There’s a sign in the lobby that says so.”

“I’m not a salesman. I’m a policeman. My name is Lieutenant Bones. May I come in and talk with you?”

“What about?”

“If you’ll let me come in, I’ll explain.”

There was nothing to do but let him in. Flo already had an uncomfortable notion of what he wanted, of course, but she couldn’t imagine what had brought him to her door so soon when she had just about convinced herself that he wouldn’t come at all. Things were not going as well as she had hoped, that was obvious, and she would have to be careful. Policemen were notoriously tricky, and it would never do to admit anything that should be denied, or to deny anything that should be admitted. Fortunately, Hester had stayed the night and was available as counsel.

“What is it that you want?” she said, after Bones had sat down, section by section, in a proffered chair.

“Do you know a Mr. Willis Brewster?” he said.

“Certainly I know him. He’s the family lawyer. Why? Has he embezzled some money from an estate or something?”

“No. Not that I know of.” Bones’ nose twitched, and his ears seemed to swing forward into a more favorable listening position. “Why should you ask that?”

“Well, one naturally suspects lawyers of the worst, doesn’t one? They know all sorts of ways to do things and get out of it.”

“Do they? I wouldn’t know about that. Anyhow, Mr. Brewster hasn’t committed any crime, unless dying is one.”

“Dying? Old Brewster dead? Who killed him?”

“I didn’t say he was killed. What makes you think he was?”

Well, she’d done it. The very thing she’d resolved not to do. She’d made an egregious error right off, just when she was feeling clever about sounding properly surprised, and now it was necessary to think quickly and correct it if possible.

“Because you’re here,” she said. “Are the police interested in deaths that aren’t the result of killing? I didn’t think they were.”

“You’re right. They aren’t. Not usually.”

“Besides,” said Hester, coming out of the bedroom at that moment, “it was the most natural thing in the world to assume that old Brewster, if dead, was killed. He was exactly the sort that everyone wants to do in.”

“Is that so?” Bones swung his head around and sniffed at Hester. “Who are you?”

“This is Hester,” Flo said. “She’s Lester’s twin.”

“Who’s Lester?”

“I just told you. He’s Hester’s twin. And here he is now.”

Bones swung his head the other way and verified the fact that there, indeed, Lester was. He had emerged from his own room to join the group, and Bones began to feel surrounded. He was also beginning to feel somewhat confused and a little desperate. He had a sudden conviction that he had wandered innocently into a nest of queer birds, to put it mildly, and the conviction grew stronger by the second.

“Siblings?” he said to Flo.

“No,” said Flo. “They’re my children.”

“What are siblings?” Lester said.

“Siblings are children,” Bones said.

“Oh,” said Flo. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“That’s an unusual word for a policeman, isn’t it?” said Hester. “I wouldn’t think a policeman would know a word like that.”

“Darling,” said Flo, “you mustn’t be rude. I’m sure that Lieutenant Bones is not an ordinary policeman by any means. He probably knows lots of words.”

“Did I hear someone say that old Brewster is dead?” Lester said.

“Yes, darling,” Flo said. “That’s why Lieutenant Bones is here. Isn’t it, Lieutenant?”

“It is,” said Bones.

“Why?” said Hester.

“Yes,” Flo said. “I didn’t think to ask that. Why should you come here to see me just because old Brewster is dead?”

“Because someone killed him, as you have guessed, and I’m supposed to find out who did it.”

“That’s no answer,” Hester said. “Why don’t you go off somewhere and find out instead of bothering Mother?”

“I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind.” Bones had clearly lost command of the situation, and he was desperately determined to regain it. “Sit down, please.”

“No, thank you,” said Hester. “I don’t care to.”

“Neither do I,” said Lester.

“As you see,” said Flo, “I already am.”

“Ask any questions you please,” Hester said, “but in my opinion it would be no more than courteous if you answered ours first.”

“All right,” Bones said. “Mrs. Jarbelo, where did you spend yesterday evening?”

“That’s easy,” Hester said. “She spent it right there with Lester and me.”

“We were all together,” said Lester.

“I asked your mother. Let your mother answer.”

