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  Dr. Willoughby came in with his big man’s light step; Ludie’s face, white and anxious, peered over his shoulder, then vanished.

  “Nora,” he said with concern, “crying again? Dakin, I warned you¯”

  “Can’t help it, Doc,” said the Chief with dignity. ”I got my job to do, and I’m doing it. Mrs. Haight, if there’s nothing you can tell us that helps your husband¯”

  “He didn’t do it, I tell you!”

  “Nora,” said Dr. Willoughby insistently.

  “Then I’m afraid we got to do it, Mrs. Haight.”

  “Do what, for heaven’s sake?”

  “Arrest your husband.”

  “Arrest¯Jim?” Nora began to laugh, her hands in her hair. Dr. Willoughby tried to take her hands in his, but she pushed him away. Behind the glasses her pupils were dilated. ”But you can’t arrest Jim! He didn’t do anything! You haven’t a thing on him¯!”

  “We’ve got plenty on him,” said Chief Dakin.

  “I’m sorry, Nora,” mumbled Carter Bradford. ”It’s true.”

  “Plenty on him,” whispered Nora. Then she screamed at Pat: “I knew too many people knew about it! That’s what comes of taking strangers into the house!”

  “Nora!” gasped Pat. ”Darling . . . ”

  “Wait a moment, Nora,” began Ellery.

  “Don’t you talk to me!” Nora shrieked. ”You’re against him because of those three letters! They wouldn’t arrest Jim if you hadn’t told them about the letters¯!”

  Something in Ellery’s gaze seemed to penetrate her hysteria, and Nora broke off with a gasp, swaying against Dr. Willoughby, an enormous new fear leaping into her eyes. She looked quickly at Dakin, at Bradford, saw the astonishment, then the flash of exultation. And she backed up against the broad chest of the doctor and froze there, her hand to her mouth, sick with realization.

  “What letters?” demanded Dakin.

  “Nora, what letters?” cried Bradford.

  “No! I didn’t mean¯”

  Carter ran over to her and seized her hand. ”Nora! What letters?” he asked fiercely.

  “No,” groaned Nora.

  “You’ve got to tell me! If there are letters, you’re concealing evidence¯”

  “Mr. Smith! What do you know about this?” demanded Chief Dakin.

  “Letters?” Ellery looked astonished, and shook his head.

  Pat rose and pushed Bradford. He staggered back. ”You let Nora alone,” said Pat in a passionate voice. ”You Judas!”

  Her violence kindled an answering violence. ”You’re not going to presume upon my friendship! Dakin, search this house and the house next door!”

  “Should have done it long ago, Cart,” said the Chief mildly. ”If you hadn’t been so blamed set¯” He disappeared.

  “Carter,” said John F. in very low tones, “you’re never to come here again. Do you understand?”

  Bradford looked as if he were going to cry.

  And Nora collapsed in Dr. Willoughby’s arms with a moan like a sick cat.

  * * *

  With Bradford’s frigid permission Nora was taken upstairs to her bedroom by Dr. Willoughby. Hermy and Pat hurried along with them, helpless and harried.

  “Smith.” Bradford did not turn.

  “Save your breath,” advised Mr. Queen politely.

  “I know it’s no use, but I’ve got to warn you¯if you’re contributing to the suppression of evidence . . . ”

  “Evidence?” echoed Mr. Queen, as if he had never heard the word before.

  “Those letters!”

  “What are these letters you people are talking about?”

  Cart spun around, his mouth working. ”You’ve been in my way ever since you came here,” he said hoarsely. ”You’ve wormed your way into this house, alienated Pat from me¯”

  “Here, here,” said Ellery kindly. ”Mind your verbs.”

  Cart stopped, his hands two fists. Ellery went to the window. Chief Dakin was deep in conversation with little Dick Gobbin, the patrolman, on the Haight porch . . . The two policemen went into the house.

  Fifteen minutes later Messrs. Queen and Bradford were still standing in the same positions.

  Pat came in with a noise.

  Her face shocked them.

  She went directly to Ellery. ”The most awful thing’s happened.” And she burst into tears.

  “Pat! For heaven’s sake!”

  “Nora¯Nora is¯” Pat’s voice blurred and shook.

  Dr. Willoughby said from the doorway: “Bradford?”

  “What’s happened?” asked Bradford tensely.

