me that!"

"I hadn't intended to tell anyone.However, I have to make Mr. Archer see that there's no point in pressing thisthing any further. My wife—my ex-wife—is an old woman, and a sick one, andshe's beyond extradition. I've arranged for her to have medical care,psychiatric care, in a South American city which I won't name."

"You're admitting that she killedHelen Haggerty?"

"Yes. She confessed to me when I wentto see her in Los Angeles early Saturday morning. She shot Helen and hid thegun in my gatehouse. I contacted Foley in Reno primarily to find out if he hadwitnessed anything. I didn't want him blackmailing me—"

"I thought he already was."

"Helen was," he said. "Shelearned about my pending divorce in Reno, and she jumped to a number ofconclusions, including the fact that Tish was still alive. I gave her a gooddeal of money, and got her a job here, in order to protect Tish."

"And yourself."

"And myself. I do have a reputationto protect, though I've done nothing illegal."

"No. You're very good at arrangingfor other people to do your dirty work. You brought Helen here as a kind ofdecoy, didn't you?"

"I'm afraid I don't understandyou." But he shifted uneasily.

"You took Helen out a few times andpassed the word that she was your intended. She wasn't, of course. You werealready married to Laura and you hated Helen, with good reason."

"That's not true. We were on quite afriendly basis, in spite of her demands. She was a very old friend, after all,and I couldn't help sympathizing with her feeling that she deserved somethingfrom the world."

"I know what she got—a bullet in thehead. The same thing Constance McGee got. The same thing Laura would have gotif you hadn't set Helen up as a substitute victim for Tish."

"I'm afraid you're getting much toocomplicated."

"For a complicated nature like yours?"

He looked around the room as if he feltimprisoned in it, or in the maze of his own nature. "You'll never proveany complicity on my part in Helen's death. It came as a fearful shock to me.Letitia's confession was another shock."

"Why? You must have known she killedConstance McGee."

"I didn't know it till Saturday. I admit I had my suspicions. Tishwas always savagely jealous. I've lived with the dreadful possibility for tenyears, hoping and praying that my suspicions were unfounded—"

"Whydidn't you ask her?"

"Isuppose I couldn't face it. Things were already so difficult between us. Itwould have meant admitting my love for Connie." He heard his own words,and sat quiet for a moment, his eyes downcast, as if he was peering down into achasm in himself. "I really did love her, you know. Her death almostfinished me."

"Butyou survived to love again."

"Mendo," he said. "I'm not the sort of man who can live without love. Iloved even Tish as long and as well as I could. But she got old, andsick."

Mrs.Deloney made a spitting sound. He said to her:

"Iwanted a wife, one who could give me children."

"Godhelp any children of yours, you'd probably abandon them. You broke all yourpromises to my sister."

"Everyonebreaks promises. I didn't intend to fall in love with Connie. It simplyhappened. I met her in a doctor's waiting room quite by accident. But I didn'tturn my back on your sister. I never have. I've done more for her than she everdid for me."

Shesneered at him with the arrogance of a second-generation aristocrat. "Mysister lifted you out of the gutter. What were you—an elevator boy?"

"I wasa college student, and an elevator boy by my own choice."

"Verylikely."

He leanedtoward her, fixing her with his bright eyes. "I had family resources todraw on if I had wished."

"Ahyes, your precious mother."

"Becareful what you say about my mother."

Therewas an edge on his words, the quality of a cold threat, and it silenced her.This was one of several moments when I sensed that the two of them were playinga game as complex as chess, a game of power on a hidden board. I should havetried to force it into the open. But I was clearing up my case, and as long asBradshaw was willing to talk I didn't care about apparent side-issues.

"Idon't understand the business of the gun," I said. "The police haveestablished that Connie McGee and Helen were shot with the same gun—a revolverthat belonged originally to Connie's sister Alice. How did Tish get hold ofit?"

"Idon't really know."

"Youmust have some idea. Did Alice Jenks give it to her?"

"Shevery well may have."

"That'snonsense, Bradshaw, and you know it. The revolver was stolen from Alice'shouse. Who stole it?"

He made asteeple of his fingers and admired its symmetry. "I'm willing to tell youif Mrs. Deloney will leave the room."

"Whyshould I?" she said from her corner. "Anything my sister could endureto live through I can endure to hear."

"I'mnot trying to spare your sensibilities," Bradshaw said. "I'm tryingto spare myself."

Shehesitated. It became a test of wills. Bradshaw got up and opened the innerdoor. Through it I could see across a hall into a bedroom furnished in dull

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009