“Well, I suppose you must be humored, however unreasonable you wish to be.” Hester sat down, after all, looking scornful. “Go ahead, Mother. Tell him you were here with Lester and me.”

“That’s right,” said Flo. “I was.”

“All the time?”

“Yes. Wasn’t I, Hester?”

“Never mind that. I’m not asking for verification. Not yet.”

“Anybody has the right to counsel,” Hester said. “I’m her counsellor.”

“Hester’s clever,” Flo said. “I always ask her about things.”

“If you need counsel, you can call your lawyer.”

“How can she?” Hester said. “According to you, our lawyer is dead.”

“Yes. So he is. Knocked in the head by someone yesterday evening. Perhaps yesterday afternoon. The autopsy may tell us more exactly. Mrs. Jarbelo, didn’t you have a dinner date with Brewster in his apartment yesterday evening?”

“She had one,” said Hester, “but she didn’t keep it.”

“Mrs. Jarbelo?”

“I didn’t keep it.”

“Why did you break it? Isn’t that rather odd?”

“Odd?” Lester hooted derisively. “Obviously you never saw old Brewster until he was dead, but he was not much better alive. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure that rigor mortis wouldn’t have improved him.”

“Mother was cultivating old Brewster for a particular purpose,” said Hester, “but we didn’t dream that she would go to the extreme of making a dinner date with him. When we found out, we refused to let her go.”

“What purpose?” said Bones.

“It was a family matter,” Hester said, “and has absolutely nothing to do with anyone knocking Brewster in the head.”

“Yes,” said Flo, “I only did it for my children. Lieutenant, if someone said he saw me at Brewster’s, he’s simply mistaken, that’s all.”

“No one’s said that. Not yet. It’s just that Brewster was apparently a meticulous man. He kept an appointment book, and he noted that you were expected last evening for dinner. He was going to prepare the dinner himself, and he even made a note of the entree. You were going to have veal cutlets.”

“I don’t like veal cutlets,” Flo said.

“Good God!” said Lester. “Mother, it’s the best of luck for you that we wouldn’t let you go. The old shyster might have poisoned you, fooling around in his filthy kitchen with veal cutlets.”

“It seems to me,” Hester said, “that the least he could have done was hire a catering service or something like that.”

“What makes me most upset about the whole matter,” said Flo, “is that he had to make a note of it. Why should he have needed a note to remind him of a dinner date with me? If that’s not insulting, I’ve never heard anything that was.”

“Oh, well,” Lester said, “the man was practically in his dotage. Probably his mind was slipping.”

Bones slapped his knee, stood up, then sat down again very deliberately. He clasped both knees with his hands and stared intently at a spot on the wall. His nose was twitching with exceptional violence.

“What’s the matter?” Hester said. “Are you about to sneeze?”

“Hold a finger under your nose,” Flo said. “That works wonders.”

“It’s much better just to go on and sneeze,” Lester said. “Holding back sneezes leads to all sorts of emotional disturbances.”

“I am not about to sneeze,” said Bones, taking out a handerchief, nevertheless, and wiping his nose with it. “I am just trying to think of a way to put a semblance of order into this interview. This is impossible. It’s absolutely impossible. Mrs. Jarbelo, do you want to come downtown with me?”

“Certainly not. Why should I want to go downtown with you?”

“Then I must insist that you answer my questions personally, without assistance from your son and daughter.”

“Do you hear that, children? If you don’t keep quiet, Lieutenant Bones will take me downtown.”

“Oh, all right,” Lester said. “I certainly don’t want to intrude.”

“Neither do I,” Hester said, “but I’m going to look it up about taking Mother downtown. I don’t believe he can do it without a warrant or something like that.”

“Now,” said Bones. “Now, then, Mrs. Jarbelo. I’m going to ask you a few simple questions, and I expect categorical answers. Do you understand?”

“No,” said. Flo. “What does categorical mean? Hester, do you know what categorical means?”

“I’m not allowed to speak,” Hester said.

“Direct and truthful answers is what it means,” said Bones, “and I’d advise you to give them to me.”

“There’s no problem to that,” Flo said, “if you would only say what you mean once in a while.”

“To begin, then. Do you drive a car, Mrs. Jarbelo?”

