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  “Why can’t Mrs. Ames speak for herself? She generally does.” The security chief wouldn’t have dared say such a thing if he hadn’t been seriously annoyed. “Where is she?” he repeated.

  “In here. Behind the sofa. I didn’t move anything.”

  “You mean you—oh, my God!”

  Grimble stood goggling down at the corpse for at least a minute. Then he shoved his cap forward and scratched hard at the base of his skull.

  “What do you know about that? Looks as if she butted in once too often.”

  “Yes.” Professor Shandy found that his lips were so dry he had trouble articulating. “Apparently she took exception to my—er—decorations.”

  “Well, now, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Professor, but some of the folks around here do think you’ve kind of overdone it. They think you’re trying to outshine ’em, see?”

  That was the one possible interpretation of his outrage that Shandy would never have thought possible.

  “Of course,” Grimble went on kindly, “most of us figure you’re just making up for all the times you wouldn’t be bothered. I think it’s kind of cheerful myself, with the music and all. Even Professor Ames noticed that part. First time I ever seen him take any interest in the Illumination. Too damn bad he couldn’t take a little more interest in his wife.”

  “How long has she been missing?” asked the professor with his heart in his mouth.

  “Best I’ve been able to find out is that she went to a party at the Dysarts’ last Thursday night. You know that big wingding they always throw at Christmastime.”

  “Yes. Come to think of it, I was intending to go myself. I quite forgot to let them know I wouldn’t be there. I shall have to make my apologies.”

  Realizing he had an iron-clad alibi, Shandy became voluble. The invitation had been for eight o’clock, and at that hour he was in Boston, picking up his ticket to board the Singapore Susie.

  Grimble wasn’t interested. “Well, anyway,” he cut in, “she stayed at the party till half past nine.”

  “Was her husband with her?”

  “Hell, he don’t remember where he was. Home with his nose in a book, or up at the soil lab making mudpies, most likely.”

  “I expect so,” Shandy agreed.

  Timothy Ames never left his study if he could help it, except to teach a class or immure himself in his soil-testing laboratory. He was deaf as a haddock and hopeless at small talk, so there was nothing unusual in Jemima’s attending a social event without her spouse.

  “Where did she go when she left the party?”

  “Looks to me as if she come straight here. She was wearin’ that purple cloak thing she’s got on now, they said. Professor Dysart says he helped her on with it an’ saw her out the door. Prob’ly tripped on the end of it an’ that’s how she upset the ladder. She was all steamed up about these decorations of yours, they said. Must o’ got a few drinks under her belt an’ decided to come an’ take ’em down. See, she’s got one o’ them Santa Claus faces on top of her. It’s the sort o’ thing she’d do.”

  “Yes,” said the professor sadly, “it is. I ought to have known better. I feel personally responsible for this terrible—”

  He intended to add “accident,” but the word wouldn’t come out. Professor Shandy was a truthful man, and there was that missing marble still to be accounted for. Should he explain that odd circumstance to Grimble, or should he not?

  On the whole, he thought not. The college security force was trained to cope primarily with unauthorized prowlers and overexuberance within the student body. Chief Grimble was a man of good heart but limited intelligence. The police would have to be called in anyway, so he might as well tell his story where it would do some good. The sooner the better. He was feeling more exhausted every second. But Grimble was making no move.

  “Would you like to use my phone?” he prodded.

  “Don’t you think we ought to go over and tell Professor Ames ourselves?” said the security chief. “He’d never hear the telephone in a million years.”

  “Yes, but aren’t we supposed to notify the police first? We do have an unexplained death on our hands.”

  “What’s so unexplained? She fell an’ bashed in her skull.”

  “Still, don’t you have to observe certain—er—formalities?”

  “Search me. All I know is the president’s goin’ to raise holy hell if this gets into the newspapers.”