  And then Chief Dakin came in, unknowing, and his face was like a mask. He was carrying Nora’s hatbox and the fat tan book with the neat gilt title, Edgcomb’s Toxicology.

  Dakin stopped. ”Happened?” he asked quickly. ”What’s this?”

  Dr. Willoughby said: “Nora Haight is going to have a baby. In about five months.”

  And then there was no sound at all but Pat’s exhausted sobs against Ellery’s chest.

  “No . . . ” said Bradford in a wincing voice. ”That’s . . . too much.” And with a queer begging gesture toward Chief of Police Dakin he stumbled out. They heard the front door slam.

  “I won’t be responsible for Mrs. Haight’s life,” said Dr. Willoughby harshly, “if she’s put through any more scenes like the one just now. You can call in Wright County’s whole medical fraternity to confirm what I just said. She’s pregnant, in an extremely nervous condition; she has a naturally delicate constitution to begin with¯”

  “Look, Doc,” said Dakin, “it ain’t my fault if¯”

  “Oh, go to hell,” said Dr. Willoughby. They heard him climbing furiously back up the stairs.

  Dakin stood still in the middle of the room, Nora’s hatbox in one hand and Jim’s book on poisons in the other.

  Then he sighed and said: “But it ain’t my fault. And now these three letters in Mrs. Haight’s hatbox and this medical book with the arsenic part all marked up¯”

  “All right, Dakin,” said Ellery. His arms tightened about Pat.

  “These three letters,” said Dakin doggedly. ”They practically make our case. And finding ‘em in Mrs. Haight’s closet . . . Looks mighty odd to me. I don’t get this¯”

  Pat cried: “Doesn’t that convince you? Would Nora have kept those letters if she thought Jim was trying to poison her? Are you all so stupid¯”

  “So you did know about the letters,” said the Chief, blinking. ”I see. And you’re in on this, too, Mr. Smith. Not that I blame you. I got a family, too, and it’s good to be loyal to friends. I got nothing against Jim Haight, or you Wrights . . . But I got to find the facts. If Jim Haight’s innocent, he’ll be acquitted, never you worry . . . ”

  “Go away, please,” said Ellery.

  Dakin shrugged and left the house, taking his evidence with him. He looked angry and bitter.

  At eleven o’clock that morning, February fourteenth, the day of St. Valentine, when all Wrightsville was giggling over comic cards and chewing candy out of heart-shaped boxes, Chief of Police Dakin returned to 460 Hill Drive with Patrolman Charles Brady, nodded to Patrolman Dick Gobbin, and Patrolman Dick Gobbin knocked on the front door.

  When there was no answer, they went in.

  They found Jim Haight snoring on the living-room sofa in a mess of cigarette butts, dirty glasses, and half-empty whisky bottles.

  Dakin shook Jim, not ungently, and finally Jim snorted. His eyes were all red and glassy.

  “Hunh?”

  “James Haight,” said Dakin, holding out a blue-backed paper, “I hereby arrest you on the charge of the attempted murder of Nora Wright Haight and the murder of Rosemary Haight.”

  Jim screwed up his eyes, as if he could not see well.

  Then he reddened all over his face. He shouted: “No!”

  “Better come without a fuss,” said Dakin; and he walked out with a quick, relieved step.

  Charles Brady said later to the re
porters at the Courthouse: “Seemed like Haight just caved in. Never saw anything like it. You could just see the fella sort of fold up, in pieces, like a contraption. I says to Dick Gobbin: ‘Better take that side of him, Dick, he’s gonna collapse,’ but Jim Haight, he just made a kind of shoving motion at Dick, and I’ll be doggone if he don’t start to laugh¯all folded up! An’ he says, so you could hardly hear him through the laughin’¯an’ let me tell you fellas, the stink of booze was enough to send you higher’n a kite¯he says: ‘Don’t tell my wife.’ And he comes along nice and quiet. Now wasn’t that a crazy thing for a fella to say who’s just been arrested for murder? ‘Don’t tell my wife.’ Facin’ a murder rap an’ thinkin’ of sparin’ his wife’s feelin’s! How could anybody keep it from her, anyway? Don’t tell my wife! I tell you the fella’s a nut.”

  All Patrolman Gobbin said was: “G-o-b-b-i-n. That’s right, fellas. Hey, this’ll give my kids a real kick!”