“No, I don’t. Isn’t it absurd? I tried, but I kept running into things.”

“Then I’ll assume that you went to Brewster’s, if you went at all, in a taxi. I put that out as a fair warning. Taxis have drivers, you know. Drivers can be found and questioned. You are a striking woman, if I may say so, Mrs. Jarbelo. Chances are you would be remembered.”

“I’m not allowed to speak, either,” Lester said, “but if I were, I would volunteer the information that I took Mother in my MG.”

“What?” said Bones. “What’s that?”

“What he means,” said Hester, “is that he would have taken her if she had gone, but she didn’t go. Lester, I’m not sure it wouldn’t be better if you went off somewhere and did something.”

“Let him stay,” said Bones. “He may be helpful. Mrs. Jarbelo, I warn you again. If you were in Brewster’s apartment yesterday evening, we’ll find out about it. Even if no one saw you, there will be fingerprints.”

This gave Flo quite a turn, for it was the truth that she had not given a single thought to fingerprints before. She had not touched anything in the apartment, except old Brewster with her toe, but she had touched the door knob and the light switch going in and out. That was all right, though, come to think of it, for being a proper lady properly dressed, she had been wearing gloves. It was a great relief to remember the gloves.

“There may be fingerprints,” she said, “but they won’t be mine.”

“Let us hope not. Mrs. Jarbelo, let us hope.”

With this ominous remark, expressing just the right degree of skepticism, Bones rose with the apparent intention of taking himself off.

“Are you going so soon?” said Flo.

“Yes. There is, however, a definite possibility of my coming back.”

“I thought you might have a cup of coffee with us. I was just making some when you came. Lester, darling, see if the coffee is ready.”

“No, thank you,” said Bones, edging toward the door. “I have work to do.”

“Yes, Mother,” Hester said. “You mustn’t keep Lieutenant Bones from his work. He has to go investigate things.”

“Speaking of investigations,” said Lester, “do you happen to know that King Louie Oliver operates several gambling houses?”

“No,” said Bones, who did.

“That’s odd. There’s no great secret about it.”

“Gambling is not in my division.”

“Oh. That’s too bad. I thought it might be to my advantage if I could get King Louie arrested.”

Bones, who had kept on edging toward the door, turned and departed hurriedly without ceremony. Flo had risen to see him out and close the door after him, but now, seeing him go, she sat down again.

“Well,” she said, “that went very well in spite of Lester. In my opinion, Lieutenant Bones is quite charming, for a policeman. Imagine him saying that I’m a striking woman who would probably be remembered. Wasn’t that nice of him?”

18

Hester sat cross-legged on the floor in an attitude of intent thinking. On the floor in front of her, the object of her observation, was a box of Mother Murphy’s Quick-Cooking Oats. It was, to be precise, the same box that she had dosed with cyanide peanuts and had later hooked from Crump’s kitchen. There appeared to be nothing sufficiently unusual about the box to justify Hester’s dedicated attention, and anyone, after examining it, would have sworn that it was perfectly normal. Anyone, that is, who was unaware of its contents. To Hester, however, there was one glaring discrepancy, in the light of what had happened, that refuted her earlier conclusions and opened up some speculations that were interesting to say the least. It was this discrepancy that engaged her attention and incited her mind. In brief, as she had observed when she first laid hands on it in the commission of a petty felony, the box had not been opened.

The direct and immediate inference from this was clear. Mrs. Crump, struck down in an instant over a teacup, may have been the victim of a defective liver, as Quinn had suspected, but she had not died of cyanide in her oatmeal. Uncle Homer and Hester had simply been misled by the coincidence of her eating an oatmeal cooky at the time, which was a natural mistake, and one that almost anyone would have made in the same circumstances. It was quite a relief to be exonerated of any guilt in the matter, even though Mrs. Crump’s death had actually been considered no more than an accident at worst. The police, Hester supposed, could be unreasonable about such things whether they were intended or not.

