Speaker 1: After midnight by Marta Neville. Good night, mister Lanin. Louise
Willoughby extended her hand. We breakfast at nine, she said,
I'll see you then. I hope you sleep well.
Speaker 2: Thank you.
Speaker 1: I'm sure I shall. She gathered the folds of an
embroidered chiffon gown about her and slowly mounted the stairs.
Lanin stood leaning against the null post and watched her ascend.
As he turned away, he faced his host. The cold,
metallic glitter in the older man's black eyes gave him
a strange, uncomfortable feeling. Well, said Willoughby, She's charming, Andrew.
You should be proud of her. She's improved wonderfully in
the three years since I saw her. A slow smile
crept about the drawn lips of the physician. It did
not extend to his eyes, but became lost in the
heavy mustache and van Dyke beard he wore. Lanin again shivered.
The snaky glitter in his physician friend's eyes fascinated him.
He wondered if it could be true that the woman
who had just left him with purity written on every
curve and line of her could be the wanton thing.
Her husband fancied that she had so forgotten herself and
her social position as to stoop to an intrigue with
her gardener. It seemed impossible of Louise Willoughby, Yet many
changes had taken place during the three years he had
been abroad. He had not known her well before his departure.
Perhaps he did not know her at all. Now, come
up into my laboratory, Willoughby said.
Speaker 2: Suddenly.
Speaker 1: He closed the windows and switched off all the lights,
with the exception of one held in a bronze venus
at the foot of the stairs. Andy Lennon said, as
they entered the heavily odorous room, I'd rather you said
nothing more about this to me. Some day you'll be
sorry for having taken me into your confidence, and then
our friendship will end. There are some things a man
has no right to discuss with another. I don't need
to remind you of that. This is one of them.
I've got to talk to someone or go mad. You
think it's my imagination, You think I'm a jealous fool.
I tell you I know from the day that man
came here, she's been different.
Speaker 2: I've watched them.
Speaker 1: I've seen his arm around her, I've heard him call
her Louise. He broke and buried his head on his
arms he had flung on the table before him. Lanin
gripped his shoulder and shook him. Why don't you send
him away? Willoughby raised his bloodshot eyes and admit defeat.
Give him the pleasure of saying he was fired because
Andrew Willoughby's wife fell in love with him, never besides.
He sprang to his feet and paced the little room nervously,
his long hands with their gnarled, crooked fingers stained with chemicals,
twitching and pulling at his coat.
Speaker 2: As he walked.
Speaker 1: How do I know she won't go with.
Speaker 2: Him if I send him away?
Speaker 1: Lanin remembered the brief glimpse he'd had of the gardener,
A slim, tall fellow, little more than a boy, with
close cropped dark a pale, almost ethereal face, a quiet,
unassuming manner. How long has he been here? Allery six weeks?
Willoughby hit the glass topped table nervously. As he did so,
a tiny vial of amber colored liquid fell over, knocking
the stopper out of it. A pungent, sickish odor filled
the room. The doctor gave a startled cry, flinging a
small rubber blanket over the table. He lifted the vial gingerly.
He placed the stopper back in it, carefully keeping it
away from his face. Then he covered it with the rubber.
He'd become ashen colored as though unable to speak. He
motioned to Lenin to throw up the windows. Damn careless
of me, he muttered. A moment later, he placed the
bottle high up in a cabinet above him. Then he
locked the door of the chest. Damn careless. It's an
experiment of buying, Arthur. Do you feel all right, Lennin
laughed uneasily. I shouldn't care to remain in here along
with that odor. It's hetty, to say the least. Willoughby
poured some liquid from another bottle into a small glass
and handed it to him. Then he took a draft
of it himself. Drink this, it'll overcome the effects of
the other. Suddenly he became tense. The glitter in his
eyes became more pronounced. He seemed to be listening to something.
The warm, soft air blowing through the window brought a
hint of the distant sea and something else.
Speaker 2: What is it?
Speaker 1: Lenin gasped, The quivering of Willoughby's wide nostrils. The sudden
snapping of the glass's stem intrigued him listen. A long
sort of growl, then a long drawn howl from a
dog someplace not far off, was all Lenin heard. There
was another howl, then silence. The color came back to
the physician's face. He smiled apologetically. Lenin stared at him
in bewilderment. What is it, he asked again. I I
thought I heard her come down the stairs. I was
listening to hear if he met her. The man's tongue
seemed to be thick. He spoke with difficulty. Buck up,
old man, Buck up. Lanin gave him a reassuring slap
on the shoulder, but at the same time he glanced
apprehensively over his shoulder out of the window toward the
gardens beyond. Again, the long, rumbling howl of the dog
penetrated the night air. The older man suddenly lurched forward
into a chair and began to sob in a broken
hearted way. At that moment, Lannon fancied he saw a
face at the open window, but before he could ascertain
whether it was his imagination or not, it had vanished.
But to him, it seemed he had seen a young,
pale face with smoldering dark eyes and close cropped hair, who,
he exclaimed, what's wrong with me?
Speaker 2: Two?
Speaker 1: The sudden clamor of a clock striking three startled him
out of a sound sleep.
Speaker 2: At least he thought it was the striking of the
hour which did it.
Speaker 1: But as he raised himself on one elbow in the darkness,
the doubled beat of his heart, the damp chill of
his flesh told him it was something else which had
awakened him. Stealthy footsteps outside his room, the cautious opening
and closing of a door down the hall, the rustle
of garments as of someone moving in the corridor, were
registered with dark significance on his brain. Poor old Andrew,
he muttered. He sank back to his pillow, but he
could not sleep. Though his pulse became normal, he found
himself striving to make out the objects in his room
one by one. Out of the hazy gray of the blackness.
