I knew nothing of all this. If I had, perhaps one life would have been saved, and certainly little O’Brien would not have spent the rest of the winter in the hospital.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

I WAS READY TO leave that afternoon, as I have said. I had seen Mr. Elliott off and gone back to get my coat and hat when the library telephone rang. To my surprise it was Margery Stoddard. “Is that you, Pat? Thank goodness you’re still there. I only have a minute. The nurse is downstairs having tea. Pat, I must see you.”

“When? I can come over now.”

“Not now. I don’t want anybody to know. Tonight. You must come. I’m almost crazy. And don’t bring your car. Walk over. I don’t want anyone to know.”

“What about your night nurse?”

“She’s gone. I fired her. Don’t come early. Wait until the house is quiet, will you? Not before eleven. Later if you can.”

“I wasn’t very lucky the last time I did that!”

“You’ll be all right, I promise. That was a mistake.”

“Good heavens, are you telling me—”

“I’ll explain it all tonight,” she said feverishly. “Here’s the nurse coming. I’ll be down in the sun room. The door will be open.” She hung up abruptly.

I remember standing by the telephone, uncertain and uneasy. After what had happened to Bessie I did not care to drive up the Hill alone late at night. And my previous experience at the Farm was not cheering. So Margery knew about it, and it was a mistake! But if she knew that she might know something else; something that ought to be known. After all, she was in this thing up the neck, with Julian awaiting trial; sitting in a cell in town, seeing his lawyers, trying to tear a way out of the spiderweb of circumstantial evidence the district attorney’s office had woven around him.

It was then that I had the bright idea of not going home at all that night; of merely staying in my former rooms upstairs until it was time to see Margery. It was entirely possible. My rooms were closed but in order. It meant doing without dinner, but I had not been hungry for days. And it meant telling Gus about my car.

I unlocked the west wing door and went to the garage. One of the men was on duty, but Gus was not in sight. I told him I was staying at the Cloisters overnight, and I managed to get the automatic from my car without his seeing it. With the gun under my coat I felt safer. I was almost cheerful as I went back. The house servants would think I had gone, the garage that I was staying.

No one saw me when I returned. It was supper hour in the servants’ hall, and the front of the house was deserted. I got upstairs easily and into my sitting room. But I had not counted on the long hours there until eleven o’clock. To add to my troubles there seemed to be small unusual noises all about me, and at one time I was so sure of this that I opened the door and looked out. It was only O’Brien moving toward the stairs, and he did not see me.