Inspector Queen’s Own Case

She found the snake on the bottom shelf among some wrenches, pipe elbows, and other plumbing accessories. It was unmistakable, a large coil of metal cable with a loopy sort of head on it.

She took the snake over to the vent of the nursery chute, set the canvas basket to one side, inserted the head of the cable in the opening, and pushed. As she unwound the snake, she kept pushing upward. The cable made a raspy, rattly sound going up. She kept wiggling it, shaking it, making it go from side to side.

It went up, up, up. Finally it banged against something far overhead, refused to go further. It had obviously struck the door of the chute in the nursery.

And nothing had come down.

Jessie sat down on the basement floor and laughed.

Exit Jessie Sherwood, Female Sleuth.

The only thing to do was return the snake to the shelf, turn off the light, get into her car, and go back where she belonged.

Still seated on the floor under the vent, Jessie began to coil the cable. It came down, scraping, as she rewound it. The head appeared.

And something crumpled and white appeared with it and dropped into her lap.

The material was batiste. It had a lace edging. Honiton lace.

With trembling fingers Jessie took the pillowslip by two corners and held it up.

The imprint of a dirty right hand showed plainly just off the center of the square.

“Why, I’ve done it,” Jessie said aloud in an amazed voice. “I’ve found it.”

A horribly familiar voice behind her replied, “So you have, Miss Sherwood.”

Jessie’s head screwed around like a doll’s.

Her eyeballs froze.

Alton K. Humffrey was standing at the foot of the basement stairs.

In his right hand there was a gun, and the gun was aimed at her heart.

The eye of the gun came steadily nearer, growing bigger and bigger.

Richard, Jessie thought. Richard.

“First, Miss Sherwood,” the horrible voice said, “I’ll relieve you of this.”

She felt the pillowslip jerked out of her hand. From the corner of her paralyzed eye she saw his left hand crumple it, stuff it into his pocket.

The gun receded.

Not far.

“You’re frightened, Miss Sherwood. I sympathize. But you have only yourself to blame. Not a particularly consoling last thought, I suppose. Believe me, I dislike this almost as much as you do. But what recourse have you left me?”

Jessie almost said, None. But she knew that if she opened her mouth, nothing would come out but a chatter of teeth.

Richard, Richard. You don’t even know where I am. Not you, not Chief Pearl, not anybody but Charlie Peterson, and what good is he? Alton Humffrey has seen to that, or he wouldn’t be here pointing a gun. You’re going to die alone, Jessie, like an idiot, sitting on a basement floor in an empty house on an empty island.

Die.

The voice was saying, without bite or pinch, “You must see that I have no choice. You’ve found the slip, you’ve examined it. You’re probably incorruptible. In any case, you’re too close to that busybody Queen. So I must kill you, Miss Sherwood. I must.”

This isn’t happening, Jessie thought. It’s just — not — happening.

“Not that the prospect pleases. I’m not a compulsive murderer. It’s easier to commit murder than one would think, I’ve found, but it isn’t pleasant. Your death is even dangerous to me. Peterson knows you’re here. I could shoot you as as intruder, saying that I fired before I realized who you were, but Peterson’s told me you were here. By the same token, he also knows I’m here. So I’m forced to take a great risk.”

I’m going to wake up any second...

“When you disappear, suspicion will naturally fall on me. After I row your body out and sink it in deep water, I shall have to concoct a story. They won’t believe the story, of course, no matter how plausible it is. But without a body, with no evidence of a crime, what can they do, after all? I think I’ll come out of it all right. This is a soundproof room, Miss Sherwood, and — forgive me — I shall be very careful about removing all traces afterward.”

It’s silly. He’s just trying to scare me. Nobody could talk as calmly as this and mean to take a human life. Nobody.

Richard, Richard.