They became outlined, invisible to his straining eyes in an
irritating fashion. The drawn blind flapped forward and back with
the wind which had arisen since nightfall. Unable to stand
the sound of the flapping, he rose and went to
the window to raise it. The moon was high, unobscured
by any clouds, and shone down with the dazzling white brilliance,
which made the grounds in surrounding territory almost as light
as day. The long row of glass topped greenhouses gleamed
as though covered with snow. In the distance, far beyond
the high stone wall which enclosed doctor Willoughby's Long Island estate,
shone the water near at hand. The wind whistled in
a sing song manner through the trees. From the darkening
shelter of the stone wall emerged two figures. The watching
man knew instantly who they were, even before the moon outlined,
the slender figure of Willoughby's wife and the broader silhouette
of the gardener.
Speaker 2: Allering.
Speaker 1: A feeling of nauseus swept over him. He turned away
from the window, crossing to his bed. He switched on
a light just over it, determined to while away the
time until daylight with a current magazine. But the face
of the woman outside in the garden seemed to mock him.
From the printed page. Her dark, shadow laden eyes seemed
to plead with him. Between the lines of printing, as
though she begged him not to judge her too harshly.
The magazine slipped from his hand. He closed his eyes
and lay inert. A moment later, the cry of someone
in mortal agony penetrated the night air. Then a woman
shrieked in terror. For a moment, Lannin lay panic stricken.
Then springing out of bed, he snatched up a dressing
gown and rushed into the hall. He came face to
face with Willoughby. His host was pallid. Willoughby's hands trembled
as he held a tattered silk gown about his emitiated figure.
A moment later, another door down the hall was thrown open,
and the corpulent, kimono clad housekeeper burst into their presence.
You heard it, Willoughby cried in a harsh whisper, clutching
Lannon's arm. His eyes were glassy, the lids swollen, as
though from heavy sleep, and being suddenly awakened.
Speaker 2: His chin shook.
Speaker 1: My god, my god, wailed the woman, trying to pull
the kimono about her.
Speaker 2: Ample bosom, what was it? Doctor? Did you hear it?
Speaker 1: A woman screamed? Lanin said grimly. The cry came from
some place near the greenhouses. Some one must be injured.
I heard a man too, This from the butler who
had joined them. Even partially clad, he retained some of
the dignity of his position. Oh what do you suppose
has happened?
Speaker 2: Doctor? Dear? What do you think it is?
Speaker 1: The housekeeper caught her master's arm and clung desperately to him.
He did not seem to be conscious of her presence.
He was looking into the lighted corridor below at his
wife as she stumbled blindly through the outer door into
the illuminated passageway. She was sobbing convulsively. She started to
climb the stairs, slowly, dragging herself upward with an effort.
Her shimmery evening gown was torn and draggled about her.
Her face was gray, a death color, and her eyes
terror stricken. At the head of the stairs, she collapsed
in a heap. When Willoughby started to lift her, she
gave a shuddering cry and warded off his touch. Her
husband gave a sucking breath. He looked at Lannin missus.
Willoughby cried, the latter, dropping on his knees beside her.
So consciously he wondered what had become of the man
who had been with her. If it were he who
had given that cry of terrible torture, Missus Willoughby, what
is it? What has happened? For a moment, her white
lips quivered. I. I there's a dead man out there
by the greenhouses. I I stumbled over him. I touched
his cold face.
Speaker 2: I a dead man. Yes.
Speaker 1: She suddenly straightened and stared with a fixity into her
husband's face. A strange expression came over her own. Then
she allowed Lnin to assist her to rise, and in
a quiet manner, though with obvious effort, she requested the
butler to bring her some wine. A dead man, come,
said Lnin, abruptly, his legal training coming to the foreground.
She may be mistaken. The man may still be alive.
He was cold, she answered. The little procession filed out
toward the greenhouses, a motley, weird looking crowd in bath robes,
smoking jackets and kimonos. Louise Willoughby walked with Lenin and
her husband, her hand lightly rested on Lanin's all the way.
He felt the nervous tremors that shook her. As they
neared the spot, where she had discovered the dead man.
Their lights in the greenhouse, Willoughby said, abruptly, I'll turn
them on. He left them for a moment. Then the
glass enclosure became illuminated. An exclamation of horror burst from
the group. Missus Willoughby clung to Lenin's arm in a
feverish manner, huddled up chest and chin. Meeting laid the
body of a man unquestionably dead. He was roughly dressed,
his shoes in tatters, his bare feet showing through the
gaping soles, while several days growth of beard added to
the gruesomeness of his appearance. Long yellow teeth were bared
in a distortion of agony. Bleary eyes stared upward. There
was no sign of a wound, no indications of foul play,
but the man had unquestionably died suddenly, any great torture.
Evidently it had been his death cry they had heard.
Willoughby knelt beside him. Then, after a second's examination, rose
abruptly dead heart failure. I think, but it'll be best
to notify the police. Know him, Lenin asked, No, he looks.
Speaker 2: Like a hobo.
Speaker 1: Are you going to leave him? Cried his wife, hysterically.
It seems so awful to leave a dead man out
here on the ground alone.
Speaker 2: It's so heartless.
Speaker 1: He can't be moved until the police arrived, Lenin answered Willoughby,
take your wife inside. I'll stay here until they come
and see that nothing happens. Louise Willoughby suddenly gave a
cry of terror. The police. Must you call the police.
Speaker 2: He's a tramp.
Speaker 1: He died of heart failure. Don't call the police. It'll
create a scandal. I couldn't stand that. Please, please do
something else, my dear, my dear, remonstrated her husband quietly.
This is very unfortunate. I'm sorry the poor devil chose
to die here. But it may not be heart failure.
You know, he may have been murdered.
Speaker 2: Murdered.
Speaker 1: She sobbed the word as though it burst from her
against her will Willoughby ignored her exclamation. He continued suavely,
as though he enjoyed her hysterical anguish. If the man
has been murdered, and we placed an obstacle in the
way of his murderer being apprehended, we will be putting
ourselves liable for more than a scandal. She suddenly swayed.