  PART FOUR

  Chapter 19

  War of the Worlds Feb. 17, 1941

  Mr. Boris Connell News & Features Syndicate Press Ass’n Bldg. Chicago, 111.

  Dear Boris:

  Double Mickeys to you for that hot wire, but perhaps your celebrated news nose has been misled by the tons of garbage my fellow “journalists” have been slinging back from Wrightsville.

  I believe Jim Haight is innocent, and I’m going to say so in my column till I have no column.

  In my naive way I still believe a man is innocent until he’s proved guilty. Jim Haight has been condemned to death by all the smart lads and lassies sent here by their editors to dish out a Roman holiday for the great American mob. Somebody has to have principles. So I’m elected¯plurality, one vote.

  And Wrightsville’s in an ugly mood. People here talk about nothing else. Their talk is pure Fascism. It’s going to be “fun” watching them pick an “unbiased” jury.

  To appreciate what’s happening, you’ve got to realize that only two months ago John F. and Hermione Wright were the lares and penates of this community. Today, they and their three swell daughters are untouchables¯and everybody’s scrambling to pick up the first stone. A slew of former Wright “admirers” and “friends” have been looking for a soft spot to jab the knife in, and are they jabbing! It’s enough to make even me sick, and you know I’ve seen pretty nearly everything in the way of human meanness, malice, and downright cussedness.

  It’s a war of two worlds. The decent little world is hopelessly outclassed in armament, numbers, and about everything but guts and morale. The Wrights have a few real friends who are sticking by¯Judge Eli Martin, Dr. Milo Willoughby, a visiting writer named Ellery Smith. (Ever hear of him? / haven’t!) Together they’re putting up a propaganda battle. The Wrights are magnificent¯in the face of everything, they’re bunched solidly behind Jim Haight. Even this girl Lola Wright, who’s been on the outs with her family for years, has moved back home; or at least she’s there constantly. They’re all fighting not only for Nora’s husband but for her unborn child as well. Despite the tripe I dish out for my “public” every day, I still believe in some fundamental decencies, and that little tyke can use a powerful voice!

  Let me tell you something. I was in Jim’s cell today in the County Courthouse, and I said to him: “Jim, did you know your wife is going to have a baby?”

  He just sat down on his cell bunk and started to bawl, as if I’d hit him where a lady shouldn’t.

  I haven’t been able to see Nora yet, though I may get Dr. Willoughby’s permission in a day or so. (I mean, since Jim’s arrest.) Nora’s collapsed, and she can’t see anyone but her family. How would you like to be in her shoes? And if she’s behind Jim¯the man who’s supposed to have plotted her death¯then there’s really something to fight for.

  I know this is wasted time and paper, Boris, since your blood is composed of nine parts bourbon and one part club soda; so this is positively my last “explanation.” From now on, if you want to know what’s really happening in Wrightsville on the Haight murder case, read my column.

  And if you get nasty and break my contract before it runs out, I’ll sue the N & F Syn and I’ll keep suing it till I take away everything but that expensive bridgework behind your ruby lips.

  As ever, Roberta Roberts Roberta Roberts did not quite know the facts.

  Two days after Jim’s arrest, Hermione Wright called a council of war. She closed the upstairs drawing-room doors with a grim bang. It was Sunday, and the family had just returned from church¯Hermy had insisted that they attend services. They all looked weary from the ordeal.

  “The question,” began Hermy, “is what to do.”

  “What can we do, Muth?” asked Pat tiredly.

  “Milo”¯Hermy took Doc Willoughby’s big puffy hand¯”I want you to tell us the truth. How is Nora?”

  “She’s a sick girl, Hermy, a very sick girl.”

  “That’s not enough, Milo! How sick?”

  Dr. Willoughby’s eyes shifted. ”Hard to say. She’s dangerously nervous, excited, unstrung. Naturally her pregnancy isn’t helping. Jim’s arrest, thinking about the trial¯she’s got to be kept calmed down. Medicine alone won’t do it. But if her nerves can be brought back to normal¯”

  Hermy patted his big hand absently. ”Then there’s no question of what we’ve got to do.”

  “When I see how worn-out Nora is¯” said John F. in despair. ”She’s begun to look the way she used to. How are we going¯”

  “There’s one way, John,” said Hermy tightly. ”It’s for all of us to get behind Jim and fight for him!”

