The Weak-Eyed Bat

“Dr. Prye wouldn’t like it. He gave me orders when you were out of the room.”

Nora stared at her. “I wasn’t out of the room.”

“You’ve forgotten. You were excited. The sight of blood frequently affects—”

“I wasn’t out of that room and you know it!”

“Don’t you remember?” Miss Alfonse said in surprise. “You must have had a greater shock than I realized. Shall I give you a sedative, Miss Shane?”

“I wasn’t out of the room,” Nora said again, but her voice was uncertain.

Alfonse patted her shoulder gently. “I’m sorry, Miss Shane. You’ve had a bad time of it. If there’s anything you need, just call me. Good night.”

She turned and went down the stairs with her firm, soft steps.

It was ten o’clock when the car drove up the lane, crunching over the remnants of Miss Bonner’s spotlight. It passed slowly, for the driver was peering out of the window into the darkness.

“One, two, three, four,” he said confidently. “This must be it. Creepy place.”

He got out at the Frost cottage, a small fat man in a cabman’s uniform, and knocked on the door, keeping as close to it as possible.

The door opened slightly, and he was inspected and passed by Miss Hattie Brown.

“What do you want?” she said.

“Party here called for a taxi at ten o’clock sharp.”

“Nobody here wants a taxi,” Hattie said, “unless— Wait a minute.” She went down the hall and rapped on a door. “Miss Joan! Did you order a taxi? Miss Joan?”

There was no answer. She tried the door, but it was locked.

“Nobody here wants a taxi,” she repeated. “Our young lady was going to leave tonight, but I suppose it was just one of her tantrums. She gets them bad.”

This was interesting, of course, but not business. “That’ll be one-sixty please, at ten cents a mile.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Hattie demanded. “I’m not going to pay you. You didn’t take anyone any place—”

“What’s going on down there?” Professor Frost appeared at the head of the stairs.

Hattie and the cabdriver explained simultaneously.

“That’s enough, Hattie. Tell Susan to pay him.”

“Miss Susan isn’t here. She went out a while ago.”

A two-dollar bill fluttered down the steps. Hattie eyed the driver malevolently as he deposited it in his pocket and went out. She locked the door behind him. Professor Frost was still standing at the head of the stairs, and she said uncertainly:

“Anything wrong, sir?”

He shook his head but he didn’t move away. His cheek was swollen and slightly blue, and he looked grouchy, Hattie thought. She returned thoughtfully to the chaste passions of Lady Amelia struggling in the arms of the mad poet Pearce.

Tom Little groaned and stretched his arms above his head. He looked at his watch and said, “My God.”

In the next room Jennie laid down her crocheting and got to her feet. Her eyes were hostile but she said respectfully enough: “Did you want something, Mr. Little?”

“Have there been any calls for me?”

“No sir. The telephone rang but it wasn’t our ring.”

He sat up straight in his chair and stared at her out of bloodshot eyes. “You’re positive?”

“I know our ring when I hear it,” she said shortly.

“Is my wife asleep?”

Jennie nodded.

He rose with exaggerated nonchalance. “I think I’ll take a walk. I feel dopey. Don’t wait up for me.”

He buttoned his coat and went out, and Jennie turned off the lights. She watched for him from her window, but she could see nothing.

At eleven o’clock Prye woke up and raised his head and Nora said: “Lie down. That’s the least you can do.”

“Oh, you’re still here?” Prye tried to grin but it wasn’t worth the effort. “I had no idea you were so devoted. By the way, thanks for finding me.”

“It was nothing at all,” Nora said politely. “I often find people lying half-dead in the woods, especially if they don’t mind their own business. Who hit you?”

“I forgot to ask. I am becoming more and more careless.”

“You didn’t see anyone at all?”

“That’s right.”

She was silent a minute, frowning.

“Joan’s hair is yellow,” she said finally. “Did you smell anything?”

“The usual smells. Grass. Trees. Damp earth.”

“Perfume?”

“No perfume.”

“That’s funny. She reeks of perfume,” Nora said thoughtfully. “She could have hidden her hair under a cap. No, she wouldn’t have. If she hit you she’d want you to know about it. I don’t think she’d care about being caught or arrested. She’s never tried to conceal anything and she gets away with it every time.”

Prye ran his fingers around the bandages on his head. “Neat work. I hope you thanked Miss Alfonse prettily.”

“I did not. Did you ask her not to call the police?”

“I never thought of the police,” Prye said. “But I can easily understand why Miss Alfonse did.”

“Why?”

“You have your little mysteries, Nora. Miss Alfonse is mine.”

“You may have her,” Nora said. “I’m scared of her. She’s creepy.”

Miss Alfonse certainly did not look creepy at the moment. She was clad in serviceable broadcloth pajamas and an old wool dressing gown. She had been arguing with Miss Bonner for some time and she was tired.