The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

another murder as makes no difference.”
    “Some difference, I think. But why don’t you say ‘as near two other murders as makes no difference’?”
    “What? Oh yes—two, if you like—” Peter agreed absently. “The present puzzle is about Margie’s pathetic little secret hiding place in the shed. The police found some sort of makeup kit, a few bottles of cosmetics, several letters from firms advertising cures for skin diseases to which she had obviously been writing, and some comics, but nothing else of the slightest interest—”
    “That’s all I remember seeing there, but my visit dates back to the day after Catherine’s murder. I haven’t been near the shed since then. Thane told me about the stuff and I was going to speak to Margie about it but never did. And then when I talked to Chris, he said Miss Hartwell was in favour of her having the stuff there so, of course, I left it alone, just as Thane did. Anyway I wouldn’t have touched it without his O.K.”
    “Why did you feel you had to get his permission?”
    “I don’t know exactly,” Fredericka said slowly. “I guess it was just that he had told me about it—well, he didn’t really say anything more than that he’d found some curious oddments about the place. But I thought when I found Margie’s junk that that was what he meant. I suppose it’s because I’m Watson, well trained by Holmes, that I didn’t want to get rid of it just because he did know about it. It could have been a plant or something.”
    “Good girl,” he muttered. He looked at his watch. “Your nurse gave me one hour and I think I hear an ominous starched rustle outside, so I’m going before I’m chucked out.” He stood up and then leaped over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I repeat,” he said softly, “good girl—but perhaps just a little silly, my dear Watson.”
    Fredericka again turned away toward the wall to hide the tiresome tears. Then at the door, Peter stopped in his flight to say: “Fredericka, you must rest and sleep and eat. Your arm and leg will slow you up for a bit but you’re absolutely O.K., and we hope to get you back to work in a day or two. I ought to say ‘Forget this nightmare,’ but I know you can’t forget it, and so, selfishly, I want to say just the opposite. Try to remember everything. Think of every damn little incident. When you remembered Chris’s stamps and those letters, you gave me a most valuable clue. So, as you lie here, please think over every moment of every day since you’ve been here. And think especially of last Sunday night—every miserable inch of it.”
    “I will, Peter,” Fredericka said quietly. “Anyway I’ll try.” Then a sudden thought occurred to her. “That clue. Did you find out anything in Washington?”
    “Yes, something, but not enough. I know who murdered Catherine Clay—who probably murdered Margie, and who attacked you and Philippine. Oh yes, I know all right. But I haven’t proof. It’s there you can help me.”
    “Peter. If you know, why don’t you tell me? I could think it out much better if I knew what I was trying to find.”
    “No. I don’t think so. You’d invent things—not intentionally, but because you’d be cutting off toes to make the slipper fit, like Cinderella’s sisters. Besides, you haven’t got a poker face, my dear Fredericka, and I don’t want you to be attacked again. Another time it might be more successful. Anyway, we’re going to keep you here under guard just in case. You see, the murderer must feel, just as I do, that there’s probably something important you might remember. I’m sorry, but the rule is NO VISITORS.”
    “What are you, then?” Fredericka asked, a little crossly. All her annoyances seemed suddenly to be of major importance. This secrecy, her own tendency to tears, her helpless heavy arm and foot, and now her imprisonment, and all this officiousness.
    “I’m Police, and very special.” Peter grinned: “And I’ll probably bother you a lot. If you have any inspirations, though, please get the nurse to call the station, and they’ll have instructions to relay the good news to me. And I—wherever I am—will come loping over here with all possible speed—”
    “Now that’s something to look forward to,” Fredericka grumbled. She was still annoyed with Peter and the world, and her head had begun to ache again.
    Peter Mohun made no attempt to reply. But he was still smiling as he turned quickly and