I suppose I stood there for some time, my knees sagging and my heart jumping in all directions. Then some sort of reason came to me. It was Tony up in the trunk room, perhaps Tony and O’Brien both. I went back into the hall and listened. Everything was still above. I even relaxed a little. Then I heard it. The elevator was coming up.

I was instantly in a panic. If Tony was in the trunk room I must warn him. Someone was in the dark cage, perhaps bringing death again.

I remember that. I remember running up the third floor stairs and to the trunk-room door. I remember that somebody grabbed me and put a hand over my mouth. And I remember a wild explosion, and the arms holding me letting go. I fell to the floor, but not alone, and suddenly all over the house bedlam seemed to break loose. Someone was yelling from the first floor, and what seemed like a dozen men erupted from the trunk room and ran along the hall to the elevator. A strong light went on from somewhere, and I tried to get to my feet. But I could not do it. There was a man lying there, groaning.

It was O’Brien, and I had shot him through the chest.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

I WAS IN BED at Miss Mattie’s for three days before Jim came to see me. I knew from Tony and the newspapers that our murderer had been trapped that night, and had committed suicide in the elevator. But Tony would not talk about it.

“It’s Jim’s story, darling,” he said. “I’m not sure yet of all of it. Wait a little.”

He spent a great deal of time with me. Not that I was really ill. I had had a nervous shock which left me weak, and before it there had been long weeks of strain. Amy Richards, standing over me, said I looked like something no self-respecting cat would watch a mousehole for.

“All collarbones and ribs,” she said disparagingly. “What Tony Wainwright sees in you to send him off his head I don’t know. Here’s your cream. Drink it.”

She was filled with curiosity about that last night at the Cloisters. For it seemed that I, too, was getting my share of publicity. Policeman Badly Hurt. Excited Girl Shoots Guard. She read the newspaper headlines to me until Tony took her in hand.

“Shut up, Amy,” he said amiably. “Let my girl alone.”

“It’s your girl, is it?”

“Mine, strawberry marks and all.”

“Strawberry marks! She hasn’t a mark on her, I’ll have you know. She has as nice a skin as I’ve ever seen.”

“Tut, tut,” said Tony. “Have a few decent reserves. And speaking of this and that, how would you like to go and take a walk?”

The old Tony was coming back. He would come in grinning, bringing me things to amuse me, a cigarette box which played a tune, a pair of lovebirds which he named Bill and Coo, although neither of us ever learned which was which. He filled my room with flowers too, although none of them came from the green houses at the Cloisters. I wondered about that, until Jim explained it.