Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen

Gerda Christo took off her long black dress and put it on a chair. Her eyes were pitiful, with something uncertain. "I don't know — I really don't know, nothing seems to matter," she said. "I understand, darling, I understand." Mrs. Patterson was friendly, but firm.She knows how to care for those who have just experienced bereavement. "Elsie was amazing in a pinch," her family said of her. Sitting now in her sister Gerda's bedroom, Elsie Patterson was tall and thin, with a dynamic demeanor.She was watching Gerda with a mixture of irritation and affection.

Poor dear Gerda—it was a tragedy for her to lose her husband in such a terrible way.And no doubt, even now, strictly speaking, she didn't seem to accept the fact that - oh, the involvement in the crime.Of course, Mrs. Patterson recalled, Gerda had always been deadly dull.And now you have to take the fright factor into account. She said in a lively voice, "I think we should buy that twelve-guinea black silk." People always have to make decisions for Gerda. Gerda stood motionless, her brow furrowed.She hesitated and said: "I don't really know if John likes mourning, I think I heard him say once that he didn't."

"John," she thought, "if only John were here to tell me what to do." But John will never be here again—never—never—never. . . . cold mutton on the table, the gravy congealed. . . . There was a slam of the consulting-room door, and John came running upstairs, two steps at a time, always in a hurry, with such vigor . . . Full of life. Lying on her back by the pool...the blood slowly dripping from the edge...the feel of that revolver in her hand... A bad dream, a bad dream, soon woke her up, and it was no longer real. Her sister's crisp voice interrupted her vague thoughts.

"You have to wear black for court. If you wear sky blue, you'll look weird." "Terrible court appearance!" said Gerda, and half closed her eyes. "It's bad for you, dear," said Elsie Patterson quickly, "but when the trial is over, you can come straight to us and we'll take care of you." The ambiguities in Gerda Christo's mind were strengthened.And her voice was terrifying, almost panicked.She said: "What would I do without John?" Elsie Patterson knows the answer to that question. "You and your children, you have to live for them."

Zenner, sobbing and crying, "My dad is dead!" fell onto his bed.Terry, pale and inquiring, did not shed a tear. A revolver caused an accident, she had told them--poor Pa had an accident. Beryl Collins (as thoughtful as she was) had confiscated the morning paper so the children would not read it.She also warned the servants.Indeed, Beryl was the kindest and most considerate of men. Terrence walked up to his mother in that dim living room.His lips were tightly pressed together, and his face was almost blue in color. "Why was the father shot?" "An accident, dear. I—I can't talk about it."

"It wasn't an accident. Why are you telling lies? Father was killed. It was murder. The papers said so." "Terry, how did you get the paper? I told Miss Collins—" He nodded—strangely repeated, like a very old man. "I went out and bought one, and I know there must be some things in it that you don't want to tell us, or why did Miss Collins hide them all?" Hiding the truth from Terrence would never work.His strange, objective, scientific curiosity was always to be satisfied. "Why was he killed, Mother?" She broke down at that point and became hysterical.

"Don't ask me about it - don't talk about it - I can't talk about it . . . it's all horrible." "But they'll find out, won't they? I mean, they've got to find out." So sensible, so calm.It made Gerda want to scream, laugh and cry.She thought: "He doesn't care—he can't care—he just keeps asking questions. Gosh, he's not even crying." Terrence had gone, hiding from the care of Aunt Elsie, a lonely little boy with a stiff, wounded face.He always felt alone.But until today, that didn't matter. Today, it would be nice to have someone who can answer questions with reason and tact.