Willoughby placed his hand on her shoulder, but she turned
on him an almost insane fury. Don't touch me, she cried,
don't you dare to touch me. The doctor shrugged his shoulders,
turning quietly to his friend. You take her inside, Lenin,
she's wrought up, no wonder, poor child. I'll remain here.
Call headquarters please three. When they reached the house, the
woman dropped wearily into a great chair. The intense pain
in her face, the tremulous quiver of her mouth caused
a wave of pity to sweep over Lenin. Are you
going to call the police? She whispered, I must. Her
white hands gripped tighter. In spite of the things he
had seen, Lanin again had a doubt as to her perfidy.
Strangely enough, he now felt no sympathy for her husband.
He lifted the receiver from the hook. As he did so,
she touched him. Mister Lannin, Yes, are you my friend?
Speaker 2: Yes?
Speaker 1: Why? Yes, of course, missus Willoughby, I mean really truly
my friend?
Speaker 2: Were his Andrews?
Speaker 1: Yes, I trust I am a friend to you both,
he evaded. She shook her head impatiently. You can't be that.
Can't you see he hates me and I I loathe him.
I despise him. Oh my god, how I hate him.
And yet Missus Willoughby, I know I horrify you. She laughed,
and began to pace the length of the room. If
only I had someone I could turn to, someone to
aid me, someone in all the world I could trust.
You seem to be a good man, if only I dared,
she paused abruptly. Then in a sudden do you think
I'm a bad woman? Do you think what he thinks? Why,
my dear lady, I see he's lied to you too,
poisoned you against me as he has others. And she
covered her face with her hands. I really I for once,
he could not find words. Missus Willoughby, I saw you tonight,
you saw me and her eyes opened wide and him
as she said nothing. He turned from her and called
up the police headquarters, making his request for their presence
in a quiet, professional manner. When he hung up the receiver,
he turned to her. Missus Willoughby, you found the body
who was with you at the time. She did not reply.
After waiting a moment for her to speak, he continued,
you realize that the police will ask questions of you
when they arrive. As a lawyer and your friend, I'm
advising you to tell me everything before they come. I
may make things easier for you. He'sier for me, She repeated, dully,
I've done nothing, nothing wrong. I think it is murder,
Lenin said slowly. She wet her dry lips with the
tip of her tongue. Yes, it is murder. I know that,
she whispered. How do you know, he said sharply.
Speaker 2: She shivered.
Speaker 1: I I she gave a little hysterical laugh, just as
a woman intuitively knows many things.
Speaker 2: Something here.
Speaker 1: It tells me that it is. Did you know the man? No, No,
of course not. I never saw him before. Didn't you
hear what Andrew said? He's a tramp, a hobo. Probably
probably Her voice trailed off, and her dark eyes widened.
Probably what. Lenin leaned forward and laid his hand on hers.
Her skin was damp and ice cold. Probably he he
stopped in the grounds to sleep or for a drink
of water. And mister Lnnin, I can't talk. I'm I'm
you'll excuse me. I must go upstairs. I She rose unsteadily,
and for a moment seemed about to faint. You can
call me when the when they arrive, perhaps I'll feel better.
Then he assisted her to the stairs, watched her slowly
mount them, then turned back into the room, more puzzled
than before. As he sank into a deep cushioned chair
before the window, heavy satin draperies behind him were pushed aside.
A young man wearing mud stained overalls and a dark
blue shirt stepped into the room. He held one finger
up to caution Linnin to silence, then motioned him to
draw the blinds so that their figures could not be
seen by the men outside who waited by the greenhouses. Well,
said Lanin. The other slumped into a chair opposite to him.
He suddenly seemed overcome and unable to speak. Lanin noted
the way his hands trembled his nostrils quivered. After a
moment's silence, the lawyer asked, you're the gardener, aren't you, Yes, sir.
He leaned forward, almost touching Lanin. His eyes glowed in
his eagerness. You sent for the police, yes. Lanin reached
for a cigar and lighted it before he answered the boy.
In that brief moment's survey of the gardener, he felt
an instinctive liking for him. It might be murder, you know,
he added, it was murder, mister Lannin. That poor fellow
out there died the death that was intended for me.
Speaker 2: What do you mean by that?
Speaker 1: Lanin dropped his cigar and quickly rescued it from the carpet.
I'm not going to hide anything, sir, only only I.
I can't face the police, not yet, I've I can't
tell you. But can't you tell them what I say
and keep me out of their way? Isn't it possible?
His white face worked convulsively. He spoke as though compelled
to do so against his will. I don't understand, you,
said the other man coldly. You say someone desired your death,
Yet you don't want to inform the police yourself. Don't
you realize that you'll have to testify you were with
missus Willoughby when she stumbled over the body. Yes, sir,
I'm a lawyer, allering. Perhaps you didn't know that. Yes, yes,
I knew it. That's why I'm asking you to help me.
To help Louise I. Lennin winced as he used the
Christian name of his friend's wife. But the gardener did
not see the movement. You didn't kill the man, did you,
snapped Lenin suddenly, No, No, good God, No, Well, then
will you be kind enough to explain just what is
it all about? He hates me, Allarein? Continued, Who Andrew
Andrew Willoughby? He hates me as much as he fears me?
Lennin started angrily to his feet. Willoughby's my friend, the
younger man laughed stridently. Friend, He's no man's friend. There's
only one thing in the world of any value to him.
Speaker 2: That's science.
Speaker 1: Didn't you see how he took the death of that
poor dog out there. I was behind a clump of shrub.
I heard, heard, and saw him. He gloated over his body.
He was glad, glad that a man had died and
proven another one of his damnable poisons efficacious? By God,
are you insinuating that Andrew Willoughby killed that man out there?
Speaker 2: I am a man.