  Grimble wasn’t so stupid, after all. The Grand Illumination was slated to last through New Year’s. At least half the student body had given up the chance of spending Christmas with their families in order to run the parking lots, the sleigh rides, the refreshment stands; to sculpt the giant snowmen, sing the carols, build the bonfires, sweep the skating ponds, or put on costumes and stand around in picturesque attitudes for the benefit of those golden calves, the tourists.

  Proceeds were handled on a fifty-fifty basis: half to the student, half to the college. Many of these young people depended on Illumination earnings to help pay their tuition. The college used its half for scholarships and loans. It was excellent business both ways and the president would have good reason to be upset if unfavorable publicity kept visitors away. A braver man than Grimble, or than almost anybody, might well think twice, and perhaps a few more times to be on the safe side, before inviting the wrath of Thorkjeld Svenson.

  Nevertheless, Shandy replied, “Then we’d better let him know at once.”

  “He’s off skiing, thank God,” said Grimble. “I guess I better get hold of Fred Ottermole down at the police station. He’s not a bad egg.”

  “Yes, do that. Er—while we’re waiting for him, why don’t I make us a cup of coffee?”

  “Great idea. Three sugars in mine, if you can spare it.”

  The security chief stuck a thick finger in the telephone dial, and Professor Shandy at last managed to reach his kitchen.

  Chapter 3

  WITH A HOT DRINK and a couple of stale doughnuts under his belt, Shandy felt queasier but less defeated. He managed to greet Chief Ottermole with a decent mixture of distress and dignity.

  “This how you found her?”

  Ottermole was a large, youngish man wearing a sheepskin-collared leather jacket over his uniform. He refused to take it off, perhaps because he realized the added bulk enhanced his already impressive appearance. He had his gun, his flashlight, and his notebook at the ready, but his ball-point pen wouldn’t write. Professor Shandy lent him a pencil and answered his question.

  “Yes. I haven’t touched her. She was obviously beyond help.”

  “How did she get here?”

  “I wish I knew. I’ve been away since Thursday evening myself. I hadn’t been in the house more than a few minutes before I called Grimble.”

  “How come him instead of me?”

  “We always call security when anything goes wrong. It’s just habit.”

  “Um. Where were you?”

  Shandy drew a long breath and chose his words carefully. “As you can see, I’m a middle-aged man of quiet habits. Living here on the Crescent, I get the—er—full impact of the Grand Illumination. I expect you don’t have to be told what that entails.”

  “I sure don’t,” said the policeman gloomily. “Okay, so you cleared out.”

  “Exactly. I—er—had contributed my share of the decorating—”

  “Oh, boy, you can say that again! How the hell did a guy like you ever get those eight reindeer up on your roof?”

  “Actually, I didn’t. Being without experience in such matters, I simply hired some decorators and told them to—er—decorate.”

  “Oh, yeah. People have been kind of wondering how come you picked out all those funny colors. S’posed to be artistic or something, huh?”

  “Er—they seemed to know what they were doing. It took a great deal longer than I’d thought it would. I had made arrangements to go off on a short cruise over the holidays, and was supposed to be in Boston by seven o’clock i
n the evening. Since I couldn’t very well go off and leave the workmen unattended, I had to stay in the house till they’d finished. By that time I’d missed the six o’clock bus, so I asked them to give me a ride, which they were quite willing to do. What with one thing and another, it got to be a scramble and I forgot to tell anybody I was leaving. That didn’t seem to matter much, because the men assured me the mechanisms were perfectly safe and I knew the neighbors would keep an eye on the place. They always do.”

  “So you figure this woman came in to check things out? What would she be doing up on a ladder?”

  “Presumably she was altering the decorations in some way. Mrs. Ames was chairman of the Grand Illumination Committee, and she took her responsibilities with great seriousness. I suppose that Santa Claus object she seems to have taken down was—er—bothering her.”

  “How could she get in? Don’t tell me you went away and left your door unlocked, with tourists milling around here thick as flies on dog-do in August.”

  “Oh no, I’m always careful about locking up. I don’t know how she got in, unless Grimble opened the door for her.”

