Snow Shadow (13 page)

“Here's—” My voice trailed into silence.

The chair, still pulled close to the crib, was empty. And the cot had been stripped bare. Both Stuart and his blankets were gone!

Anne must have taken the baby to her room for some reason, I told myself. I ran down the hall, and this time I did hammer on a door.

“Mrs. Frimsbee! Mrs. Frimsbee!”

There was the click of a turned key and her petulant voice reached me.

“What in the world is the matter?”

A weird figure faced me. Anne Frimsbee had prepared for bed. Her hair was in rollers, and her face shone with cream.

“What is the matter?” She repeated.

“Is Stuart with you? I brought up his milk, and I found the room empty. And where is the nurse?”

“Stuart?” Her expression was one of bewilderment

“But I don't understand you at all, Miss Jansen. Stuart is right where he should be, in his own crib. And the nurse is there with him—”

“But he isn't!” The fear I had been fighting ever since I had seen that empty crib closed in. “He isn't, I tell you! There's no one in the room at all!”

Anne Frimsbee pushed past me and ran, I followed. Her choked scream sounded as I joined her.

“You did leave them here?” I caught her by the
shoulder, gave her a slight shake. “The nurse was with Stuart?”

Her hands were locked about the rail of the crib, she stared down into that as if she could not believe what she saw. Or rather what she did not see.

“You left them here—” I repeated, “how long ago?”

Ann neither moved nor answered. I gave her a harder shake.

“Did you really leave them here—the baby and the nurse? When?”

Her trance was broken at last “The baby— Leslie—”

I pulled her away from the crib and pushed her into the slipper chair.

“Now,” I was forcing myself to speak calmly and slowly, “tell me exactly what happened.”

Anne looked around the room as if searching for what she could not now see.

“I was here, sitting right here. And Stuart was asleep. He was breathing so much better—no more of that dreadfully sniffling. Then Leslie came in. She said that the nurse was here—the nurse Dr. Bains sent. She was in Leslie's room changing into her uniform. Leslie asked if I did not want to rest. She said she would bring me up a tray later. I was so tired, and Leslie said she would stay right here until the nurse came. So I went—I thought it was all right Maybe—” A note of hope came into her voice. “Maybe the nurse took Stuart to the hospital. Dr. Bains wanted Irene to send him there, he spoke of it to me—”

“But she wouldn't do such a thing without your
knowledge or consent,” I pointed out “So you left Stuart with Leslie?”

“Yes. But why would the nurse take him away? And surely Leslie wouldn't—she had no reason to. Why, Leslie does not even like children. And she knew it would frighten me—”

“Frighten you!” The note! There was one person who might try to use Stuart to intimidate others, who was reckless enough for such a bold move. That was the unknown behind everything which had happened here. Leslie Lowndes?

“You never saw the nurse then?”

“No—but Leslie said— I can't see why she would—”

The door bell
had
rung. Whom had Leslie admitted, and why?

“Maybe Irene came back—” I heard Anne say.

Only half-heard, for I was already on my way to Leslie's room. The door of that was locked and my rapping brought no answer. I dropped to my knees and tried to see through the keyhole—only darkness. Then I went to search the other rooms. Miss Elizabeth's was disordered and empty. Anne Frimsbee's the same. The neat quarters of Preston Donner next. Hanno Horvath had also locked his door. Finally I returned to Anne.

“We must search the whole house.”

There did remain the faint hope that Stuart had only been removed to some other room and not taken away. I passed a window and looked out into the night. I heard the soft hiss of snow against the pane. The ground below was already receiving a second white covering.

“But why?” Anne clawed at my arm. “Where is Leslie?”

“That is what we must find out” I shivered, thinking of that cold and snow without

13

Still hoping against what I was afraid was a vain hope, I rounded on Anne briskly.

“Come on!”

But Mrs. Primsbee, her robe hunched around her, her greasy face mirroring both bewilderment and fear, made no move.

“Where?”

