The Weak-Eyed Bat

“You have nothing to report to the police,” she said again. “If Miss Frost has done any damage, she will have to pay for it.”

“I want her locked up,” Miss Bonner said. “I want her behind bars so I know where she is and what she’s doing. I don’t care how late it is. The police don’t keep office hours.”

Alfonse attempted a tolerant smile, but it was not a success. Her voice was sharp. “They have to sleep. Even I have to sleep, Miss Bonner. I shall phone the police if you insist.”

“I insist,” Emily said grimly.

“Very well.”

Alfonse walked out of the door, closed it behind her, and went to bed.

Horace had stopped howling, but he lay with his nose pressed against the crack of the front door, whining intermittently.

“What’s the matter with you, Horace?” Mr. Smith said angrily. “Do you want out?”

Horace did. Mr. Smith put on a coat and snapped a leash on Horace’s collar. They were gone only a short time. When they came back Mr. Smith was looking quite pale. It did not take him long to pack, and within an hour he was roaring up the road in his car, with Horace curled up asleep in the back seat.

All the houses were dark by that time, and all the residents were asleep, except one who was dead.

Chapter Five

At eight o’clock on Tuesday morning, August the second, Dr. Prye started groggily out of bed and began to dress before Nora could appear with a number of good reasons why he should not. He took a half-grain of codeine to dispel the strong conviction that his head was falling off, and then looked in the mirror to make sure it hadn’t already fallen off.

It was still there, noticeably so. Miss Alfonse had been thorough. The bandages covered his head like a turban, and since this made him resemble a Hindu, he carried out the motif by winding a bright yellow scarf over the bandages, and went down to breakfast.

When Prye entered the kitchen Nora was at the stove frying bacon, and she did not turn around. She said coldly over her shoulder:

“I suppose you think you’re surprising me? Well, you’re not. Once a damn fool always a damn fool.”

“Oh, good morning, Nora,” Prye said, pulling out a chair from the table. “Could that bacon be for me?”

“Certainly,” Nora said bitterly. “I never eat when I know there’s going to be a death in the house.”

She flipped the bacon out of the pan, set the plate in front of Prye, and eyed the yellow scarf coldly. “Disguise? Or a new idea from Esquire? Or is that crack in your skull deeper than I thought?”

Prye crunched bacon. “As a matter of fact, I’m going visiting this morning.”

“Over my dead body,” Nora said.

“If necessary, over your dead body. Since I don’t want to alarm anyone I thought I’d camouflage the bandages.”

“Why go visiting at all? You managed to stir up trouble quite nicely yesterday just by staying at home and perhaps you’ll do even better today.”

“I believe,” Prye said thoughtfully, “that I stirred up more than you realize. Or rather you did.”

“I did!” Nora protested.

“You did. You see, the trouble occurred when I was taking you home. There aren’t any jealous rivals hovering around, are there?”

“Hundreds. The line forms on the left.”

“I asked a serious question.”

“Well, it’s a lousy one,” Nora said warmly. “If I say yes, you’ll think I’m conceited; and if I say no, you’ll think I should have had enough pride to say yes. Well, pride’s not my strong suit. I say no. No rivals.”

“In that case I was assaulted for myself alone.”

“That’s what I figured,” Nora said demurely.

“But who, I ask you, wants to assault me? What have I done? Nothing.”

“Don’t be modest.”

“So,” he went on, ignoring her, “I came to the conclusion that I was put out of the way because I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Suppose two people had arranged to meet in that grove of birches—”

“No one would meet there. It’s swarming with mosquitoes.”

“Yes, but isn’t it a nice spot for a murder? Dark, cozy, warm. And the mosquitoes keep away other people.”

“Excluding you,” Nora said. “So the idea is that you walked in on a murder, and in order to teach you not to walk in on murders the murderer tapped you on the head?”

“That’s it,” Prye said. “Good, don’t you think?”

“So where is the body?”

“I’m not that far yet. After all, you can do a lot of things with a body. Bury it. Throw it into the lake. Even put it up a bushy tree. I knew a fellow once who fixed up a pulley, hanged his wife, and left her in a tree.”

“I’ll bet you know lots of lovely, lovely people. Did you go to school with Jack the Ripper and send him valentines?”

Prye got up from the table, grinning. “I’ll be gone for some time. I want to see if anyone is missing. If you’d like to make yourself useful you could organize a search.”

“What do I look for?”

“Everything. Bodies, bloodstains, weapons, signs of recent digging. I lost a collar button here two years ago. You might keep an eye out for that, too.”

“Very funny,” Nora said.