  “I never,” said the security chief. “What the hell, Professor, you people are always leaving keys around at each other’s houses and forgetting to take ’em back. She prob’ly had one herself.”

  He and Ottermole exchanged grins over Shandy’s head. The security chief shrugged.

  “Doesn’t look as if there’s any mystery about what happened here. Everybody in town knew Mrs. Ames. She wouldn’t let a little thing like breaking and entering stop her if she thought there was something that needed to be fixed. Only thing surprises me is that she bashed her own head in, when there were so many people around who’d have been glad to do it for her.”

  Ottermole grinned again. “If you repeat that, I’ll shove you in the clink. Well, I guess we might as well get the wagon up here.”

  “The sooner the better,” said Grimble nervously. “I just hope to Christ we can get her out of the Crescent without anybody spotting us. Boy, Professor, I’m sure glad you got home when you did. Say, how come you’re here at all? That must have been some short cruise.”

  “It was shorter than we expected,” the professor explained. “The ship developed engine trouble and had to put in at Newport News. You may have seen the—er—thrilling rescue on television. Since there was no telling how long she’d be disabled, I decided I might as well give up the idea and come back. She’s the Singapore Susie, if you care to make sure I was actually aboard. I can write down the names of the captain and officers for you. I’m afraid I never did learn who the men were with whom I rode to Boston. However, I do have the firm’s invoice in my desk, and could easily find out.”

  “That’s okay, Professor. I guess we can take your word for it. Mind if I use your phone?”

  “Not at all.”

  Ottermole went into the study and dialed. “Hello, Doctor. Sorry to get you up, but we’ve got a little problem up here at Professor Shandy’s house on the Crescent. No, he’s okay, but he just came home from being shipwrecked and found Mrs. Ames dead on his parlor floor. Yeah, some days you just can’t win. Looks to me as if she fell off a stool and cracked her skull. She was in here fixing the Christmas decorations. Okay, I’ll tell him you said so. Look, do you think you could get over here right away? Eddie Grimble’s having a bird. He wants to take her out before the gawkers start coming. President Svenson wouldn’t like the publicity, he says. Good. See you.”

  He hung up. “Relax, Eddie. Dr. Melchett’s on his way. Soon as he gives us the go-ahead, I’ll have Charlie Forster bring that old pickup of his around.”

  Ottermole went back to the telephone and chatted with one of his cohorts until the doctor arrived. Melchett’s examination took about thirty seconds.

  “She died instantly of skull fracture at least three days ago. The wound in the cranium is consistent with the shape of the object she fell on. Anything else you need to know?”

  “Nope. That wraps it up. Thanks, Doctor.”

  “I’ll drop off a certificate at the station on my way to the hospital.”

  Melchett left, and within a few minutes, a plain blue pickup truck arrived. Two men wearing noncommittal nylon jackets carried out a large brown paper parcel. The townsfolk, too, were sensitive to the good will of Thorkjeld Svenson.

  Peter Shandy attended the swathing of Mrs. Ames with anxious care. He was still fretting about that marble. He had thought it must be under the body, but it wasn’t. At last he had to tell Chief Ottermole what he was looking for.

  “That was how I happened to find her, you see. I stepped on one of the spilled marbles and took a rather painful toss in the hallway. Then I thought I’d better pick them all up before I fell again. But after a thorough search, I’ve found only thirty-seven out of the thirty-eight.”

  “Wait a second. Are you saying you know for a positive fact how many marbles were in that dish?”

  “Of course,” said Professor Shandy, astonished to be asked such a question. “The missing marble is yellow with brown streaks. I wish you’d have the undertaker look for it among her—er—personal effects.”

  “Sure. I’ll tell Harry you haven’t got all your marbles.”

  Shandy refused to be baited. “Thank you. They were given me by a little girl of whom I’m very fond. I shouldn’t wish to hurt her feelings by appearing to be careless of her gift.”

  The child in question was now twenty-six years old, but he hoped such an explanation might persuade Ottermole that he was less cracked than his marbles. Apparently, it did.