“We must search the house. You know all the rooms. I don't,” I retorted. “It's snowing again, a bad night. Who would take Stuart out in such weather?”

Her face crumpled. ‘The baby has such a bad cold. The nurse wouldn't take him—”

I dug my fingers into the plump shoulder beneath the covering of padded silk and propelled her by main force toward the door.

“I am beginning to believe there was never any nurse here.”

That was too much for my captive. Anne stopped short, stiff and stubborn in my hold.

“Leslie said—I heard—” She began to babble.

“Please.” I curbed my exasperation as best I could. “Come on, Mrs. Frimsbee, we must find Stuart and get him back to bed before he takes a fresh cold.” But, I added to myself, will we find him at all?

Somehow I got Anne into the hall. There she stood while I made a fruitless second round of the unlocked rooms.

“What's on the third floor?” I pointed to the narrow flight of steps, an extension of the back stairs leading on upwards.

“Maud's room and Reena's, and the old ballroom. Elizabeth used that for storage.”

“Where's the light switch?”

Anne pulled the full skirt of her robe about her, clutching it in one hand as she groped for the button. Then she did stumble her way up. At the head of the stairs, she pointed to one of the doors.

“That's the ballroom. Elizabeth keeps it locked, and I don't know where the key is.”

I tried the door, confirmed it was locked. One of the two other doors yielded and I looked into a small room which had the prim neatness of Maud's uniform.

“Reena's is there,” Anne made no move toward the other door.

I pounded on it.

“Who's there?” came a sullen croak.

“Miss Jansen, Reena. We need your help. The baby's missing. We—”

“Go away!” The croak swelled to a near shout. “Me—I'm not comin’ outa here. Go ‘way!”

And to all my attempts to enlist her aid she made no other answer. Defeated, we returned to the second floor. Then I urged Anne ahead of me down to the kitchen.

We were greeted by acrid smoke and the stench of burning. That minor crisis appeared to rouse Anne, who grabbed a pot holder and snatched a blackened pan with charred contents from the oven, conveying the mess to the sink. As far as I could judge, no one had been here since I left to take up Stuart's milk.

The back door was locked, the night chain in place. Beyond Reena's window, the snow was unbroken by any track.

Now Anne led, going back over my earlier route through the lower-floor rooms. It was not until we stood in the parlor, still holding its taint of fading flowers, that I spoke.

“What do you really know about Leslie Lowndes?”

Anne's head jerked as if the question had touched the spring of nightmare.

“She—she works at Gunniford's—she has something important to do in their import side. They moved that section out here to Ladensville two years ago. Hanno knows her. She had been overseas for Gunniford's and then promoted to this place. But she thought she might be sent to Europe, so she didn't want to rent an apartment until she was sure about that She—she's friendly with Mr. Cantrell—”

“Worked overseas—” I repeated. Anne looked straight at me and I saw the icy fear awake in her eyes.

“Roderick!”

Her horror was so naked I hedged. “That is only a guess. We can't be sure.”

Anne turned and ran from the room. I had to sprint to catch up with her as she reached for the phone with shaking hands.

“Police—” Her teeth were chattering so I could barely distinguish the words. “Must get the police.”

“Listen.” I caught her hands, held them in a way which I hope would be reassuring. “Colonel Rohmer is on his way here now. He should be arriving soon. Meanwhile I'm going to look out in the garden. We didn't hear any car leave—”

Anne seized upon that. “No—no car! Hurry— hurry!”

“You must wait for Colonel Rohmer,” I told her. “Tell him what had happened and where I have gone.”

“I will, oh, I will! But hurry—please hurry!”

I sped back to my room for coat and scarf, and then went down for my boots, making sure I had a flashlight in my pocket. Anne paced up and down the lower hall, her attention fixed on the front door. I thought I could safely leave her to follow orders.

