The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

Maggie. Do you want me? I’ll come in a minute.”
    “No, I’ll come to you.” She turned to the men behind her. “I’d like to go alone.”
    “No—” They both answered her at the same moment.
    “Very well.”
    As they entered the room, Philippine turned from the table. “I’m afraid I’ve been antisocial today, Auntie, but I got so behind in my work,” she said, and then stopped when she saw the two men.
    “Have you anything to say to me, Philippine?” Margaret Sutton asked quietly.
    “Anything to say to you? No, I don’t think so. What—what do you mean?”
    “These men have come to accuse you of the murder of Catherine—and I told them that I wanted to talk to you first.”
    “The murder. This is madness,” Philippine said calmly.
    Peter looked at her face closely and could see no hint in it of either fear or anxiety. He stepped ahead of Margaret and spoke quickly: “It’s no good, Margaret, Philippine will fight for her life until all hope is gone. Won’t you?” He flung the words at the woman who now faced him.
    “I have no need to fight, Peter. I am innocent.”
    My God, I’ve never seen such superb acting, Thane thought as he watched her. “Very well then, how do you explain this?” He reached in his pocket and produced the stained handkerchief containing the fragments of jar and face cream.
    “What is it?” Philippine asked with an expression of distaste.
    “It is a jar of poisoned face-cream, or so I believe. Buried by you in Miss Hartwell’s back yard on Sunday evening after you had, as you thought, dispensed with Fredericka Wing. I didn’t stop to send it to the lab. I don’t need to, but Thane will get a report in due course. What’s more, I think this time, unless I’m much mistaken, you overlooked the little matter of fingerprints.”
    “You’re insane—all of you,” Philippine said quietly. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I do know and I have told you that Margie Hartwell poisoned Catherine—then if, as you say, that face cream is poisoned she must have poisoned herself that way. I wondered what she had done.”
    “But Philippine,” Mrs. Sutton said suddenly, “Margie wouldn’t poison herself with face cream. She wouldn’t hurt her poor face any more. Oh no, Philippine. You see—I saw—”
    She stopped suddenly, and before she could go on, Philippine spoke and Peter now observed that for the first time her face had gone white and that her voice was hoarse and strained, “If you must go on talking this nonsense, I suggest that we go into the house and sit down. Aunt Maggie ought not to stand on that ankle.”
    “A good idea,” Thane said quickly. He nodded at Mrs. Sutton and she turned without speaking and led the way to the door. “You go next, Philippine,” he said, “and Peter and I will follow.”
    The little procession moved toward the door and outside on to the path. Then, without warning and with the speed of lightning, Philippine pulled a small revolver from the large pocket of her white coat and stepped aside to face them. The move was so unexpected that neither Thane nor Peter had time to move.
    “Stand where you are,” Philippine said fiercely, “all of you, and if you move a finger I shall shoot—and to kill.”
    Peter tried to reach his revolver and a shot whisked by his left ear. He cursed himself for an idiot.
    “I meant what I said,” Philippine continued quietly. “Now put up your hands, please.” Thane and Peter made no further effort at resistance and Philippine took the revolvers from their pockets and put them into her own. Then she backed away toward the jeep that stood behind her in the driveway.
    “My God, I never wanted to kill as much as I do now,” Thane muttered.
    Philippine had now reached the car, and was slipping in under the wheel when suddenly Margaret Sutton, whom everyone had forgotten, stooped down and picked up one of the large stones that edged the flower bed by her feet. As she flung it toward the figure in the car, a second shot rang out and the older woman fell forward on to the grass verge of the driveway. At the same instant the jeep leapt forward with a deafening roar, Peter ran to Margaret, and Thane grabbed another rock and charged helplessly after the departing car.
    Peter watched the stain spread on Margaret’s white collar and felt for her pulse. Then he stood up and called after Thane. “It’s no good, Carey. Come and help me here.” Then as Thane came toward him, he