But why had the box not been opened? Surely oatmeal, if bought at all, was bought to use, and Mrs. Crump had surely bought it. Moreover, she had bought it for a specific and urgent purpose; namely, as an essential ingredient in Senorita Fogarty’s diet of oatmeal and sex. Even allowing that Senorita had made a sudden and remarkable recovery, it seemed reasonable to assume that Mrs. Crump would have put her on the diet anyhow, at least for the duration of Mother Murphy’s Oats, to help prevent a recurrence of Senorita’s malady if for nothing else. As anyone knew, it was an established fact that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. In addition, at least a moiety of the diet must have been followed as prescribed, for Crump, on the afternoon of the same day that Mrs. Crump bought the oatmeal, had bought the stud. Would oats have been abandoned and sex retained? Well, maybe. Sex, of course, was a bit more than a curative for what ailed you. It was also the technique of procreation, with the result, in Senorita’s case, of beginning an interminable series of litters that would indefinitely prolong the exclusion of the family from the fruits of Grandfather’s will.

And what, by the way, had become of the stud? Lester had seen him in a cage when he was carried home from the kennel by Crump, but no one, to Hester’s knowledge, had seen him since. Junior swore that he had never laid eyes on him during all his afternoons of espionage, but this in itself was far from conclusive testimony, for Junior had clearly spent most of the time napping. What was more significant was the fact that she, Hester, had never seen him in the little park with Crump in the mornings. It did seem, when you stopped to consider it, that Crump would have given the stud a turn once in a while, or would even have let him join Senorita as a special treat. Decorum was well enough in its place, but it was hardly sensible to impose it too rigorously upon Chihuahuas. Anyhow, Crump’s moral disintegration after the abrupt departure of Mrs. Crump did nothing to support the theory that he wished to avoid a public display of passion. Hester was prepared to testify that public opinion meant little to Crump these days.

What meant something to Crump, in Hester’s private opinion, was the garden house. Although Junior was far too much of a dunce to realize it, Crump’s reaction to finding a spy stationed there had been excessively violent. One could accept his resentment, and even understand his ordering Junior off the property, but how could one explain the threat to run Junior through with a spiral dog stake, to say nothing of calling him a young son of a bitch? That was certainly extreme, and it aroused suspicion. After all, Junior was almost completely impotent between the ears, and his mere presence in the garden house, however annoying, did not justify such an unrestrained uproar.

Implications were all over the place, and Hester, being clever, had thought and thought about them. Now, however, the time for thinking was past, and it was high time, if ever it would be, for aggressive action. Indeed, she hoped that it was not too late. Things had been happening too fast and too erratically for comfort, that was all. Mrs. Crump was dead, old Brewster was dead, and Flo, in spite of her optimism, was halfway to jail. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Sense and order must be given to events that, up to now, had seemed disorderly and senseless. It was time to do instead of think, and Hester, who always knew what time it was, had already started doing.

It was almost midnight, and Hester, wearing a sweater and slacks and flats, was expecting callers. Perhaps it was extravagant to call them callers, only Lester and Junior, but she had drafted them into service as being more help than none, and here they were right now, apparently, for her bell was ringing.

She let them in, noting with some relief that they were dressed, according to instructions, in dark sweaters and pants. Experience had made her skeptical of their ability to follow even the most simple and essential orders.

“Well, here you are,” she said. “Did you bring the crow bar and the shovel?”

“Yes, we did,” said Lester. “They’re downstairs in the MG, and I don’t mind saying that they make it damn crowded. Are you sure that they’re necessary?”

“I’ll decide what’s necessary and what isn’t, if you don’t mind. We had better be on our way without delay, for it’s almost midnight.”

“Where are we going?” Junior said.

“You’ll find out.”

“What are we going to do?”

“You’ll know when we get there.”

“Damn it, Hester,” said Lester, “why do you have to be so mysterious about everything? I agree with Junior that it would be much more comfortable if we knew where we are going and what we are going to do when we get there.”

“No, thank you,” Hester said. “I’ve had quite enough of confiding in people who seem to have a positive genius for ruining things at the last moment.”

“At least,” said Junior, “you could give us a drink before we leave.”

“There’s no time for drinks. Junior, can’t you do anything at all without having a drink first? You’re getting as bad as Uncle Homer. By the way, are Uncle Homer and Aunt Madge waiting for us at Mother’s, as I requested?”