  “Oh, I get it,” said the chief. “Well, I guess we’d better put this show on the road. Say, you know Professor Ames a lot better than I do.”

  “Yes, Tim and I are old friends. I’ll tell him, if you want.”

  “Thanks a lot. That’s one job I’ll gladly pass up any day. See you later, Ed. So long, Professor. Don’t find any more bodies.”

  “I earnestly hope never to find another. But you will tell them about that marble, won’t you? I know it sounds trivial at a time like this, but if the child should come and find one gone—”

  “Look, I know all about it. I’ve got kids of my own.”

  The policeman climbed into the back of the truck. Ed Grimble stayed where he was, looking at Professor Shandy and scratching the back of his head.

  “Say, Professor, I don’t suppose it’s any of my business, but that story of yours about the marbles, I don’t get it. You used to have that little girl of your cousin’s here sometimes, but, hell, that was a long time ago. She must have kids of her own by now.”

  “Three,” said Shandy. “You’re quite right. I expect Alice has forgotten all about her fried marbles. I was only—er—trying to add verisimilitude to an otherwise implausible request. Do you ever have hunches, Grimble?”

  “Once in a while. Like I had a hunch right now you were givin’ Fred Ottermole the business.”

  “It’s important that he hunt for that missing marble. If it turns up in Mrs. Ames’s clothing, we can safely assume she knocked over the dish herself. If it doesn’t, we’ll have to re-examine our data.”

  “What are you driving at, Professor?”

  “Grimble, I do not understand how those marbles got spilled. I was the last one out of here Thursday afternoon, and I’ll swear they were on that whatnot over in the corner then, not because I noticed them particularly, but because I didn’t. Small round objects on the floor have a way of making their presence felt.” He rubbed his left buttock thoughtfully.

  The security guard shook his head. “I don’t see what you’re so fired up about. Mrs. Ames was a big woman, and she had that damn fool cape flappin’ around her like a washing in a windstorm. She must o’ been hell on bric-a-brac.”

  “I grant you that, but why should she have gone anywhere near the whatnot? As you see, it’s out of the path from the door to the window, and she knew her way around this house well enough.”

  The Restaurant M
anagement students ran a superb catering service and Shandy was never stingy about doing his fair share of entertaining. Jemima had always come with Tim to his parties, and dropped in altogether too often between times to bullyrag him about one thing or another.

  “You see.” He pointed to the ostensible cause of her death. “She even knew where to find that step stool, which belongs in the kitchen, though she could perfectly well have stood on a chair.”

  “Cripes, I don’t know, Professor. Maybe fumbling around in the dark—”

  “But it would not have been dark. With all those candles and whatnots in the widows, the place must have been lit up like—er—a Christmas tree. That is, assuming the lights were on. I gather somebody has been manipulating my switches.”

  “Well, what happened was, everybody started getting on my neck about the music. It was drowning out the carolers and the bell ringers and driving the neighbors nuts, if you’ll pardon me for saying so. We tried to get hold of you to tone things down a little, but you were nowhere to be found, so I told Jamie Froude from maintenance to jimmy open that switch box your guys had attached to the side of the house here, next to the light meter. That way, we managed to turn off the music. Some people wanted us to douse the lights, too, but the little kids were getting such a kick out of the blinking Santa Clauses and all that I said to Jamie, ‘What the hell, they came to see lights, didn’t they?’ So all we did was adjust the timers so the damn things wouldn’t blink so fast, and gave the night watchman instructions to shut ’em off when he made his one o’clock rounds. Since then, we’ve been turning everything but the sound on manually every afternoon at dusk and having the watchman throw the switch after everybody leaves. Your place is the hit of the show.”

  “My God,” murmured the professor. “So the long and the short of it is, if Jemima came any time before one o’clock in the morning, the lights would be on, and if she came afterward the place would be in darkness.”

  “That’s right. Now that you mention it, I shouldn’t think a woman would want to go prowling around somebody else’s house in the middle of the night by herself.”