The Cases of Hildegarde Withers (29 page)

They
came
out
onto
the
landing
just
in
time
to
catch
a
glimpse
of
Dr.
French
as
he
took
a
quick
kiss
from
the
lips
of
the
lovely
Maida,
and
then
came
hurrying
down
toward
them.

“I’ll
be
back
first
thing
in
the
morning!”
he
called
to
the
girl
on
the
third
floor.
“And
tell
Miss
Marvin
to
go
to
bed,
we’ll
let
ourselves
out.”

“Well,
doctor?”
Piper
queried.
But
the
doctor
placed
his
finger
to
his
lips,
and
led
them
out
of
the
house.

“I
asked
you
to
wait
because
for
some
weeks
I’ve
had
a
suspicion
that
Johan
Wurtz
was
in
danger
of
his
life
—
”

“You
mean
—
murder?”
cut
in
Piper.

“I
mean
murder,”
said
the
doctor.

“But
who’d
want
to
murder
him?”
Mis
s
Withers
put
in.
“Is
he
rich?”

The
doctor
shook
his
head.
“On
the
contrary,
he
has
very
little
except
this
mortgaged
house.
The
only
heirs
are
Maida
and
her
brother,
and
they’d
get
everything
anyway
in
the
course
of
a
few
months.
With
his
heart,
Johan
Wurtz
cannot
live
to
see
another
Spring,
which
makes
it
all
the
more
damnable
that
some
one
wants
to
murder
him.”

“Yeah,”
objected
Piper,
“but
how
do
you
know
that
some
one
wants
to
bump
him
off?”

“I’ll
tell
you,”
said
Dr.
French.
“While
he
was
convalescing
from
his
last
attack
the
old
man’s
appetite
was
pickish.
He
complained
that
some
calf’s
foot
jelly
had
a
funny
taste
and
put
it
aside.
Just
for
fun
I
took
it
to
the
laboratory
and
tested
it.
The
stuff—”
Dr.
French
paused
for
dramatic
effect
—
“the
stuff
contained
about
half
a
gram
of
digitalis!”

“But
that’s
not
poison!”
objected
Piper.

“Not
unless
you’ve
got
the
kind
of
heart
that
Johan
Wurtz
has,”
said
the
doctor.
“I
didn’t
dare
to
tell
him,
naturally.
But
I
warned
the
Marvin
woman
not
to
give
him
anything
more
to
eat
that
had
been
sent
in
by
the
neighbors
…
”

“What?”
interrupted
Piper.
“Now
we’re
getting
somewhere.”

Dr.
French
indicated
a
narrow
building
which
stood
next
door
to
the
Wurtz
brownstone,
wall
to
wall.
“I
think
the
jelly
came
from
there,”
he
said.
“A
Mr.
Alison
lives
there,
I
believe;
his
cook
sent
it
over
as
a
friendly
gesture.”

Piper
snapped
his
fingers.
“Hildegarde!
Remember
my
telling
you
I
knew
who
lives
in
the
brownstone?
It
happened
ten
years
or
so
ago,
before
I
got
on
the
Homicide
Squad.
There
was
a
big
lawsuit
between
Wurtz
and
his
next
door
neighbor.”

“That
was
the
elder
Mr.
Alison,
now
dead,”
said
the
doctor.
“Wurtz
is
a
stiff-necked
old
chap,
and
he
got
indignant
about
the
damage
dogs
were
doing
to
his
two
foot
square
of
lawn
here.
So
he
put
up
an
iron
fence
and
charged
it
with
electricity,
just
enough
to
give
the
pups
a
sharp
shock
when
they
paused
here
…
I
and
Alison
caned
him
for
it.”

Piper
nodded.
“Wurtz
won
the
suit,
with
damages
of
six
cents.
But
Alison
had
to
pay
the
terrific
costs,
and
the
blow
hastened
his
death.”

Dr.
French
moved
toward
his
neat
little
roadster.
“If
anything
happens
to
Johan
Wurtz
I’m
not
going
to
sign
a
death
certificate
until
we
know
darn
well
what
killed
him!”

He
whirled
away
with
a
roar
of
gears.

It
was
at
precisely
seven-fifteen
next
morning
that
Miss
Emmy
Marvin,
the
Wurtz
housekeeper,
hurried
to
answer
a
ring
at
the
front
door.
She
was
positive
about
the
time,
and
not
even
the
cross-examination
which
she
was
destined
to
face
in
a
certain
court
room
ever
shook
her
certainty.

She
opened
the
door,
and
the
worried
look
left
her
fat
face.
“Good
morning,
doctor!
I’m
so
glad
you’re
here
—
not
that
the
master
isn’t
looking
better
this
morning,
but
what
I
say
is,
you
never
know.”

“True,
Miss
Marvin,”
said
the
doctor
as
he
hurried
down
the
hall.

Miss
Marvin
trotted
after
him.
“Nasty
weather,
isn’t
it,
doctor?
I
see
you
have
a
bit
of
a
cold
yourself
—
your
voice
is
all
hoarse.
Wise
you
are
to
wrap
up
in
that
muffler
…
”