“Oh, they’re there, all right, and they’re wondering why. Uncle Homer was threatening to come along with us, but we slipped off without him.”

“Good. Uncle Homer would be a handicap at best. Now we simply must go. There’s someone we have to meet at midnight.”

“Who?”

“Lester, will you please stop asking questions? If I had wanted you to know who, I’d have told you who.”

“Well, regardless of what you want or don’t want, I’m not going an inch anywhere until I know who we are going to meet at midnight.”

“Oh, all right. I suppose that it can’t do any harm for you to know now. We are going to meet Lieutenant Bones.”

“Lieutenant Bones! Hester, are you sure you know what you are doing? I can’t think of a single good reason for meeting Lieutenant Bones at midnight or any other time.”

“Neither can I,” Junior said. “Why are we?”

“Because,” said Hester, “I want an official witness to what, I am convinced, will shortly be discovered.”

19

To Hester’s importunate request for his midnight assistance, Bones had acceded reluctantly, and he was waiting impatiently. He had, indeed, first refused flatly, but he was eventually brought around by an eloquent appeal to his sense of duty, plus an oblique threat to his professional prestige if he should miss through pig-headedness such a rare opportunity for a major coup. Now that he was here, somehow waiting, where he had not intended to wait, for a mysterious engagement that filled him with apprehension, he wondered uneasily why he had not had the good sense to remain obdurate and detached. His knowledge of the night’s affair, whatever it might turn out to be, was as scant as that of Lester and Junior, of whose commitment he was unaware.

He was also unaware that he was parked at the curb of the street directly behind Grandfather Hunter’s house. He was unaware, that is, that the house was, or had been, Grandfather’s property. But he could see it rising like a Victorian monster in the moonlight, and he could tell from its size and the quality of its structure that it was surely the residence of someone who, however wretched his taste, did not lack the means of indulging it. Bones, observing the house, felt his uneasiness increasing measurably with every tick of his watch. Was it possible that Hester could have the effrontery to solicit the aid of a reputable detective in a job of simple housebreaking? Bones laughed hollowly at this notion and told himself that it was absurd, but he wasn’t sure. What was worse, having had some experience with Hester, he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t be talked into agreeing.

Well, it was almost midnight. Lacking, he saw by his watch, two minutes. Midnight was the time of meeting, set by Hester herself, and he was therefore relieved of his commitment at that hour. That was fair and reasonable. If she did not arrive in two minutes, now slightly less, he would drive away and be done with it. Hope rose within him, and he watched his watch with one hand on the ignition key. But he was doomed by seconds to disappointment. An MG, packed with passengers, wheeled suddenly around the corner and pulled in behind him. There was Hester hopping out, and with her, God help Sylvester Bones, were Lester and Junior.

“Here we are,” said Hester, approaching, “on time as I promised.”

“So I see,” said Bones, without enthusiasm. “Who’s we? Is that your brother?”

“Yes, it is. It’s Lester. The other one’s Junior. He’s my first cousin, although he frequently doesn’t act like it. Sitting on his lap in an MG is rather hazardous.”

“What’s that he’s got? It looks like a shovel.”

“That’s what it is. And Lester, if you’ll notice, has a crowbar.”

“Would it be too much to ask what we are going to do with a shovel and a crowbar?”

“Not at all. I’m going to prise and dig. Or Junior and Lester are. That’s why I brought them along.”

“I was wondering why. Junior and Lester weren’t in the agreement, as I recall.”

“Well, they aren’t good for much of anything except odd jobs under close supervision, and so I thought I might as well make use of them when I could. Why don’t you get out of your car? We’re not going any farther.”

“What I can’t understand is why I came this far.”

“You’ll see. Do get out. I’m anxious to get finished.”

“It remains to be seen,” said Bones, “if we even begin.”

Nevertheless, he got out and joined Hester on the parking, being joined in turn by Lester and Junior, who came up from the MG.

“Why have you brought us to Grandfather’s house, Hester?” Lester said. “I can’t see any sense in it.”

“Of course you can’t,” said Hester. “You can’t see any sense in anything, however sensible it may be. It remains with me, as always, to see the sense in things.”

