Inspector Queen’s Own Case

“I could only testify to what I saw. What happened to that pillowslip?”

“Probably destroyed. Or disposed of in some way.”

“But by whom?”

“By somebody in the house.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Jessie was appalled.

“If you start from the existence of the handprint, it’s the logical conclusion.”

“But who in the Humffrey house would do a thing like that, Richard?”

He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Jessie said, “You do believe me, don’t you? Somebody has to...”

“Of course I believe you, Jessie,” he said gently. “And that’s where I’m jumping off from.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a talk with Abe Pearl last night. Abe’s the salt of the earth, and he was a good big-city cop, but maybe he isn’t as good a judge of character as I am.” He grinned. “Your character, anyway.”

But Jessie did not smile back. “In other words, Chief Pearl has made up his mind not to believe my story, either.”

“Abe’s not prepared to kick up a fuss about a murder when there’s nothing concrete to back it up. And then, of course, the inquest jury did bring in a verdict of accidental death. Put that together with Frost’s alibi for last Thursday night, and you see the spot Abe’s in.”

“What you’re trying to tell me,” Jessie said bitterly, “is that he’s dropping the case.”

“Yes.” Richard Queen rubbed his jaw. “That’s why I informed the Pearls last night that they’d soon be losing their star boarder.”

“You’re going to leave?” And suddenly the spray on the window made an empty sound, and the lobster began to weigh heavily. “Where are you going?”

“Back to New York.”

“Oh.” Jessie was silent. “But I thought you said—”

He nodded wryly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the case and I’ve decided New York is the place to start an investigation. Somebody has to do something about this business. Abe can’t, the Humffrey’s won’t — who else is there but me? I have nothing to do with myself, anyway.”

Tears sprang into Jessie’s eyes. “I’m so glad. So glad, Richard.”

“In fact...” He was looking at her across the table with the oddest expression. “I was hoping you’d go with me.”

“Me?”

“You could help in lots of ways,” he said awkwardly. He fumbled with his cup.

Jessie’s heart beat faster. Now don’t be foolish, she kept saying to herself. He’s just being kind. Or... after all, what do I really know about him? Maybe...

“I think I’d have to know in what ways, Richard,” she said slowly. “For one thing, I’ve promised to stay on at Nair Island for a while to keep an eye on Mrs. Humffrey—”

“Let Humffrey get another nurse.”

“No, I gave my word.”

“But how long—?”

“Let’s talk about it in the car,” Jessie said abruptly. “If I’m getting into something, I want to know just what it is. Do you mind?”

He leaned forward suddenly and took her hand. “You’re quite a woman, Jessie. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“And none of your blarney!” Jessie laughed as she withdrew her hand and rose. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

Richard Queen watched her make her way among the empty tables toward the rest rooms. She walks like a young girl, he thought. A young girl...

He signaled the waitress and caught himself staring at his hand.

He pulled it quickly down and out of sight.

In the end, it was Alton Humffrey’s wife who made up Jessie’s mind. The following Tuesday — it was the 16th of August — Sarah Humffrey slipped out of her bedroom while Jessie was in the kitchen fixing a tray, ran down to the Humffrey beach in her nightgown, waded out into the Sound, and tried to drown herself. She might have succeeded if Henry Cullum had not been on the dock tinkering with the engine of the Humffrey cruiser. The white-haired chauffeur jumped in and pulled the hysterical woman out. She was screaming that she wanted to die.

Dr. Wicks put her under deep sedation and spoke to her husband grimly.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to face it, Mr. Humffrey. Your wife is a damned sick woman, and I’m not the doctor for her. She needs specialized help. This obsession of hers that she killed the baby, these hysterical feelings of guilt about the pillow, now an attempt at suicide — I’m over my depth.”

Alton Humffrey seemed all loosened, as if the binder that held him together was crumbling away. Jessie had never seen him so pale and depressed.

“Your wife is on the edge of a mental collapse,” Dr. Wicks went on, blotting the freckles on his bald spot. “In her unstable condition, in view of what happened here, this house is the last place in the world she ought to be. If you’ll take my advice—”

“What you’re trying to tell me, I believe, is that I ought to put Mrs. Humffrey in a sanitarium?”

“Er, yes. I know a very good one up in Massachusetts. In Great Barrington. The psychiatrist in charge has an excellent reputation—”

“And can he keep his mouth shut?” the millionaire said. “This running down into the water business... if the newspapers should get wind of it—”

Dr. Wicks’s lips flattened. “I wouldn’t recommend him otherwise, Mr. Humffrey. I know how you feel about publicity.”

“A psychiatrist, you say?”

“One of the soundest.”