Speaker 1: He'd never seen a stray tramp. It was intended for me,
aluring returned wearily. He failed in his purpose so far
as I was concerned. But he made a sure test
and it proved successful. You're making an astounding statement. Young man,
said Lannin, straining to keep his voice calm and uninterested.
You are accusing a man of murder, your employer, the
husband of the woman with whom alluring sprang to his feet.
The veins stood out in great welts on his high,
thin forehead. His nostrils quivered. When he again sank into
his chair, he was panting from the struggle. Mister Lannin,
he said, abruptly, I I met Louise, missus Willoughby outside
in the grounds. Why I did so as our affair.
But she is a good woman.
Speaker 2: You must know she is.
Speaker 1: Her husband is more than a scoundrel. He's the vilest, lowest.
Lannin's gesture interrupted him. He continued in a quieter tone.
We met by an arbor near the greenhouses. It is
very dark out there, and in spite of its being moonlight,
we weren't seen, but we saw the figure of a
man as he came out of the house. It was
Andrew Willoughby. At first we thought he had seen Louise
leave and was following us, but he passed the arbor
and went on toward the greenhouses in the moonlight, which
made everything perfectly visible in the open. I could see
he was carrying something. A little case is medicine case
he uses when visiting a patient. I was afraid he
could hear Louise's breathing. He passed so close to us,
but he was too intent on his wicked thoughts to
notice anything else. At the greenhouses, he hesitated, He looked
stealthily around, and then he laughed. That laugh made Louise
grip my arm. I put my hand over her mouth
for fear she would cry out. There's a hydrant beside
one of the houses. I use it every morning to
attach the hose. To my knowledge, no one else ever
touches it. No one has occasion to. Willoughby was aware
of this. It is an old fashioned arrangement, and I've
protested against it, but the things remain as it is.
Several times have been drenched by the nozzle slipping as
we watched. Willoughby went to this hydrant. He carefully unfastened
the hose. Then he opened the little case he carried.
He took out something which evidently was a piece of cloth,
and wiped all the damp off the rusty metal. Then
he put the cloth back into the case. Next, he
took a small vial out of it, and with great caution,
poured it all over the metal. Then, as quietly as
he had come, he whirled around and went back to
the house. Allering paused. Then we both stood there in
the darkness, unable at first to speak or move.
Speaker 2: He went on.
Speaker 1: Then Louise whispered, Charlie, what was it? What was he doing?
I didn't tell her. I knew he had contrived some
diabolical way to get rid of me, though just how
a liquid poison on a piece of metal could do
that I didn't know. I resolved, under no conditions to
touch it. Louise became frightened and started to cry. She
was pent up and nervous before. Now she became hysterical.
I tried to reassure her and told her she'd best
go back to the house. Though she tried to control
her feelings. I felt she knew instinctively what I did,
that her husband had.
Speaker 2: Planned my murder.
Speaker 1: Just as she braced up and started to leave me,
a man vaulted the stone wall and lurched into view,
a pool of moonlight outlining him distinctly. I think he
was a tramp or a thief. I had never seen
him before. He wandered about aimlessly until he came to
the hydrant. Almost before I knew what he was doing,
he had put his mouth to the socket and turned
on the water. The next moment he gave that cry
you heard. We saw him stagger backwards, fling up his arm,
waving them wildly, then fall over, doubling up and writhing
as though in horrible pain. It only lasted a moment
then he was dead. Louise screamed. She started to run.
She fell twice. I wasn't going to follow her, that
I knew I mustn't. I crept further back into the
shadow of the arbor. After you all came back into
the house, I stole out the other way, climbed the wall,
and returned through the servant's entrance. Why should Andrew wish
to kill you, Lanin asked abruptly, alluring rose again. He
crossed to the lawyer and stood under a stand lamp,
allowing its light to shine directly on his pallid face.
The skin over his cheek bones was drawn and tight.
There was a feverish gleam in his eyes. His young
mouth was hard and grim. But in spite of everything,
there was a look of candor and manliness about him,
which impressed Lanin. Arthur Lanin, don't you know me?
Speaker 2: Why?
Speaker 1: Why? The vague something which had disturbed Lenin resolved itself
into a memory, the memory of a pink cheeked, red
haired lad with a sunny smile and almost cherubic cast
of countenance.
Speaker 2: He gave a gasp.
Speaker 1: Charlie Moore, Not Charlie Moore, Yes, Louise's brother.
Speaker 2: But why?
Speaker 1: An automobile came into the driveway, stopped with a noisy
pair of the engine CEMENTA lighted, Then the door bell
gave him metallic clatter. The boy clutched Laddin's arm. For
God's sake, keep me out of this, he cried, I'll
explain later. Before the lawyer could answer, he had disappeared
behind the satin draperies four. Lanin opened the door before
the servant reached it. The inspector, followed by his medical
examiner and a couple of officers, strode into the hallway. Well,
what's the dope, the inspector asked abruptly. He was a
large man with a twenty four hours crop of blue
black beard. His eyes were dark and very keen. He
wore horn rimmed spectacles, which he kept constantly removing and polishing.
Lannin knew that in that brief second survey of the
room he had noticed the almost imperceptible swaying of the
curtains as they fell together behind Charlie Moore. You called me,
the inspector continued, not waiting for his question to be answered. Yes,
where's Willoughby? The doctor was well known on the island. Outside,
a dead man was found on the grounds, some sneak
thief for hobo. Evidently we thought it best to send
for you. It may be heart failure, it may be murder.
All right, take me to 'em. As they stepped outside,
Lannin realized that morning had arrived. In the hazy light,
he saw doctor Willoughby seated on a stone bench, his
shaggy bearded chin cupped in his hand as he stared
with evident interest at the huddled splotch on the ground
before him. The servants had grouped themselves some little distance away,
evidently discussing the gruesome event, but at the sight of
the officers, they hushed abruptly. Lannin glanced quickly at the hydrant.