“Perhaps we could see the sense in it,” Junior said, “if we knew what we were going to do, now that we are here.”

“Wait a minute,” said Bones. “As the only official representative, it is time I took charge of this matter. Does your grandfather live here?”

“Not exactly,” Hester said. “Grandfather’s dead.”

“Then who does live here?”

“The house is temporarily occupied by a scoundrel named Crump.”

“Scoundrel or not, you needn’t expect me to help you break into his house.”

“Why, that’s fantastic! Do you think, if I were going to break into the house, that I would do it in the company of a policeman? No such thing is intended.”

“Precisely what, then, is intended?”

“We are merely going over the fence and up to the garden house.”

“I don’t know about that,” Junior said. “I recently had a bad experience in that garden house, and I’m in no hurry to go back.”

“Try not to be such a coward, Junior,” Hester said. “There is absolutely no danger. Crump is certainly sound asleep in the house, and besides, you will have a policeman with you for protection.”

“It is by no means certain that he will have a policeman with him,” Bones said. “In fact, I can state right now that he won’t. Trepassing isn’t as serious as breaking and entering, but it is serious enough and policemen can’t afford to engage in it.”

“That settles it,” said Junior. “If Bones won’t go, I won’t. Courage is all right when it’s safe, but it’s no compensation for being called a son of a bitch and run through with a dog stake. I tell you, that Crump is a wild man when he finds anyone in the garden house.”

“Exactly,” said Hester. “He is far wilder than is justified. The garden house is apparently significant to Crump for some reason, and that’s why I want to go there.”

“Just the very reason that I don’t,” Junior said. “We have no problem that can’t be easily solved, Hester. You go and I’ll stay.”

“So will I,” said Lester.

“Unless there’s compelling reason to the contrary,” Bones said, “you will all stay, and that’s that. What’s in the garden house, anyhow? What do you expect to find?”

“I can see that I must tell you to convince you,” Hester said. “What I expect to find is a body.”

“A body!” Bones felt his hair stand on end beneath his hat. “Whose body?”

“You will see soon enough if you will only come and look.”

“Who put it there?”

“Crump did, that’s who.”

“Have a little care, young lady. You are making a grave charge. All I can say is, you had better know what you’re talking about.”

“I can tell you immediately that she doesn’t,” Junior said. “I have spent a great deal of time in the garden house recently, and I can assure you that there’s no body there. If there was, I’d have seen it.”

“Well, Junior, you are an absolute imbecile at best. Do you think Crump stood the body in a corner or something? He must have buried it under the floor, and I’ll risk my reputation that it’s there right now.”

“You will risk more than your reputation,” said Bones, “whatever it’s worth.”

“In any event,” Junior said, “a new light has been shed on the matter, and I am more determined than ever not to go.”

“You’ll go,” said Bones. “We’ll all go. Too much has been said to be followed by nothing. Bring the crowbar and the shovel, and let’s move.”

“I don’t have to go if I don’t want to,” Junior said.

“You’ll go if I have to put you under arrest.”

“Under arrest? I haven’t done anything. What will you arrest me for?”

“Considering your mental age, I can make a case for violating the curfew.”

“Oh, come on, Junior,” said Hester. “There’s no use in dragging your heels. Who has a flashlight?”

“I don’t,” Lester said.

“Not I,” Junior said.

“Well, if that’s not the limit!” Hester said. “Am I required to think of everything? If I could specify the shovel and the crowbar, it looks like someone else could have remembered to bring a flashlight.”

“That’s all right,” said Bones. “I have one.”

“A grave charge!” said Lester suddenly. “You know, Bones, that’s rather clever. Did you say it deliberately, or was it an accident?”

But Bones, skinning over the fence, didn’t answer. He was followed in order by Hester, Junior and Lester, who tagged behind to make sure that Junior skinned over at all. In file, they trailed across the yard to the garden house, where Bones employed his flashlight to reveal a circle of floor.

“Now what?” he said. “Do we have to rip up the whole damn floor?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Hester. “The floor is old and worn and will show the signs of tampering. If my theory is correct, as I believe, we will have no difficulty in finding the exact spot. Move the light around a little, if you please.”

Bones moved the light, and it was less than a minute before Hester found the spot.