A moment or two later I did find a trail. The side door had not been locked, and outside were rapidly filling smudges of footprints. I began to run. Then my feet slipped, spiffing me forward so that the arm I flung out instinctively, to save myself from crashing on my face, gave me a numb wrist as I scrambled up again. I
didn't want broken bones. I must be more careful, in spite of the tearing urgency building within me.

In a way I was responsible for this. If only I had not concealed the note from Irene. I had been warned by Mark to keep my eyes open, yet I had allowed this to happen! It was up to me to do all I could to find Stuart.

Leslie Lowndes, Leslie who had been abroad, who had admitted knowing Roderick, and so might have her own reason for wanting him dead. Leslie who had suggested the story of the two murderers. But what had led her to this last reckless action, drawing suspicion to herself, when, as far as I knew, she had been in the clear?

However, perhaps the police—Mark—had had suspicions not voiced to the rest of us. Leslie might have been pushed to the point where she believed only a desperate chance was left her. Was she planning to use Stuart as a bargaining point, a hostage? So much depended upon what kind of a person she really was.

I beamed my flashlight on the walk, following those evenly spaced prints which reminded me of my first visit to the Abbey. Had it been Leslie's trail then which had come out of the bushes? Leslie's wet boots I had found in the carriage house?

The walk reached that iron bench behind which I had taken cover. But this time the tracks did not head towards the yew-bordered burial plot, but the other way down which I had fled with Mark in pursuit—to the theater!

I took the precaution of snapping off my flashlight. I wanted no chance I might be seen from the building
ahead. The street light, some distance away, awoke reflection to my right. As I had done before I used the wall of the building as a guide to the parking space. There was a car there—although the street gate was closed—a small sports car, its hood ridged with snow.

The theater building was dark, there was no sign of anyone about. I flashed my light at the license plate of the car. A New York one. I repeated the figures, trying to fix them in my memory. Whoever had brought it here must be inside—with Leslie.

Under my tentative push the main door swung open, and I crept into darkness. Though the area in which I now stood was dark, there was a dim glow at the far end. My eyes adjusting, I saw that this came from one end of a small stage. I must be in the auditorium of the long closed theater.

Hugging the right-hand wall, I made my way towards that light. Some trick of acoustics carried the murmur of voices and I hastened my crab's progress toward the stage. As a board creaked, I halted, my heart pounding. That sound had
not
come from beneath
my
feet.

The murmur continued. Pressed against the wall, I looked around, alert for that other lurker who might even now be converging on my own course.

Mark? Could it be Mark? But if he had gone to the house and listened to Anne he would not have had time enough—

I dared not believe in any ally here. Rather, I had to remain where I was and try to see that other. But what if I lingered too long and Leslie left—

My palms were wet, but my mouth felt dry, as I vacillated between going on and remaining where I was. A second creak out of the dark plucked at my nerves. Now I did see that other as a dark form arose above the level of the stage boards. It hunched there for a moment and then ran lightly, noiselessly, on. I caught a glimpse of what might be a masculine outline against that poor light before it vanished.

Able to breathe freely again, I resumed my journey towards the same goal, searching as best I could each pool of shadow for any other lurker. As I made the stage I could see large canvas flats leaning against the walls. Behind any one of those someone might lie in wait.

But I was more intent upon the voices, now clear, with not only the words but the tones of the speakers to be caught.

“—got to be here—” A man's hoarse whisper.

“You've had the better part of a week to find it!” My last doubt vanished. That was Leslie. Did she have Stuart with her?

“Are you even sure he hid it here?” Though Leslie spoke in a low voice, the other kept to that half-muffled whisper.

“Of course, he did. I told you how he stood right there and dared to tell me that the old lady knew everything. Because she had listened to him, she was willing to welcome him back into the family so he could now work her for all he wanted! I always said he could not be depended upon. If he saw it to his advantage he was willing to change sides.”

“You've told me a good many things, my sweet, in
the years we have been associates. You're a very instructive person.”

I shivered, but not from the chill thrown out by these walls. Never, I thought, would I care to hear that whispering voice so addressing me.

