The Weak-Eyed Bat

“Before you tell me about the job, let me tell you about Miss Jones. She’s the—”

“I met Miss Jones this morning,” Inspector White said. “Miss Jones is a very simple woman and you should never send roses to simple women over forty. They get suspicious and sometimes inform the police.”

“Duped,” Prye said sadly.

“On the strength of Miss Jones’ evidence I should arrest this Alfonse woman.”

“Not yet. We don’t know whether she kept the appointment or not. We don’t know definitely whether it was Miss Alfonse speaking and not someone who merely used her name. She may have a cast-iron alibi for the times of the telephone call and the murder. Besides, why should Miss Alfonse, who barely knew Tom Little, decide to kill him?”

“Perhaps because he knew she committed the first murder.”

“How could he? He wasn’t even outside the house on Monday night. Now what’s the job I’m to do?”

“Get people talking about the storm. Was it a bad storm? Did they sit up and watch it or go to bed? Did they hear any trees fall?”

“Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under it,” Prye murmured.

Inspector White frowned and said, “Roughly, that’s it. Though I don’t approve of deceit, you understand it’s necessary.”

“Perfectly. Had a bad storm in these parts last night, Inspector. Do you remember it?”

“Vividly,” Inspector White said with a smile. “I was marooned in an undertaking parlor in Clayton.” He stopped the car and opened the door. “From here on you’ll be walking, Prye.”

“Walking! It’s half a mile!”

“Just the right distance to allow a tactful interval between our arrivals.”

Prye was left standing in the middle of the road.

“Duped again,” he said, and began to walk.

Sitting behind the desk in his study, Professor Frost turned another page of his Thucydides and sighed. He was making notes for his book on the humor of the Greeks and skimming Thucydides in the thin hope of finding just one example.

At last his eye brightened. “The Spartans set out, not toward Sparta, but—”

Yes. Undoubtedly humor, of a kind. The Spartans, who were constantly setting out toward Sparta, were this time setting out not toward Sparta. With a pleased smile he noted the page and line and closed the book.

A timid knock at the door and a soft “Father, are you busy?” announced the entrance of Susan. Susan always knocked and she always said, “Father, are you busy?” but she managed to get inside the door without waiting for an answer.

“I am busy, my dear,” her father said mildly. “I am always busy. Nevertheless, I shall take time off to settle any family difficulties. What is it — a mouse in the cupboards? A broken dish?”

“A policeman,” Susan said with gentle reproach.

“Really. What does he want?”

“He wants to talk to you.”

“Extraordinary. I can’t believe my conversation would interest a policeman in the least. However, I’ll be down shortly. Give him a cookie and tell him to wait.”

“A cookie? What kind of cookie?”

“That was a joke, Susan, a meek and miserable little joke. Thucydides does not inspire me to great heights.”

“I don’t understand you, Father,” Susan said mournfully, and went out into the hall.

Inspector White had settled himself comfortably in the sitting room. The leather chair was cool, and when Susan reappeared he estimated her age in the hope that she would be under eighteen and would not expect him to get up again. It was no use. Susan was over eighteen and looked it. He rose to his feet wearily while she delivered her message in a ladylike voice.

“Prissy,” thought Inspector White. “Prim and prissy.” Aloud he said: “Thank you, Miss Frost. This has been a very trying experience for you and your father, extremely trying.”

With no effort at all Susan looked extremely tried.

“The police are doing their utmost, you may be sure, Miss Frost. So far we have uncovered no evidence which points conclusively to one person, and that is why we must continue to bother you in this way. Ah, Professor Frost? I’m Inspector White of the Provincial Police.”

Professor Frost crossed the room and the two men shook hands, watching each other carefully through their smiles. Frost turned to Susan and she went out without speaking.

“Sorry to break up your work,” Inspector White began in his loud, pleasant voice, “but I’d like to know more about Monday afternoon and perhaps you can help me.”

“Perhaps,” the professor said, looking slightly bored.

“Your daughter, Joan, I am told, locked herself in her room shortly before lunch on Monday. After lunch she admitted a visitor, Ralph Bonner. In your first statement you told Constable Jakes that you heard none of the ensuing conversation. Is that right?”

“Right.”

“Would you care to change that statement?”

“I have no reason to.”

“Despite the fact that the windows were all open, you heard no sounds of quarreling?”

“I wasn’t listening. I never hear anything when I’m not listening.”

Inspector White smiled coldly. “You must have remarkable powers of concentration, Professor Frost.”

“I have indeed,” Frost agreed blandly.

“You were in your study all Monday afternoon?”

“I was.”