“There,” she said. “What did I tell you?”

“The boards have clearly been taken up and nailed down again,” said Junior. “I wonder why I didn’t notice it before?”

“As to that,” Hester said, “it is difficult to notice anything when your eyes are shut. Lester, use the crowbar, and then Junior can use the shovel.”

“I’d rather use the crowbar,” Junior said.

“As representative of the police,” said Bones, “I think I had better use them both.”

While the others watched, he prised and dug, and after awhile, sure enough, he uncovered a body as Hester had predicted.

“There it is,” said Hester. “You will have to admit that I was right as usual.”

Bones straightened up slowly. His breath whistled shrilly through his nose, which was twitching violently.

“That,” he said, “is the body of a dog!”

“Certainly,” said Hester. “It’s Senorita Fogarty.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” said Bones with a massive effort at restraint, “that you called me out in the middle of the night to dig up the body of a dog? By God, I must be losing my mind. I simply can’t understand what’s happened to me. I was assigned to find the murderer of Willis Brewster, which was reasonable and acceptable, and now I suddenly find myself in someone’s garden house digging up the body of a dog!”

“It is apparent that I must continue to explain what is now as obvious as the nose on your face,” said Hester. “Lester and Junior, don’t just stand there doing nothing. Return the crowbar and the shovel to the MG, and take charge of Senorita’s remains. We may need it as evidence in the matter of Grandfather’s will. In the meanwhile, I’ll instruct Lieutenant Bones as clearly as possible in what he must now do.”

20

“Senorita Fogarty,” said Hester, “did not die from eating cyanide peanuts. She died of a broken heart. She merely went off, in a manner of speaking, to join Grandfather.”

Back in Flo’s apartment, she had maintained heretofore an aloof and rather arrogant silence that Uncle Homer privately considered insufferable. After the completion of the midnight mission in the garden house, the return trip had taken a considerable while, due to the insistence of Lester that the party detour by way of Pearl’s for the purpose of having her join it. It was her right, he said, to participate in the family triumph. The delay in their return had not been so much the result of the additional distance covered as the difficulty experienced in convincing Pearl that it was not some kind of trick. But she was finally convinced and persuaded to come along, and she had brought, moreover, a bottle of gin that did much to allay the valid fears of Uncle Homer that the gathering would soon go dry.

“How do you know?” Uncle Homer now said.

“I know,” said Hester, “because the evidence, though circumstantial, is conclusive.”

“Well, no one will deny that you have been clever and effective in this matter from first to last,” Uncle Homer said, “but I don’t see how you can simply say that Senorita Fogarty died of a broken heart. If you ask me, circumstantial evidence or not, it’s an unwarranted assumption.”

“I am not surprised to hear you say so, for you have demonstrated time and again that you can’t recognize a piece of evidence when you see it. Your contributions have consisted entirely of threatening to do old Brewster in, and even that, in the end, was left to someone else.”

“Oh, some on, Hester,” Lester said. “Tell us the evidence.”

“Yes, darling,” said Flo. “Do tell us. You’ve been so smug about everything that I was determined not to ask you, but I’m simply dying to know.”

“The evidence was perfectly clear to anyone with the brains to understand it,” Hester said. “It is not only highly probable that Senorita grieved herself to death, as Mrs. Crump feared she would, but it is possible to fix the approximate time of her death.”

“That’s just too much,” said Uncle Homer. “Hester, you’re just showing off.”

“Not at all. We know that Senorita was alive the morning Mrs. Crump went to market, because Mrs. Crump bought the oatmeal for her diet. It is indicated, then, that she died while Mrs. Crump was out, or soon after her return, because that very afternoon Crump went out to buy the stud.”

“Well, that makes no sense whatever,” Junior said. “Why the hell should old Crump buy a stud if Senorita was dead?”

“Because,” said Hester, “Crump did not buy a stud. Lester, with his usual talent at being wrong about practically everything, merely assumed from seeing a cage that a stud was in it. Crump bought a replacement for Senorita Fogarty.”

“Oh! Oh, by God!” Uncle Homer, rising from his chair, sputtered as if he were fused and lighted and about to explode. “I see it now. I see the whole monstrous plot. The damned old scoundrel was out to deprive us interminably of our inheritance.”