It was open a slow trickle of water resolved itself
into a little rivulet below it, and wended away into
a tiny stream toward the greenhouses a trifle below it.
Willoughby rose leisurely at their appearance and extended his hand
to the inspector, mister Dwyer. He said, I'm doctor Willoughby.
This is my home. It's unfortunate, Yes, I know, doctor
Dwyer interrupted. The man's dead, all right. You don't know him,
do you. Willoughby shook his head. Now seems to be
a hobo, doesn't he. I fancy he died of heart failure,
but I'd rather your examiner passed upon the case. I
don't think it's advisable for you to depend solely upon
my decision. It's awkward happening on my grounds, you know.
He spoke easily. All traces of the strain of the
evening before seemed to have vanished. The examiner knelt on
the damp ground and took a brief survey of the body.
No indication of foul play, he said. He scowled uncertainly,
then looked from Willoughby's face to the inspectors. He seems
to have died suddenly with acute aggon rather an unusual
attitude for a heart failure to assume. Don't you think so,
doctor Willoughby.
Speaker 2: I do.
Speaker 1: That's why I hesitated to diagnose it as such. And
yet the physician leaned closer. I I'm not prepared to
say it isn't look him over, Riley, said Dwyer abruptly
to a younger man in plain clothes. See if there's
anything to identify him on his clothes, plain hobo.
Speaker 2: Said the other.
Speaker 1: After a moment's survey, there were no cards, letters, nor
marks of any kind on the body or clothing to
lead to any knowledge of the man heart failure. It is,
I take it, said Dwyer, grimly. Must have caught the
poor devil suddenly, probably dropped in here to steal a
night's lodging and having a bum heart keeled over. Lannin
started to speak hesitated, then turned abruptly to doctor Willoughby.
There was an enigmatical look on the physician's bearded face.
Lanin almost fancied. The triumph gleamed through his black eyes.
You you aren't going to have an inquest, the lawyer queried,
Not necessary.
Speaker 2: Dwyer replied, these things seem pretty clear. To me.
Speaker 1: He turned deferentially to Willoughby. You passed it as heart failure, also,
didn't you. Doctor Willoughby bowed his head in assent. We'll
have the body removed at once. The inspector continued, Riley,
you could stay here till the wagon comes. If there's
nothing further, we'll bid you good morning. Something seemed to
snap in Lannin's brain. The story the young gardener had
told him, the scream the dead man had given had
made too deep an impression on the lawyer's mind to
be dismissed lightly. Doctor, he exclaimed, touching the medical assistant's arm.
Do persons dying suddenly of heart failure give a cry
of mortal agony?
Speaker 2: Hey? Lannon repeated the question. No, No, I think not.
Speaker 1: It would be unusual, quite unusual, but not impossible for
them to cry out death comes too suddenly as a
rule for them to make any sound death so painful
as this, Why do you ask this man gave a scream.
I heard it, so did missus Willoughby, who found the body.
The inspector dug the blunt toe of his shoe into
the grass at his feet. He coughed, then looked at Willoughby,
back to Lannin's expressive face, then to his assistant, a
slow flush mounted to his forehead. This puts another complexion
on the matter, He said, quietly, where is missus Willoughby
in the house. Her husband replied, she was badly upset
about the matter and is gone in Stay here, Riley,
come on with me the rest of you. An air
of alertness had taken hold of Dwyer, as though he
suddenly sensed something of interest. As the servants huddled together
did not move, he gave a peremptory gesture toward them
and repeated the command for them to return to the
house with him five. Once inside the house, Willoughby became
a genial host, inquiring of the officers if they desired
anything to drink, and when Dwyer accepted with alacrity, he
ordered the butler to serve all present. Dyer wandered about
the room for a few moments, touching a bit of
furniture here, a drapery there, and puffing viciously on a
strong and vile smelling cigar. After he had swallowed a
large drink of old whiskey, wiped his mouth with the
back of his hand. He asked that missus Willoughby be called.
You heard this fellow, scream, he said, turning to Lenin
while they waited for her appearance.
Speaker 2: Yes, wake you up? No, I was awake.
Speaker 1: How's that insomnia? What time did he scream?
Speaker 2: About?
Speaker 1: Half past four? I should judge now, I don't suffer
with insomnia. I'm usually a heavy sleeper. Something else wakened you?
Speaker 2: Then? Yes?
Speaker 1: What it's hard to say. Possibly being in a strange
room in bed. I'm a guest here, you know. Possibly
the quieter the country after the city, or I fancied
I heard footsteps outside my door. Willoughby leaned forward, his
black eyes lightened, the pupils became mere pinpoints. What kind
of footsteps? Inquired Dwyer. That I can't state. I'm not
prepared to say that I heard any. I may have
fancied I did. If I did hear them, they were
very soft, cautious. I should say man's are a woman's
I don't know, but I think a man's. Willoughby sank
back in the chair, gripping the arms of it with
long stained fingers. How long after you heard these footsteps
was it that you heard the scream? I should judge
thirty minutes. I lay in bed some little time, then,
unable to sleep, I got up and sat by the window.
Does your window face those greenhouses?
Speaker 2: Yes? Did you see this man enter the grounds?
Speaker 1: No? I'd left the window when he screamed, and you
saw nothing suspicious out there? Lannin hesitated. He caught the
glance his hosts directed toward him and coughed. Something impelled
him to say no. Louise Willoughby came into the room.
She'd removed her bedraggled evening gown and had replaced it
with a tea gown of lavender satin and lace. Her
face was ghastly pale in the morning light, her eyes
wide and very dark. Lannin suddenly felt a great pity
for her. Her heavy mass of dark red hair she
had let down and braided into a great rope which
hung over one shoulder. It made her look younger, almost girlish.
At her entrance, Willoughby merely raised his head, looked at
her a second, then back toward the inspector. She accepted
the chair. Lannin offered her, you wish to see me?
