The Weak-Eyed Bat

There was a speedboat out on the lake, a red boat with a broad young man bent over the wheel. She shaded her eyes and watched for a minute. Ralph was going too fast, circling the lake as if it were too small to hold him. Her hand dropped to her side and she walked hurriedly past Prye’s cottage, a slow blush spreading across her face even to the tip of her nose. But she was quite composed again when Jennie answered her knock.

“I’ve brought something for Mrs. Little,” Susan said shyly. “I wonder if I could go up and see her for a minute.”

“The Lord bless you,” Jennie said fervently. “I can’t do a thing with her. Mr. Little didn’t come home all night and she’s thinking he’s dead like — like the other one. And the doctor’s bringing a baby and can’t come until after lunch.”

The situation was made to order for Susan. She gave Jennie the basket and a reassuring smile, pushed up her sleeves, and went upstairs with brisk, firm footsteps. The door of Mary’s room was open, and she tapped softly on the wall and went in.

“Why, hello, Mary,” she said cheerfully. “What’s this I hear about you being a naughty girl and imagining things?”

The woman on the bed opened her eyes, and if there was any expression in them it was one of faint distaste. The two devout ladies of the community did not, in fact, care for each other.

“Have they found Tom?” Mary asked, scarcely moving her lips.

Susan sat down on the edge of the bed. “Found Tom? What nonsense, Mary! You’re not to bother your head about other people right now. I’ve brought you some delicious wild-strawberry jam. I picked the strawberries with my own hands.”

Why this should impart a special flavor to the jam Mary did not know and she was too polite to ask.

“They’re not looking for him,” she said. “They think because I’m sick that I’m not rational, that I’m imagining things.”

Susan smiled gayly. “Well, you are just a teeny weeny bit, aren’t you?” She took one of Mary’s hands and then dropped it suddenly. It was ice-cold. “Has Dr. Prye been here?”

“Yes. But I forgot—”

Susan’s eyes narrowed. “You forgot what, Mary?”

“Nothing.”

“Really, Mary, one would think you didn’t trust me. What did you forget?”

Mary turned her head away. “Just the phone call.”

“What phone call?”

“Ask Jennie.” She was breathing hard, pressing a hand to her heart as if it hurt her.

Susan got off the bed and stood up. “I think you should have a sedative, Mary dear. I really do. I’ll go and get—”

“No! You’re like the rest of them. You want to put me to sleep so I won’t bother you, so I won’t talk.”

“What rest of them? Who wants to put you to sleep, Mary?” She bent over the bed and her voice sank to a soft whisper. “Who wants to put you to sleep, Mary?”

“They want me to think that Tom murdered her and ran away. They don’t want me to talk. They’re afraid of me.”

“Who are they, Mary?”

The whisper spun round and round the room as if it could not get out...

“Yes, there was a phone call,” Jennie told Prye half an hour later. “I was in the kitchen making Mrs. Little’s tea and the phone rang in the sitting room and Mr. Little answered it.”

“Did you hear what he was talking about?” Prye said. “Think, Jennie.”

Jennie looked up at him unhappily, and then suddenly her face brightened. “He was talking about not knowing what someone was talking about.”

Prye groaned inaudibly. “Are you sure the similarity of phrase isn’t confusing you?”

“I heard him say that he didn’t know what someone was talking about,” Jennie repeated. “I even remember the time. It was six-fifteen.”

“And what did you do after you prepared Mrs. Little’s tea?”

“I took it up to her room and sat with her until she’d finished. Sometimes she asks me to have a cup of tea with her just for the sake of company. He was never any company for her. Then I went down again and made his dinner, and then I went back upstairs.”

“What did Mr. Little do after dinner?”

“Sat in the front room reading.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary about his actions?”

“Well—” Jennie hesitated and then plunged in. “Mr. Little could be quite nice when he wanted to, but he never wasted any of his niceness on me. So I just let him alone. He was grouchy last night.”

“You sat in Mrs. Little’s room all evening?”

“Yes, sir. I started to work on my afghan but I was tired and I dozed off. But that was all right because Mrs. Little was dozing, too.”

“You went to sleep before or after the storm?”

“It must have been before. When Mrs. Little woke me up it was nearly ten o’clock and the storm was real bad then. Mrs. Little was scared and sent me downstairs to get him. But he was gone just as if the spirits had got him, like that Chinaman says.”

“Did the spirits take his hat and coat, too?” Prye asked gravely.

Jennie went out of the room and came back in a few minutes with the news that the spirits had thoughtfully taken along Tom’s hat and coat and a pair of rubbers.

“I want to look at Mr. Little’s room,” Prye said. “I’ll go up alone.”