Inspector Queen’s Own Case

“If you must get into jams, it’s time you learned to get out of them by your own efforts.”

“I don’t believe it.” Frost was dazed. “Why, you’ve never turned me down before. And I’m in the damnedest spot just now... What’s the idea, Uncle? Don’t tell me you’re in a pecuniary pickle.”

“I don’t get into pecuniary pickles, Ronald.” Jessie Sherwood could almost see Alton Humffrey’s glacial smile. “I take it this request was the real purpose of your visit, so—”

“Wait a minute.” Ron Frost’s tone was ugly now. “I want clarification. Is this a peeve of the moment because your precious castle has been fouled up all day by the common people, or is it a permanent freeze-out?”

“Translated into English,” his uncle said, “you’re apparently inquiring whether this is a whim or a policy. It’s a policy, Ronald. I find now that I have a better use for my money than to pay your gambling debts and enlarge the bank accounts of your heartbroken lady-friends.”

“The brat,” mumbled Frost.

“I beg your pardon?”

“This mongrel you picked up somewhere—”

“You’re drunk,” Alton Humffrey said.

“Not so drunk I can’t put two and two together! All your wormy talk about the Humffrey blood — the family name — the promises you made my mother—!”

“You have an obligation, too,” his uncle snapped. “Principally, to stop following the life cycle of a sponge. By the way, you’ll apologize for the disgusting manner in which you’ve just referred to my son.”

“Your son!” shouted Frost. “What is he if he isn’t a mongrel?”

“Get out.”

“Can’t stand the truth, hey? You gave me every reason to expect I’d be your heir, not some puking little—”

“So help me God, Ronald,” Alton Humffrey’s voice said clearly, “if you don’t leave at once I’ll throw you down the stairs.”

There was a silence.

Then Jessie Sherwood heard young Frost say with a nervous laugh, “I’m sorry, Uncle. I guess I am tight. I apologize, of course.”

There was another silence.

“Very well,” Humffrey said. “And now I take it you’re about to leave?”

“Right, right,” Ron Frost said.

She heard him stagger up the hall. A few minutes later his footsteps returned and stopped in the study doorway.

“Please say good-by and thanks to Aunt Sarah for me, Uncle. Under the circumstances—”

“I understand.” The Humffrey voice sounded remote.

“Well... so long, Uncle Alton.”

“Good-by, Ronald.”

“I’ll be seeing you and Aunt Sarah soon, I hope.”

There was no reply.

Young Frost stumbled down the stairs. Shortly after, Jessie heard his Jaguar roar away.

So the day was intolerable, and she sank into bed thankfully that night, punched her pillow, murmured her nightly prayer, and sought sleep.

At two in the morning she was still seeking.

Nair Island had long ago settled down to silence and to darkness. The rustle of surf that soothed her every night was the only sound she could hear, except for an occasional late guest’s car leaving the Island; but tonight its rhythm seemed to clash with her pulse rate. Everyone in the house was asleep; the two rooms above the garage, where Stallings and Cullum had their quarters, had been dark for hours. Her bedroom was not even hot; a cool breeze had swept in from sea at eleven, and she had had to get up for a quilt.

Then why couldn’t she sleep?

It was a nuisance, because usually she fell asleep at will. She had always had the gift of instant relaxation. It was one of her assets as a nurse.

It certainly wasn’t the baby. Jessie had been a little concerned about his behavior during the day, but with bedtime he had become his healthy little self again, and he had finished his bottle, bubbled mightily, and fallen asleep like an angel. When she had checked him before turning in, his tiny face was serene and he was breathing with such untroubled lightness that she had actually stooped over his crib. Nor was it an imminent feeding that was keeping her wakeful; little Michael had broken himself of his 2 a.m. bottle ten days before, and he had slept peacefully through every night since.

It was the whole disagreeable day, Jessie decided — the fireworks, the general confusion, Mrs. Humffrey’s flapping about, the tension in the household climaxed by the row between uncle and nephew. And perhaps — she felt her cheeks tingle — perhaps it had something to do with that man Richard Queen.