She said, yes, missus Willoughby, I'm sorry to disturb you,
But this unfortunate death on your grounds makes it necessary.
Dwyer's voice unconsciously softened as he addressed her. I understand,
Please pardon my appearance.
Speaker 2: I'd gone to bed.
Speaker 1: You were the first to find the dead man's body,
weren't you, missus Willoughby, Yes, you were alone. No, her
gaze did not falter, nor did she look at her husband,
who was with you, A young man, mister Allering. Did
this young man, mister Allering, see, she interrupted him. We
both saw him fall fall. The man wasn't dead when
you first saw him. The woman bit her lip, then
she shook her head. No, mister Allering and I were
in the arbor near the greenhouses. We saw a man
climb over the fence.
Speaker 2: He staggered.
Speaker 1: Then then her eyes shifted and rested on the face
of her husband. Willoughby was yellow. His black eyes, like beads,
stared at her with all the fascination of a snake.
Speaker 2: Coiled the spring. She shivered.
Speaker 1: Then he gave a terrible cry, flung up his arms,
and fell over, writhing. I think he died instantly. I
screamed too, It was horrible to see a man die.
Then I started to run he lay in my pathway.
Speaker 2: It was dark.
Speaker 1: The moon went under cloud Right after it happened.
Speaker 2: I fell.
Speaker 1: I touched his cold face. She paused, staring straight ahead
of her, as if visualizing what had taken place.
Speaker 2: That is all, said Dwyer.
Speaker 1: Yes. Lanin wondered if Dwyer realized the woman was lying.
Where's this holuring now? The officer inquired, looking about. The
servants who had come into the room on returning to
the house shook their heads. I don't know, missus, Willoughby answered,
probably in his room, snapped her husband, speaking for the
first time, he's the gardener employed here. Dwyer merely raised
his eyebrows. He studied the pale, patrician face of the woman,
then turned to one of his assistants, Riley, go of
the servant to get him six. Dwyer and his medical
adviser again traversed the lawn to the greenhouses.
Speaker 2: Lannin went with them.
Speaker 1: The operator, whom Doyer had left in charge of the body,
grinned a sickly welcome. As they approached again, Lannin noticed
the dripping hydrant. Dwyer stalked about the grounds. Crossing to
the greenhouses, he opened a door and stepped inside. He
was gone but a moment. When he returned, he made
a survey of the arbor and the stone wall which
surrounded the grounds. The grass was trampled and crushed, but
no definite footprints were discernible. Stevens, go back to the
house and see what's the matter that Riley hasn't found
that gardener, he said abruptly. The medical examiner, whose attention
had been centered on the dead man, looked up quickly.
It's heart failure, all right, Dwyer, he said. Dwyer merely grunted.
The man who had been with the body, hitched his
trousers and passed the back of a hairy hand across
his mouth. He started briskly toward the house, paused abruptly,
and whirling around, crossed the hydrant. As he stopped to
drink from the faucet. Lannin cried out in an unnatural voice.
Speaker 2: Don't do that.
Speaker 1: The young officer straightened abruptly. Speaking to me, he asked, Yes,
what's the matter? Don't touch that hydrant. Stevens came closer.
I don't understand, he said, wondering if he were making
a fool of himself, or if what Allering had said
were true, Lannin has a. The inspector looked at him inquiringly.
Lannon laughed nervously, Well, said Dwyer. He removed his horn
rimmed glasses and polished them vigorously. His keen eyes squinted.
Lannin inwardly squirmed under the scrutiny. I may be mistaken,
the lawyer said, uneasily, but I'm under the impression that
the man died after drinking from that faucet. Stevens whistled.
Lannin realized he had told too much to withhold any more,
and continued quietly. Allarin came to me after Missus Willoughby retired.
He said, the dead man took a drink, then fell
writhing to the ground. He may have imagined it. I
don't know, but it's well to take no chances. Missus
Willoughby did not mention this. No where did Alarin go?
Why hasn't Riley found him? I don't know, well, mused
the inspector. Stamp queer. We'll get a glass test this water.
Here's a tin cup, said the younger officer, reaching for one,
which hung on a nail just below the high Lannin
suddenly remembered the gardener's words when he had mentioned the
caution Willoughby had exercised in wiping the moisture from the faucet.
He stepped forward quietly, and drawing his handkerchief from his pocket,
he wrapped it about his hand before turning the spicket.
Then he drew some water and handed it to the
medical examiner.
Speaker 2: It was clear as crystal.
Speaker 1: Willoughby has a laboratory where he makes tests in chemistry.
The lawyer said, stay here, Dwyer said to the operator
he had left with the body before then he turned
to the others with a curt nod of his head
toward the house. We'll use the laboratory, though I have
a hunch there's nothing to this water business, but you
never can't tell. And we've got to locate this fellow
Allerin seven. As they entered the house, Willoughby rose abruptly.
Lannin sensed attention in the air, as though the physician
and his wife had been quarreling. The woman's face was bloodless,
the great purple shadows under her eyes and her white
lips gave her an almost ethereal beauty. She smiled out
a wand greeting, as though welcoming the interruption of an
unpleasant scene. Doctor Willoughby said the inspector abruptly, Doctor Graves
here would like to use your laboratory for a little test,
if you don't mind test, smiled Willoughby suavely. Yes, of
the hydrant water. Mister Lenin is under the impression that
the dead hobo took a drink from your hydrant and
keeled over. Water looks all right, but we'd like to
make sure. The smile never left Willoughby's face, though Lenin
fancied it grew tighter. I'll be very glad to assist
you in any way, the physician said, though I'm positive
the water had nothing to do with the poor chap's death.
We don't use it for drinking purposes, but it's pure. However,
as you say, it's best to make sure. Come this way,
if you please. My laboratory is on.
Speaker 2: The top floor.