“Oh, don't be stupid! This is serious. We're in luck tonight having the place free so we can give it a good going-over. It's here all right, Roderick boasted about that. He taunted me with it—”

“Just before you shot him? Your impatience on that occasion, my dear, still surprises me. Why shoot him before you had the manuscript in your pretty painted claws? Look at the amazing amount of trouble your impetuous action has caused. You have been too hasty by far—”

“As if I could have done anything else under the circumstances! Even you would have admitted it, had you been here.”

“But I wasn't here, was I, my dear? Because you were so very sure you could handle that obnoxious Roderick in your own practiced way. To that I agreed, though I had reservations even then. It was very short-sighted of me.”

Again I shivered. The black threat in that whisper. Didn't Leslie hear it yet? The speaker was working towards some action more dangerous than mere words. And the voice—I could not place it—yet in a way it was vaguely familiar.

There followed a moment of silence before Leslie spoke.

“Just what are you hinting at?”

“That we both know you have a devious mind, my
sweet—have you not proved that many times in the past? Having watched with admiration your operations in our specialized field, I cannot help but wonder now if you have always been as frank with
me
as you professed to be. When one is adept in any particular action, it is so very easy to continue to use the same means to get any desired effect.”

“That is not true!” Her denial was vehement and quick.

“I hope so, my dear, I very much hope so. Otherwise the consequences for us both might be distressing. Then you did not keep that rendezvous with Roderick to get the manuscript for yourself, but to—as one might say—toll him back to the path of duty?”

“Of course!”

“I wish I could believe you completely. I am desolated to discover it hard to summon up the necessary faith. Also—you have not yet made it plain to me why it is needful to withdraw from the field tonight—”

“You fool!” She had regained her poise. As if the other had, in his last speech, revealed some weakness she could turn to her own advantage. “They have a good suspect. But the case against her won't hold up too long under investigation. And Rohmer's snooping. When he learns a little more, how long do you suppose we will have?”

“Somebody will take care of Rohmer.”

My heart pounded heavily at the cold and deadly promise of that.

Leslie laughed, an ugly sound. “So you have said before, so Paddy said, so Kauffman said. Do you want me to continue down the list of those brave souls who
set out in the past to take care of Rohmer? He has a plant in the house already.”

“Who?”

“That skinny old maid Jansen.”

“But she only came Sunday—”

“Which means they tailed Roderick from New York and were ready with this plant if she were needed here. I know you are always inclined to underestimate the opposition lately, but that never pays.”

“As you yourself have so aptly demonstrated in this case. Or are your superior gifts due to the fact you are one of the tougher sex? But now, may I call to your attention the fact that, short of taking up the flooring here—a task for which we have neither the tools nor the time—we have ripped this room apart, enough to prove that Roderick's cache does not exist. At least no longer exists. I would suggest that you put an end to this farce, which I no longer find amusing, and produce the envelope. I have no more time to waste.”

“I don't know what you are talking about. And I promise you that they are not going to be too quick to close in on us.” She laughed more softly. “I have taken precautions against that. I am sure they will be very much inclined to listen to any bargaining I suggest.”

If Leslie had Stuart with her, he had made no sound. But those last remarks suggested that her present companion might not know she had taken the baby.

“The manuscript, my dear, where is it?” He did not seem interested in her hints. I heard feet move on an uncarpeted floor.

“I don't know what he did with it, and that is the truth.”

“The which you would not probably tell if your life depended upon it. This time it does, sweet.” The whisper he still held to made that threat sound even more drilling.

There was a moment of silence during which I shrank back against the wall. What about that other lurker who had come this way before me? Was he in hiding, listening too?

“Have you perhaps given it for safekeeping to the poodle dog—to little Gordon who runs to and fro for you, sits up and begs so prettily, and does just as you tell him? Does Cantrell have it now, holding it safe for his lily maid? So—” the whisper hissed, “you have again your little gun. How far-sighted of you, my dear. But I am not Roderick. I
know
all your games.”