I put an arm under Eleanor’s good shoulder and got her to her feet. Dunkles followed us to the bathroom. Once there, I didn’t know what to do for her. I sat her down, gave her my handkerchief to hold over her mouth, and turned to the medicine cabinet. Dunkles was watching me in the mirror.
Eleanor gulped once, took her hand away from her mouth long enough to say there were “three more out in the car” and that two of them would be in after me before long.
I growled, “Damn you, sister, get wise.”
It seemed to upset the kindly faced gentleman. He sat down on the narrow, white rim of the bathtub, near the doorway, where he could watch me and the front door.
He said again, “Stop annoying the lady, son.” And to Eleanor, “Who else is out there, baby?”
She told him. He pursed his lips and whistled.
Then he instructed, “Eleanor, baby, when you are feeling better, step over to the telephone and tell
She nodded and said in a few minutes.
The medicine cabinet held a few things that could be used as an emetic, and a couple of bottles of advertised stuff supposed to settle the stomach and calm the nerves. I decided on that, and dropped a wafer in a glass of water. Tap water.
We watched it sizzle. I told myself happily that a couple of people were due for a surprise when Eleanor tried to phone the barn. There began to appear a dim ray of hope along the horizon. Unless — someone at the barn had tried to call the cottage and found the phone not working.
The wafer fizzled out and I handed the glass to the girl. She drank it slowly, making a face.
The Judge fumbled in his coat for a cigarette, put it in his mouth, and lit a match, all with one hand. I put my left hand, the one encased in the plaster cast, up on the wall, sort of leaning it against the side of the medicine cabinet. Swinging down from that distance would give it an added punch.
Eleanor finished the water and handed the glass to me. I put it in the little wire jigger fastened to the washstand, pushed the cabinet door to a position where I could see the Judge more clearly in the mirror, and watched. I wanted very much to see what he did with that paper match.
He flipped it into the tub behind him.
I must have yelled “Eureka!” or something. They both jumped and stared at me.
“Eleanor,” I burst out excitedly, “Eleanor, I’ve told you twice I was going to prove something to you! Remember?”
She said, yes, faintly.
“Eleanor, I’m going to show you how your sister was murdered. You wouldn’t believe me before; you’ve got to, now. I can prove it to you, here, now, this minute...”
The Judge cut in with an, easy son! but I ignored him.
“Eleanor — do you know
“Why... of course. They said—” She glanced at the Judge. “The papers said she drowned.”
“Yes and no.” I was watching the Judge, too. He was bunching up his leg muscles. “The State’s Attorney told me she was drowned in purified water. That means city water, from a tap like this one. Such as you just drank.
That one even stopped the Judge. It took him by sheer surprise, caused him to drop the preparations he was making to jump me. I watched him in the mirror.
“What!” he and Eleanor demanded, in unison.
“No. Ask Doc Burbee, out in the car. He performed the autopsy. Your sister was strangled to death, Eleanor. Strangled on a paper match thrown into a bathtub.”
Dunkles leaped, leaped without taking time to gather his wits or his muscles for the blow.
I didn’t make the same mistake, nor the one of turning around to face him. I saw him coming and whipped the plaster cast down and around in a fast cutting arc, putting all the strength into it I could muster. It contacted the jut of his jaw. The gun dropped from his hand. He sprawled backwards and slipped over the rim into the bathtub.
Eleanor had scrambled to her feet in panic, trying to get past us to the door. I pushed her back down on the seat and said, “I hope you believe me now, sister.”
A small noise came from the front door. It was pushed open a crack. Thompson’s gun appeared in the opening followed by Thompson, and then by Burbee and his pistol. I motioned to them to come into the bathroom.
Thompson peered at the unconscious man in the tub.
“It’s the Judge,” he informed me gravely. “What happened to him?”
“I’ve met him,” I said dryly. “He met my fist.”
Burbee saw Eleanor. “She’s ill.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to mention that she would be a damned sight sicker when I got through with her, but I let it slide. She had had enough grief and more was on the way.
I suggested to Thompson, “Lift that guy’s leg.”
He did, and saw the paper match lying in the tub. I couldn’t resist an “I told you so,” reminding them that they had all neglected the match business. Burbee looked down at it and as an afterthought turned the tap at the end of the tub. Water squirted out briefly and he shut it off.
I turned to the girl. “Does he make a habit of using bathtubs for ash trays, Eleanor?”