“I see it, too,” said Junior. “That must be why I never saw the stud in the back yard.”

“Yes,” said Hester. “It is also why I never saw him in the park. It is impossible to see what doesn’t exist.”

“Do Chihuahuas all look alike?” Flo said. “I mean, couldn’t you have told the difference?”

“Please don’t be ridiculous, Mother. Can you describe Senorita Fogarty this minute?”

“Certainly not. I never really looked at the revolting little beast.”

“Well, there you are.”

Just then there was a loud rapping at the door that had, somehow, an official sound.

“Who can that be at this hour?” said Flo.

“If I am not mistaken,” Hester said, “it is Bones reporting according to instructions.”

“Bones here?” said Lester. “Why?”

“You will know shortly, Lester, let him in.”

Lester opened the door, and Bones entered. He did not, however, enter very far. He stopped after a step, watching the happy family group warily, and seemed prepared to make his report and his departure promptly.

“Well, Bones?” said Hester.

“It’s all over,” said Bones. “Crump is in custody.”

“I should certainly think so,” Uncle Homer said. “The old devil is guilty of the most flagrant fraud.”

“What he is guilty of,” said Bones, “is murder.”

“Murder! Is there no limit to the man’s depravity? Whose murder?”

“The murder of old Brewster, that’s whose,” Hester said. “Anyone with half a brain would have know that he was the culprit. It was only necessary, first, to be aware of the fraud. Old Brewster kept a sharp eye on things, you’ll have to say that for him, and he was soon onto Crump’s deception. Once he was convinced, he called Crump to account and Crump, determined to retain the advantages of Grandfather’s house and money, knocked him in the head with something.”

“What I don’t see,” said Flo, “is why he had to do it in Brewster’s apartment the same day that I went there to dinner in the evening.”

“So you did go,” said Bones. “I thought you did.”

“Never mind that,” Hester said. “It is now unimportant. Mother, it is my guess that old Brewster had gone home to make proper preparations for the dinner, and called Crump to come there in order to settle the issue and have the good news for you when you arrived. It would have put you in an amiable mood and susceptible to what Brewster apparently had in mind.”

“You’re probably right,” Flo said. “He was surprisingly lively and full of tricks.”

Hester, duly honored at every turn, was in quite an expansive frame of mind. It even expanded sufficiently to include Bones.

“Lieutenant Bones,” she said, “I must say that you have done a good job, once you were shown how. Will you join us in a gin sling or something?”

“No. No, thank you. Having done my duty, I’ll just run along. Crump’s confession is being taken down, and I still have a report to write.”

He back up to the door, reaching behind him for the knob, and disappeared in reverse. There was something definitive in the door’s closing.

“I was tempted,” said Hester, “to tell him about Mrs. Crump, but it would have done no particular good. One murder is sufficient to be guilty of, and another would simply be surplus.”

“What about Mrs. Crump?” said Uncle Homer. “What are you implying?”

“I was as explicit as possible, Uncle Homer. Can’t anyone understand anything? Why do you think Crump was against an autopsy? Mrs. Crump did not die of cyanide in her oatmeal cookie, as we originally thought, but it is certain, if she were dug up and examined, that she would be found full of rat poison or weed-killer or something else handy to Crump’s hand.”

“Oh, cut it out, Hester,” Lester said. “You shouldn’t go finding murder victims all over the place. It’s simply your imagination.”

“Is it? Perhaps I am in a better position to judge that than you are. Just because you were a failure with Mrs. Crump, Lester, you shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking that everyone else has been a failure, too.”

“Are you trying to say,” said Uncle Homer, “that Crump deliberately eliminated Mrs. Crump to make room for you?”

“I will only say that I may have gone a bit too far. Crump was ambitious, and it gave him delusions of grandeur.”

“Well,” said Flo, “if Hester says it, I believe it. Thanks to her, everything has come out well, even though I sometimes thought it wouldn’t.”

“As for me, I was never in doubt,” Hester said. “It all come from remaining hopeful in a just cause.”

Content

Fletcher Flora
Skuldoggery

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