The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

reasonably willing to stay alone only—well, I promised—er—Thane Carey that I wouldn’t and well, I admit that these last weeks haven’t exactly strengthened my courage.”
    “I know. Mine either. It’s such a horrible business—and so close to us. But it isn’t so bad any more. That’s really what I want to talk to you about. It will help me to do so and I think it may help you, too. We really are alone now, and I want to tell you what I know. You’ve no idea how much it will help me—oh so much it will help me—to tell you who are not close to it.”
    “What is it, Philippine?” Fredericka sat forward in her chair, as the other woman’s voice became hoarse with the intensity of her feeling. Philippine lit another cigarette from the end in her mouth and then said slowly and very distinctly. “You see, now that Margie is dead, we have nothing to fear any more.”
    “What do you mean?” Fredericka fairly shrieked her question.
    “I will tell you,” Philippine went on, and her voice had now become gentle, “only just please to sit back in your chair. It is so miserable and sad what I have to say.”
    “You mean—surely you don’t mean that Margie killed Catherine Clay? But, Philippine, it just isn’t possible.”
    “Why not?”
    “She was a tiresome child, but murder —oh, no, Philippine.”
    “Listen.” Philippine now sat forward in her turn. “I am not guessing this. I know it. I have known it from the first, but I couldn’t say anything. I felt sorry for the child because she is too young to know what she does. And, besides, I myself hated Catherine Clay.” As she said this, her face hardened and her brows drew together fiercely, but she hurried on, “I have seen enough and plenty of death myself—in the war—in the camp. What does it matter—one more dead who is better dead?—who makes everyone, I say everyone, miserable—her mother, her brother, Margie, James—yes, all of us.” She stopped abruptly and then went on more quietly, “But yes, it was Margie who killed her—that I know. And for that I bless her.”
    “But how could she? How do you know?” Fredericka asked.
    “Catherine was killed on a Saturday—the day of the bazaar. That morning I told Margie I was going out collecting, but when I got started I remembered that I hadn’t done up some orders for herbs, and I thought I’d better do them first or Margaret would, and she ought not to stand up so long, especially as she insisted that she would go to the bazaar. She’s not been well, you know, and she’d already done all that extra work for her booth. Besides, I knew I could probably get Roger to go with me and help me with the herbs later on because he’d want to get as far away from the crowds as possible. So—well, I went back. I had on rubber-soled shoes and I went into the lab quietly, thinking more about the work I had to do than anything else.” She paused for a moment and shut her eyes as if in an effort to shut out the sight that her next words would recall. “Margie was there,” she said simply, “she was making—making,” she paused, “capsules.”
    “Oh!” Fredericka said only the one word and it faded away in the silence like a note of despair.
    “Yes,” Philippine went on after a moment, “I did not think anything of it then, you see, because I have taught her to fill up these capsules. We use them for our herb medicines and all these things. But later—afterwards—I remembered this and the whole scene came back to me when Thane asked us about the little silver box of vitamin capsules. I remembered, I think, because she had looked so guilty when I found her, and she had not expected me to come back. So then I asked her about this. At first she would not say, but then she knew that I knew too much and so she told me how she put the yellow jessamine into the capsules and put them in the little box and put it back into the dining room where Catherine had left it. I blame myself because that poison I had told her about and perhaps I should not have had it there, but we need it for our experiments—and how could I know? I never did dream such a thing—”
    Fredericka felt the weight of Philippine’s words like a physical pain across her forehead. She closed her eyes. Of course. It was all plain now: this explained Margie’s fear and strangeness—her anxiety. “She tried to get back the silver box from me,” Fredericka heard herself say at last.
    “From you?” Philippine