Speaker 1: He led the way to the odorous room that was
the scene of as many chemical tests. As they reached
the door for a second, he hesitated. He drew a
deep breath and inserted a key in the lock. It
did not turn. The physician looked puzzled. That's strange, he muttered.
He rattled the knob. Maybe the lock is sprung, said
the inspector grimly. Willoughby shook his head. It seems to
be locked from the inside, he said. The smile left
his face. He became yellower if possible. There came to
them the rustle of papers inside the room, the sound
of someone moving. The men stared at each other. Willoughby
swayed a trifle and lurched against the door. Dwyer thrust
a huge fist forward and gave the panel a resounding kick.
Open this door, he called, open it, or we'll break
it down. There was silence, then a sound of footsteps,
and the door was flung open. The gardener stood just
inside the room. There was silence, then a sound of footsteps,
and the door was flung open. The gardener stood just
inside the room. He had discarded his overalls and looked
very much the gentleman in a dark, well fitting suit.
Though he was ghastly pale, there was a triumphant gleam
in his dark eyes and an air of success.
Speaker 2: In his bearing.
Speaker 1: The room was in absolute disorder. Papers were thrown everywhere,
Bottles lay at random on glass top tables, paper baskets
were overthrown. Everything indicated a hurried but thorough search. One
instant Willoughby glared at his ransacked laboratory, then into the
glowing eyes of the boy, whom he seemed to recognize
for the first time. Then he flung himself at the
younger man with an almost animal like snarl. Damn you,
Aluring stepped aside. At the same moment Dwyer laid a
heavy hand on his shoulder. Well he smiled, but the
menace in his cool tones made Lanin shiver. I presume
you are the gardener Aluring. No wonder you didn't care
to give your testimony to us. We came out here
to look into the matter of a heart failure. We
hardly expected to be so fortunate as to lay our
hands on Charlie Moore number nine six seven to two.
The boy flung back his head and looked bravely into
the cool, hard face of the inspector. Number nine sixty
seven two, gasped Stevens.
Speaker 2: Sure.
Speaker 1: The escaped khan, sent up two years ago for manslaughter,
escaped six weeks ago. They say a society woman helped
him bust out. But I never dreamed. It was missus Willoughby.
She's my sister, said the boy, proudly.
Speaker 2: Sure.
Speaker 1: Dwyer bit off the end of a cigar and stuck
it in his mouth, but he didn't light it. He
looked steadily at the young man, then toward Willoughby. The
latter's eyes were bloodshot. He seemed to be controlling himself
with difficulty. What did you know about this, Dwyer asked him. Nothing,
snapped the doctor. You didn't recognize him, no, young Moore
laughed unpleasantly. That's a lie, he said. He knew me
the moment Louise brought me into this house. She knew
he did, and so did I. But he didn't dare
admit it. If he had, he would have notified you
in a minute. He wanted me out of the way,
but he was afraid, so he chose the cowardly way.
He made everyone think I was her lover and poisoned
them against her, and then stop. It was Willoughby who
exclaimed the boy shrugged his shoulders. You've made some strange statements,
young man, said Dwyer quietly. And I must say, for
a man under arrest, an escaped convict you're damned cool.
A frank smile curled the other's lips. I'm not going back, Inspector,
he said, And don't you think it for one minute.
Speaker 2: Oh is that so? You bet your life? It is?
Speaker 1: I spent two years in that hellhole. I was clever
enough to make my escape. You can rest assured I'll
be clever enough to keep out of it. What do
you think I came here for? That's what I'm wondering,
said Dwyer dryly. You might have known sooner or later
we'd have run you down that we would be certain
to come to your sisters for you. Not so certain.
If that poor devil hadn't died out there, I'd still
be safe here. I've had six weeks start of you, Inspector,
that was all I needed. Six weeks too much for you, Andrew.
But you see you didn't get me after all. Dwyer
flung his cigar from him impatiently and stepped over the
threshold into the disordered laboratory. He closed the door behind
him with a snap. Willoughby suddenly swayed and dropped into
the nearest chair. Now more, said the inspector. No funny business,
get me, you're going back with me, and you're going
back to stay. You were sent up on a poison charge.
Speaker 2: Young man.
Speaker 1: There's a dead man out there on those grounds. What
did you have to do with his death? The boy
shrugged his shoulders again, then his eyes clouded. A note
of pathos crept into his voice. Everything he said quietly.
I suppose if it weren't for me, the poor.
Speaker 2: Devil would be alive.
Speaker 1: At this minute, Willoughby gave an inarticulate cry. Dwyer stared
at the ex gardener, striving to digest his astounding words.
Let me get you right, he said, slowly. Are you
confessing that you killed that bum out there? No, said
young Moore, But I'm saying that my brother in law,
Andrew Willoughby did eight. There was dead silence. Then Willoughby laughed.
He laughed until he shook. Then he staggered to his
feet and waved a long bony finger at his accuser.
Speaker 2: He tried to.
Speaker 1: Implicate me before you whelp. You tried to shift John
Gordon's murder on my shoulders. By god, don't you try
it again. I never saw that man out there before.
I just a minute. The dignity, the note of authority
in the boy's voice seemed to impress even Dwyer, hardened
officer of the law that he was two years ago
when I came out of college, I came here to
study chemistry with doctor Willoughby, my brother in law. I
was interested in science. He'd gone further into some phases
of it than any other teacher I could secure. I
became his assistant in numerous tests. John Gordon was another assistant.
Why rake all that up, snapped Dwyer impatiently. All that
detail came out at the trial, because you are going
to know the truth, because I'm going to prove my statements.
I don't know if Andrew Willoughby is insane or not,
but I do know that in the interest of science
he will stop at nothing, not even murder. Please, He continued,
raising a silencing hand as they would have interrupted him.
He was making some tests of a new, very strange
and interest in Eastern poison. It left no trace of
any kind. A touch of it on a mucous membrane
would produce instant death. This was not enough for doctor Willoughby.
