“I never catch cold,” Malone said. He finally got the cigar lit, reached for the gin bottle and said, “But just to be on the safe side—” He sneezed again. “About the diary. It was written by a very happy, very normal young girl who had everything to live for, including about half the money in the world. Up to the point where strange things began to happen to her.” He reached for the little leather bound book and began to read aloud.

“A strange thing happened. Everything is very mixed up and I don’t understand. I made myself a nightcap and went to bed early after the show, and woke up in a hospital. In between I sort of remember a lot of excitement and people running around, and being very sick and uncomfortable. They tried to tell me I took poison, but I know I didn’t. They said I wrote “Good-bye, good-bye” in lipstick on the head of my bed, but by the time they let me come home it had been washed off so I couldn’t tell if I wrote it or not. They found poison in my stomach but I know I hadn’t taken any.”

“She is nuts,” von Flanagan commented.

“Wait a minute,” Malone said. He went on. “I remember now that night there was a man in my room. He came to deliver a telegram only I never did see the telegram. I was in the bathtub so I put a robe on and opened the door a crack and told him to leave the telegram on the desk and shut the door when he went out. My nightcap was on the bed table. I wonder if someone is trying to poison me.”

The little lawyer paused, refilled his glass, relit his cigar, and said, “After that, there’s a note of uneasiness in the diary. The usual things—dates, parties, clothes—but a feeling of worry.”

Von Flanagan scowled and said, “I remember a little about that. Someone called her maid and told her to hurry home, her employer was sick. Otherwise this babe might of died, though she didn’t take much.”

“Some time later,” Malone said, “she wrote, ‘Someone is trying to kill me.’” He paused. “You’ll remember this, too. She was found in a hotel room, registered under another name. The maid came in and found her in the bathroom, with her wrists cut.” He paused once more and added, frowning, “She checked in, and did the slashing job just before the maid was due in that room on her regular rounds.”

“Stupid of her,” von Flanagan commented, “if she really wanted to—” he cleared his throat, “check in and check out. She should have known she’d be found in time.”