Tomorrow, Tuesday, he and Nicholson Mainer will be making nitroglycerin.He had been looking forward to this day with excitement.Now that the agitation was gone, he didn't care if he would never be able to make nitroglycerin. Terrence felt like he was going into shock.Don't care about anything about science experiments anymore.The father was murdered... He thought: "My father - was murdered." And something moved—rooted—growth... a slow rising anger. Beryl Collins knocked on the bedroom door and walked in.She was pale, calm, and capable.she says: "Inspector Grange is here." Beryl quickly went on, as Gerda gasped and looked at her pitifully, "he said he had no need to worry you. He will be with you before he goes." Talk, but it's just a matter of routine about Dr Crystal's job, and I can tell him what he wants to know."

"Oh, thank you." Beryl backed away quickly.Gerda sighed and said: "Corley is such a good helper, she is so experienced." "Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Patterson, "an excellent secretary, I'm sure, a very ordinary, average-looking girl, isn't she? Oh, well, I always think that's the best way. Especially with a With an attractive man like John." Gerda was furious with her: "What do you mean, Elsie? John never--he never--like if he had a pretty secretary, he'd flirt with her or do something nasty. John a little Neither!" "Of course not, dear," said Mrs. Patterson, "but after all, people know what men are like!"

In the consulting room, Sergeant Grange faced Beryl Collins' cold, warlike gaze.Be belligerent, he noticed.Oh, maybe it's innate. "Pretty ordinary girl," he thought. "There's nothing between her and the doctor, and I shouldn't think so. But she may be in love with him, and sometimes it works." Not this time, he concluded.Berridge Collins' answers to the questions he posed were exemplary in clarity.She answered quickly, and it was obvious that she was intimately familiar with every detail of the doctor's work.He changed his position and began to test the relationship between John Crystal and his wife.

