The Weak-Eyed Bat

“Murder!” Jakes shouted. “I’m going right back there and—”

“No, that would be foolish. It wasn’t the ordinary kind of murder at all. It was crazy, so crazy that two psychiatrists decided that she was crazy. I testified that she was sane, but I was outnumbered and she was sent to an institution. That was eight years ago.”

“What about the murder?”

“Well, she was employed as nursemaid in the house of a wealthy widower in Chicago. His wife had died in childbirth. When the baby was a few months old Miss Alfonse — she called herself Marion Allen then — went out one day for some amusement. She and the baby took a ride on a roller coaster. Miss Allen enjoyed the ride but the baby was taken off dead.”

“Good God! She didn’t do it on purpose?”

“At the time everyone thought not. But the various little incidents from her past began to crop up. Among them were three marriages with no intervening divorces. A charge of criminal negligence was laid. Then a housemaid came forward and testified that Miss Allen had hinted several times that if it weren’t for the baby she could have the widower down on his knees. Even though the State’s case was a slim one, the charge was changed to second-degree murder. The upshot was that Miss Allen was found to be insane and sent to a mental institution.”

“The other psychiatrists were wrong and you were right?” Jakes asked.

“Of course,” Prye said modestly.

“I’ve been hearing funny things about this Joan Frost. Was she crazy?”

“She wasn’t normal,” Prye said cautiously. “She seemed to believe that she was of Olympian stature and that someone was persecuting her.”

“Who was?”

“Her father.”

“That’s silly. What object would a fine old gentleman like Professor—”

“Not so loud. Sound carries up here and windows are open. Now I want you to look slowly behind you, Jakes, up at the second window on the left on the second floor of Miss Bonner’s house. What do you see?”

“Nothing much,” Jakes said. “Just the glare of the sun on the window. No, it can’t be that! That window’s open. It’s Emily’s room.”

“I can’t imagine Emily playing with mirrors,” Prye said, “but I like the idea of field glasses, don’t you?”

“Do you really think she’s got a pair of field glasses up there?”

“Certainly. I saw them. She keeps them tucked in her bosom.” Prye blushed. “I don’t want you to think I make a practice of that sort of thing. I couldn’t help noticing that she was a funny shape. I mean—”

“Don’t apologize,” Jakes said. “We all have our weaknesses.”

Chapter Seven

Duty’s handmaiden, Susan Frost, had spent some busy hours. She found and pressed an old black dress; she prevailed upon Hattie to tone her loud, sharp cries down to soft moans; she soothed her father until he sought peace in his room. Then she made lunch.

“My duty,” Susan said, “is with the living.”

She whipped up an omelet in a very spirited manner, unconsciously keeping time to Hattie’s moans, and whisked it into the dining room.

“The wages of sin,” Susan said, “is death.”

Professor Frost said nothing at all, and Susan’s tongue froze in her mouth. She stabbed her omelet with a fork and the breath wheezed out of it. Watching her, Professor Frost smiled to himself, as self-contained and indestructible as an atom. An asocial atom, he reflected, not to be coaxed or harried into joining a fraternity of atoms, not to be touched by the quick or the dead.

He liked this quality in himself, partly because it saved him trouble and partly because it annoyed Susan. It must be, he decided, very difficult for Susan to pour her virtue into a sieve.

Atomos, uncuttable. I am uncuttable, he thought. I am Adam Uncuttable. I think if I choose a new name it will be Adam Uncuttable.

“Will you excuse me, my dear?” he said.

“I wish you’d stay down, Father. There are so many arrangements to be made. I can’t manage—”

He patted her shoulder. “Of course you can, Susan.”

He went upstairs to his study and stared out of the window for some time. He saw Prye and Jakes coming along the lane. Jakes had his head tilted up as if he were listening to Prye. Frost was shaking with silent laughter when he went down to let them in.

Constable Jakes was obviously embarrassed. “I've come to ask you some questions, Professor Frost,” he said uneasily. “I’m sorry I have to bother you but—”

Frost smiled. “Perfectly all right. Dr. Prye is to be present in what capacity?”

“Disinterested onlooker,” Prye said. “Do you object?”

“Of course not. I think you will add charm to the interview and charm is probably what it will need. Come in here, will you?”

They went past him into the sitting room and Frost closed the door.

“Sit down,” he said, and sat down himself near the window.

Prye let out a gasp. The outlines of a small square book were visible in Frost’s coat pocket. Prye’s hand flew to his own pocket. It was empty.

“Have you a pain, Dr. Prye?” Frost asked politely.

“Yes, in my neck,” Prye said coldly. “I’ll have to take better care of myself and my possessions. One meets the damnedest people, doesn’t one?”

“One does,” Frost agreed.