The Cases of Hildegarde Withers (28 page)

“Well!”
he
muttered,
as
Miss
Withers
went
down
the
stairs
three
at
a
time.

The
Inspector
met
her,
flanked
by
the
housekeeper.
“Only
the
family
idiot,”
snapped
Miss
Withers,
unkindly.
“Playing
with
his
empty
gun
.
…
”

She
pushed
past
them,
and
hurried
to
the
side
of
the
old
man
who
lay
on
the
sofa
in
the
library.
With
an
efficient
snap
she
broke
the
enclosed
glass
tube,
and
let
the
fumes
of
amyl
nitrate
fill
the
stricken
man’s
nostrils.

There
was
a
voice
in
the
doorway
—
the
wispy
young
man
was
grinning.
“Sorry,
ma’am,
I
misjudged
you.
How’s
uncle?”

The
Inspector
went
into
action.
“You
can
give
me
that
gun,”
he
ordered,
and
moved
forward.

“Okay,”
said
the
young
man.
“But
it
isn’t
loaded
now
—
there
was
just
one
shell
in
the
chamber
.
…
”
He
handed
it
over.

Piper
dropped
the
automatic
into
his
capacious
pocket.
“Anybody
else
likely
to
start
potshooting
at
us?
Who-all’s
in
the
house?”

The
housekeeper
shook
her
fat,
frightened
face.

“Nobody
but
just
us
—
and
Miss
Maida,
sir.
Master
Franzel’s
sister.”

“And
where
is
Miss
Maida
now?”
barked
the
Inspector.

“In
her
bed,
the
darling
child,”
the
housekeeper
informed
him
belligerently.

Miss
Withers’
eyebrows
went
up
at
least
an
inch.

The
young
man
addressed
as
Franzel
was
standing
near
the
figure
of
old
Johan
Wurtz,
whose
breathing
had
suddenly
begun
to
fill
the
room.

“Uncle’s
coming
out
of
it,”
he
announced.
He
turned
to
face
the
Inspector
and
Miss
Withers.
“Many
thanks
for
your
help,
but
I
don’t
see
that
we
need
the
police.
Marvin,
will
you
show
these
people
out?”

“Not
so
fast!”
the
Inspector
objected.

“Well,
why
not?
My
uncle
is
subject
to
these
attacks,
which
is
why
he
carries
these
capsules
about
with
him.
He
often
has
trouble
in
sleeping,
and
I
suppose
he
came
down
to
amuse
himself
with
his
toys.”
The
young
man
gestured
toward
the
statuettes.
“Any
signs
of
foul
play
in
that?”

“This
way,”
said
the
housekeeper
firmly.
The
Inspector
and
Miss
Withers
followed
her
down
the
stair,
but
in
the
lower
hall
they
heard
the
ring
of
the
doorbell.

“The
doctor,
praise
be!”
gasped
the
housekeeper.
She
admitted
a
large,
soft-looking
man
in
a
plaid
overcoat,
who
stared
at
them
curiously
through
thick
glasses.

Piper
introduced
himself,
and
Miss
Withers.
“Turned
out
to
be
pretty
much
of
a
false
alarm,
doctor,”
he
said.

But
the
doctor’s
hand
was
on
his
arm.
“Inspector,
do
you
mind?”
begged
Dr.
French.
“I’m
not
satisfied
—
I
mean,
I’d
like
you
to
wait
for
just
a
few
moments
…
”

They
came
into
the
library
again,
to
find
Franzel
gathering
up
the
spilled
ornaments,
and
a
slim
and
very
lovely
young
girl
kneeling
beside
Johan
Wurtz’
couch.
She
rose
as
they
entered,
pulling
a
thin
negligee
around
her.

“Maida,”
said
the
doctor,
as
if
the
name
meant
something
to
him.

“I’m
glad
you’re
here,
Peter,”
said
the
girl,
looking
rather
strangely
toward
Miss
Withers.
“I
must
have
been
sleeping
very
soundly,
not
to
hear
anything
…
”

“Especially
the
sound
of
a
shot
in
the
next
room,”
Miss
Withers
told
her.

The
sick
man’s
eyes
opened,
and
he
stared
up
at
them,
slow
recognition
dawning
on
his
face.

“My
children!”
he
said
hoarsely,
and
smiled.
“I’d
like
—
I’d
like
to
go
upstairs
.
…
”
His
voice
died
weakly
away.

The
Inspector
moved
to
help
Dr.
French,
but
Franzel
shouldered
him
aside.

Maida
started
as
if
to
follow,
and
then
stopped.
“You
—
you
mustn’t
mind
Franzel.”
She
gave
them
a
very
sweet
smile.

“You
see,
he’s
upset
because
he’s
so
fond
of
uncle!”

The
Inspector
and
Miss
Withers
exchanged
a
long
and
dubious
look,
as
the
girl’s
light
slippers
clicked
on
the
stair.

“If
she
was
asleep
in
her
bedroom,”
said
Miss
Withers,
“she
slept
in
a
bureau
drawer!
Because
when
I
went
upstairs
looking
for
the
medicine
her
room
was
empty!”