"They've always been," Berrill said, "very good." "I suppose they fight a little bit now and then, like most couples do?" the sheriff sounded relaxed and confident. "I don't recall any quarrels. Mrs. Crystal loved her husband very much—everything he wanted." There was a hint of disdain in her voice.Sheriff Grange heard it. "This girl is a pretty solid feminist," he thought. He said aloud: "She doesn't stand up for herself at all?" "Yes. Everything revolves around Dr. Crystal." "Like a tyrant, huh?" Beryl considered. "No, I can't say that. But I think he's a very selfish man. He takes Madame Crystal's complete obedience to him for granted." "Has he got any trouble with patients—women, I mean? You needn't think about confessing, Miss Collins. Understand that doctors have their troubles in the profession." "Oh, that kind of thing!" Beryl's voice was full of contempt. "Dr. Crystal is very equal in dealing with any trouble in this profession. He is very kind to his patients," she added. "He is indeed a great doctor." There was an almost reluctant admiration in her voice. Grange said: "Is he in trouble with some woman? Don't lie to yourself, Miss Collins, it's important to know." "Yes, I understand. It's beyond my knowledge." A little too abrupt, he thought.She didn't know, but maybe she guessed something. He suddenly asked, "Where's Miss Henrietta Savnak?" Beryl's lips were tightly shut. "She was a close friend of the family." "No—has trouble arose between the Doctor and Madame Crystal because of her?" "of course not." This answer is emphatic. (Too much emphasis?) The sheriff changed his position again. "Where's Miss Veronica Clay?" "Veronica Clay?" Pure wonder in Beryl's voice. "She's a friend of Dr. Crystal's, isn't she?" "I've never heard of her. At least, but I seem to have heard the name—" "A film actress." Beryl frowned. "No wonder! I wonder why the name is so familiar. But I didn't know Dr. Crystal knew her." She seemed so positive about the issue that the sheriff immediately dropped the subject.Go ahead and ask her about Dr. Crystal's behavior last Saturday.And for the first time, on this question, the confidence in Beryl's answer faltered.She said slowly: "His behavior was different than usual." "What's the difference?" "He seemed a little absent-minded. There was a long pause before he rang for the last patient - usually when he was going out he was always in a hurry to get things done. I think - yes, I do think He seems to have something on his mind." But she couldn't be more sure. Sheriff Grange isn't very happy with his investigation.He hadn't yet found the basis for a motive--and a motive would have to be established before the matter could be sent to the prosecutor as a case. Personally he was pretty sure Gerda Christo had shot her husband.He suspects that jealousy is the motive -- but so far, he hasn't found any strong evidence.Officer Coombs kept questioning the maids, but they all said the same thing.Madame Christo adored her husband beyond measure. Whatever happened, he thought, must have happened at the Manor.And he remembered that he had felt a vague uneasiness at Hollow Manor.All the people there are weird. The telephone on the table rang and Miss Collins picked up the receiver. "It's yours, Mr. Sheriff," she said, and handed him the receiver. "Hi, I'm Grange. Who are you?" Beryl heard the change in his tone and looked at him strangely.The blank face was as expressionless as ever, and he was muttering—listening. "Yes... yes, I already know. Absolutely sure, don't you? Surely. Yes... yes... yes, I'll go back. I'm pretty much done here. Yes." He put down the receiver and sat motionless for a moment.Beryl looked at him strangely. He shrank into a ball and asked in a voice completely different from the previous question: "You have no opinion of your own, Miss Collins, about the matter?" "what do you mean--" "I mean, what do you think about who killed Dr. Crystal?" She said bluntly: "I have absolutely no idea, Mr. Sheriff." Grange said slowly: "When the body was found, Madame Crystal was standing beside him with a revolver in her hand—" He deliberately didn't finish his sentence, leaving an unfinished sentence. She responds quickly, but not violently, but coldly and judgementally. "If you think that Mrs. Crystal killed her husband, then I'm pretty sure you're wrong. Mrs. Crystal was by no means a violent woman. She was very gentle and humble, and she was completely in the doctor's shoes. It seems to me absurd for anyone to imagine for a moment that it was she who shot the doctor, even though there are many superficial things that might be against her." "And if she doesn't, who is?" he asked briskly. Beryl said slowly, "I don't know." The sheriff walked to the door.Beryl asked: "Would you like to see Madame Crystal before you go?" "No—well, maybe I'll see her anyway." Beryl wondered again that this wasn't the Grange badge that had asked him before the phone rang.What news did he get that turned him around so much? Gerda nervously entered the room.She looked unhappy and confused.She asked in a low, trembling voice: "Is there any progress on the case?" "Not yet, Madame Crystal." "How improbable it is—how absolutely improbable." "But it did happen, Mrs. Crystal." She nodded, looked down, and crumpled a handkerchief into a small ball. He said calmly: "Has your husband any enemies, Madame Crystal?" "John? Oh no. He's wonderful. Everyone admires him." "Can't think of anyone who held a grudge against him"—he paused—"or you?" "To me?" She seemed surprised. "Oh, no, Mr. Sheriff." Sheriff Grange sighed. "What about Miss Veronica Clay?" "Veronica C. Ray? Oh, you mean the guy who came to borrow matches that night?" "Yes, that's her. Do you know her?" Gerda shook her head. "I've never seen her before. John knew her many years ago—she said." "I guess she might have a grudge against him, and you don't know that." Gerda said with dignity: "I don't think anyone would hold John ill. He was the kindest, most unselfish — oh, and a most noble of men." "Well," said the Inspector, "yes, absolutely. Good morning, Mrs. Crystal, then. You know about the inquest? Margot Day Bridge at eleven o'clock on Wednesday morning. It will be very The simple ones - nothing to bother - may be delayed for a week so we can investigate more deeply." "Oh, I see, thank you." She stood there watching him go.He wondered if, even now, he had grasped the fact that she was the prime suspect. He hailed a taxi—a legitimate expense, given what he had just been told on the phone.Where that message was leading him, he didn't know.On the face of it, it seems completely irrelevant - crazy.It makes absolutely no sense.Yet in some way he couldn't see it yet, it must make sense. The only conclusion to be drawn from this was that the case was not at all the simple, clear case he had hitherto assumed.