He was searching for a poison whose mere contact will
be deadly. At last, he hit upon one harmless enough
liquid until combined with metal and moisture. Lanin gave an
exclamation of surprise. Willoughby had seated himself and now sat
staring at the speaker with beaded, fascinated eyes. He wet
his lips with the tip of his tongue, but otherwise
made no movement. The trouble with this poison, continued Moore,
was that the victim died in convulsions, the death being
of several moments duration. Consequently, Willoughby was still dissatisfied. I
don't know what his desire was in making of poisoning
a fine art. I don't think that at that time
murder was his object. He sacrificed numerous animals in his experiments.
Even Louise's pet Yardale and a Persian cat belonging to
the housekeeper were destroyed. The brutality of their death, the
horrible agony they suffered was getting on my nerves. I
wanted to get away. He did not let John Gordon
into the secret of these poisons, so Gordon was in
total ignorance of Willoughby's ambition. I began to fear my
brother in law. There was an insane glitter in his
eyes when at work. It dawned upon me that he
would not endure any obstacle being placed in his way,
and that because of my knowledge of his tests, he
hated me, although he needed me. Then John Gordon was
found dead. His attitude, the tortured expression on his face
proved conclusively he had been poisoned, though if Willoughby had
not so painstakingly explained to the nature of that poison,
no one would have detected it in his system. Whether
my brother in law deliberately killed him as a test
or it was an accident, I'm not prepared to state.
But I had nothing to do with it. The metal
cup which contained the coffee which Gordon drank I never
saw before, So help me God. Willoughby swore in court
to my carelessness that I had deliberately left that cup
which had been used on a tea table, and young
Gordon had poured coffee into it and drank it. It
was a lie, Doctor Willoughby himself did it. I had
nothing to support my statement. Then I was working for
a reputable, famous scientist. What was my word against his?
With every proof in the world against me. But I
made up my mind that the instant, those prison doors
closed behind me, and I was once again a free man.
I would not only prove my innocence, but Andrew Willoughby's guilt,
and I've done so. He paused abruptly. I escaped the
papers gave the details. I took a chance in coming here,
But as Louisa's gardener, I was safe from you. If
Willoughby did not recognize me. For a long time, he
never noticed me. One servant was the same as another
to him. His wife always engaged them. Then he noted
our friendship, Louise's in mine, and became jealous. Too late,
we recognized our mistake for the instant. He took a
good look at me. He knew who I was. As
I said, he was cowardly. He knew I had something
more than my liberty at stake. He feared me. He
was afraid of what I knew of him. He instantly
sensed that my presence in his household meant I was
spying upon him. He could not send me away. He
determined to do away with me. Cleverly, he planted the
idea in the mind of all his wife's friends that
she was unfaithful to him, that I was her lover.
He did this so that if he were discovered as
my murderer, he would be exonerated for protecting his honor.
Then he began to study my habits, knowing what he intended.
I ate all my meals at a nearby road house.
Everything suspicious I handled with gloves. But in spite of
all my precautions, if that poor devil had not appeared
last night this morning I would be a dead man.
An enigmatical smile curled up the corners of Willoughby's eyes.
He shifted his position. He glanced in an almost disinterested
fashion at the papers tossed about the room. He contrived
my murder in the cleverest most diabolical fashion conceived of
by man, continued Moore, knowing that what are the plants?
I must attach that hose Every morning, he carefully saw
to it that it was unattached. Then, using this poison
which he had perfected, he placed it on the faucet,
so that the instant it came into contact with moisture
and metal, it became deadly, so deadly that the touch
of it on my bare hand was enough to kill me.
Very pretty, said Dwyer, with something like a snort. But
it strikes me like some kind of a fairy tale.
You can't get away with that stuff, young man Moore smiled.
I saw him place the poison on the hydrant faucet,
so did his wife. I saw the tramp touch it
and fall over dead, so did she. I've been hunting
the formula and his diary. Dwyer sniffed again, though he
took the book more extended toward him and turned over
its pages curiously. We're always getting dope on mysterious poisons
that leave no trace, he said. But it's going a
little too far to believe in the existence of one
that kills by the mere touch of flesh which has
no abrasion or scratch of any kind. Willoughby suddenly stiffened,
his nostrils quivered. You don't doubt its existence, he exclaimed,
in a high pitched, excited voice.
Speaker 2: I do.
Speaker 1: You don't believe what he says is true?
Speaker 2: I do not, well.
Speaker 1: It is true, every word of it. The professional pride
in the doctor's voice showed he'd clearly forgotten that such
a statement meant an admission of murder. Are you confessing
that you attempted your brother in law's life and killed
that hobo, exclaimed Dwyer, whirling on him. I'm making a
statement that I've discovered the greatest existing poison, that I've
proven its potency. You doubt my word.
Speaker 2: Watch.
Speaker 1: Before any of the startled spectators could stop him, he
had reached for the little vial of amber colored liquid
lenin so vividly recalled as spilling the night before, and
pouring a little of it in a metal measuring cup
half filled with water. He rubbed his hand over the
surface of the cup for a second. He smiled whimsically
at the men, who stared in bewilderment at him. Then
he suddenly stiffened his muscles, gave a convulsive movement, and
he rolled off the chair on to the floor, dead,
exclaimed the other physician, bending over him, almost instantaneous. Well
I'm damped, ejaculated Dwyer. My sister, gasped young Moore. There
was a horrified expression in his dark eyes. I must
go to her. You don't want me, do you No?
But don't try to get away, replied Dwyer, grimly, still
staring in blank as styles at the stark figure of
their late host. You'll find everything in his diary, said
the boy in the doorway. His vainglory prompted him to
write it up. It prompted his death, said Lannin, turning away,
heartsick at the thought. Then the knowledge that Louise Willoughby
was free sent him down into the drawing room, where
she sat, hands clasped in those of her brother. End
of After Midnight by Martin Neville