A Quiche Before Dying

everything you knew, then?“
“Naturally. It was my duty. But I knew very little.“
    “ Then you didn’t see or hear anything suspicious?“ Shelley put in.
    “Suspicious? How? Aside from the fact that the woman died?“ At this he smiled a real smile.
    He obviously thought they were acting like idiots, and for a moment Jane wondered if he might be right. “You realize that one of the people at the dinner surely killed her and almost killed the maid?“ she asked.
    Bob Neufield reached for a pack of cigarettes, offered it to them, and lit one. “That’s probably true,“ he said through a puff of smoke.
    He was being so sensible and remote that Jane could hardly stand it. This was like talking to a robot—or a military man. “Doesn’t that bother you?“
    “Not unduly. I don’t know why it should. I didn’t know the woman. I wasn’t the perpetrator, nor was I the victim. I was merely a bystander, and so, I presume, were you ladies. Murder is an intolerable act, and must be punished, but that’s not my job. I’m sure the police have their forces well in hand. I’ve always operated on the principle that the best way to help a man do a hard job is to stay out of the way unless asked to assist. You ladies might consider that.”
    Jane asked, “Did you tell the police what she said about you?”
    She regretted the impulse the moment the words were out of her mouth. His jaw was set and he paled. His tone was that of furious anger barely held in check. “Yes, I did. It would be irresponsible to thwart the authorities by withholding any information, however little pertinence it has to the case.“ He stood up and walked to the door. “Ladies, I sorry, but I have a great deal of work to do and can’t ask you to stay longer.”
    They slunk out.
    Once in the car, Shelley said, “The man’s long suit isn’t the social graces.“
    “It’s not exactly ours, either,“ Jane said. “If he’s innocent, we’ve insulted him uselessly; and if he’s guilty, we’ve laid our heads on the block. Jeez, Shelley, we really botched that up. You know, he could start another world war with that stuff in his back room.“
    “There’s something that went through my mind....“ Shelley said closing her eyes and motioning for Jane to keep quiet while she tried to recapture it. “Yes! I remember. Did you see that old canvas bag thing on the table to your left?“
    “I don’t know. What was it?“
    “It had scissors and ration packets and a little vial. A kit. It made me think of something I saw in my grandfather’s attic when I helped my mother sort it out. I showed the canvas kit to Paul, and he said the soldiers in World War One carried some kind of antidote to the poison gas. And sure enough, there was a vial with a needle in it in my grandfather’s kit. Paul said it was dangerous to keep around. It was something they injected in themselves to counteract the effects of the poison gas—“
    “And you think it could be a poison?“
    “Isn’t it possible?“ Shelley asked, starting the car.
    “I’m wondering, too, if the stories you hear about spies having a cyanide pill on them might be true. Would that sort of thing turn up in a military collection?“
    “I don’t know. I think cyanide works instantly. At least, it always does in books. But it would at least be worth asking VanDyne about. The police probably had no reason to look around Neufield’s house. They weren’t pretending to be guests, like we were. God, we behaved badly, Jane. Stupidly.“
    “Did you see that picture on the bookshelf?“ Jane asked. “It was about the only photograph in the house. A pretty young woman.“
    “So?“
    “So, I don’t know. I just wondered if it was relevant.”
    Even Shelley’s driving was subdued, a first in Jane’s memory. As Jane got out, Shelley said, “Here. You forgot your book.”
    Jane looked at the copy of Mrs. Pryce’s self-published diary that Shelley was handing her. “It’s not mine.“
    “It must be. It’s not mine. My copy is on the guest room desk. I put it there as I was leaving.“
    “I must have picked this one up with Katie’s lunch sack without realizing it,“ Jane said. “See you at class tonight.“
    “Do you think we ought to go?“ Shelley asked. “What if he was the murderer and we just made him mad?“
    “Shelley, it’s not as if he doesn’t know where to find us anytime he wants. We’ll just turn down any homemade cookies he might bring and pass