  “When he’s ruined Nora’s life?” cried John F. ”He’s been bad luck to her from the day he came to Wrightsville!”

  “John”¯Hermy’s voice was steel-lined¯”Nora wants it that way, and more important, for her health’s sake she’s got to have it that way. So it’s going to be that way.”

  “All right” John F. almost shouted.

  “John!” He subsided, muttering. ”And another thing. Nora mustn’t know.”

  “Mustn’t know what?” demanded Pat.

  “That we don’t mean it.” Hermy’s eyes began to redden up. ”Oh, that man! If Nora weren’t his wife¯”

  Doc Willoughby said: “So you think the boy’s guilty, Hermione?”

  “Think! If I’d known before about those three horrible letters, that medical book . . . Of course I think he’s guilty!”

  “The dirty dog,” muttered John F. ”He ought to be shot down, like a dirty dog.”

  “I don’t know,” moaned Pat. ”I just don’t.”

  Lola was smoking a cigarette. She flipped it into the fireplace viciously. ”Maybe I’m crazy,” she snapped, “but I find myself feeling sorry for the twerp, and I don’t usually spare any sympathy for murderers.”

  “Eli, what’s your opinion?” asked Hermy.

  Judge Martin’s sleepy face was grave.

  “I don’t know what young Bradford’s got in the way of evidence. It’s a highly circumstantial case. But on the other hand there’s not a single fact I know of to cast doubt on the circumstances. I’d say Jim is in for a rough time.”

  “Took generations to build up the Wright name,” mumbled John F., “and one day to tear it down!”

  “There’s been enough damage done already,” sighed Pat. ”When your own family runs out on you¯”

  “What’s this?” demanded Lola.

  “Aunt Tabitha, Lo. 1 thought you knew. She’s closed up her house and gone to Los Angeles for a ‘visit’ to Cousin Sophy’s.”

  “That Zombie still around?”

  “Tabitha makes me sick!” said Hermione.

  “You can’t blame her so much, Hermy,” said John F. feebly. ”You know how she hates scandal¯”

  “I know I shan’t run away, John! Nobody in this town’s going to see me with my head hanging.”

  “That’s what I told Clarice,” chuckled Judge Martin. Then he rubbed his dry cheeks, like a cricket. ”Clarice would have come, Hermione, on
ly¯”

  “I understand,” said Hermy quietly. ”Bless you for standing by us, Eli¯you, and Milo, and you, Mr. Smith. You more than anyone. After all, Judge Martin and Dr. Willoughby are lifelong friends. But you’re practically a stranger to us, and Patricia’s told me how loyal you’ve been . . . ”

  “I’ve wanted to thank you, Smith,” said John F. awkwardly, “but I think you know how hard it is¯”

  Ellery looked uncomfortable. ”Please. Don’t think about me at all. I’ll help all I can.”

  Hermy said in a low voice: “Bless you . . . Now that things have come out in the open, we’ll completely understand, though, if you decide to leave Wrightsville¯”

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” smiled Ellery. ”The Judge will tell you I’m practically an accessory to the crime.”

  “Suppressing evidence,” grinned Judge Eli. ”Dakin will have the hounds after you if you try to run away, Smith.”

  “So you see? I’m stuck,” said Mr. Queen. ”Let’s say no more about it.”

  Pat’s hand stole into Ellery’s and squeezed, hard.

  “Then if we all understand one another,” declared Hermione in a firm tone, “we’re going to hire the best lawyer in the state to defend Jim. We’re going to show Wrightsville a united front!”

  “And if Jim’s found guilty, Muth?” asked Pat quietly.

  “We’ll have done our best, dear. In the long run, such a verdict, hard as it seems, would be the best solution to our problem¯”

  “What a vile thing to say,” snapped Lola. ”Mother, that’s not right or fair. You say that because you’re convinced Jim’s guilty. You’re as bad as the rest of this town. Best solution¯!”

  “Lola, do you realize that if it were not for the intervention of Providence,” Hermy cried, “your sister would be a corpse this very minute?”

  “Let’s not quarrel,” said Pat wearily.

  Lola lit another cigarette, looking angry.

  “And if Jim’s acquitted,” said Hermy stiffishly, “I’m going to insist that Nora divorce him.”

  “Mother!” Now Pat was shocked. ”Even if a jury finds Jim innocent, you’ll still believe he’s guilty?”