the Fairfaxx house and the Lacy house was a large open space with more concrete benches, landscaped flower beds, and a tiny fountain in the exact center. Malone looked at the naked cherub holding an enormous fish in the fountain, shivered and remarked that it was unusually cold for November.
“The other half,” Elizabeth Fairfaxx said, waving a hand toward the Lacy house, “is very much like this.”
Malone peered around the corner of the house and saw another high iron grillwork fence. “I presume Mrs. Lacy always keeps her front gate locked,” he ventured.
“She certainly does,” Elizabeth Fairfaxx said.
“And the Fairfaxx gate?”
“Always locked.” She frowned. “Are you suggesting that someone-—some outsider—”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Malone said. “I’m just asking foolish questions.” He smiled at her. “And getting sensible answers.”
The garage building, opening off the alley, was shared by the Lacy household and the Fairfaxxes. It was a two-story structure, with apartments above.
“I imagine the garage doors are also always kept locked,” Malone said.
Elizabeth Fairfaxx nodded. For a moment their eyes met and hers were suddenly dark with misery.
“No,” Malone said very gently, “I’m sorry, but there really isn’t any way. Not if all the doors and gates were locked, and they must have been. Or unless someone climbed over the wall from the alley. That’s physically possible, but why would an outsider go to all that trouble when he’d have to hide and then get out again, and when it would be just as easy to wait for the victim somewhere in the alley itself.”
He knew there would be tears in her eyes and he looked away. In fact, he deliberately turned his back on her and walked along the wall that shut out the unpleasant alley with its tin cans, overflowing trash bins, and a homeless mutt. By pulling himself to the top of the wall by his elbows, he was able to get a clear view of the full length of the alley, and mark, in relation to the garden, the spot where the postmen had been standing when they fell. The homeless mutt came darting out from behind a garbage can and whined ingratiatingly. “I’ll see you later,” Malone promised as he let himself down.
Right there, just this side of the high boxwood hedge, and partly sheltered by it, just beyond where the flagstone path which came from the side door of the house, curved away into the little formal garden. That was where the killer must have waited.
Malone didn’t want to lift himself to the top of the wall again. It was too much effort, and besides, he didn’t want to engage in too detailed a conversation with the homeless mutt. He closed his eyes, remembering the police-drawn chalk lines showing how the body had fallen and exactly where it must have been before it so unexpectedly became a body. Malone knelt down and examined the ground. No footprints. That was not unexpected, considering the thickness of the grass. He ran his fingers carefully over the turf. No indentations, either, such as would have been made by even a fairly light weight man standing on something that would enable him to see, and reach, over the top of the wall.
He rose to his feet and faced Elizabeth Fairfaxx. The marks of tears were still in her eyes.
“But don’t worry, my dear,” he said, “your Uncle Rodney didn’t kill three postmen.”
He felt, rather than saw, the way her long, athletic body stiffened and then relaxed. He did see a fresh flood of tears threaten to come to her eyes and then go back where it came from. Her smile, when it came, was a little tremulous, but still a smile.
“What were you looking for, there on your hands and knees?” she demanded. “We don’t have rabbits, and we keep our mice in the cellar.”
“I was looking for a ladder,” Malone said, very solemnly. He took her arm and strolled toward the front of the house. “Did you ever hear about the man who fell off a boat in mid-ocean with only a tube of shaving cream in his hand?”
Her hazel eyes widened with wonder. She said, “No! What did he do?”
Malone adopted a deliberately phony Irish brogue and said, “Shure and he made himself a ladder and climbed up the side of the boat! And it’s cold out here, and let’s go in and get a drink!”
There was a slight commotion at the front door as they approached it. A girl was arguing noisily, vehemently, and a trifle drunkenly, with the worried Bridie. Helene, her furs thrown carelessly over her shoulders, was doing her best to help. Elizabeth Fairfaxx took in the scene in one glance, loped across the remaining few feet of lawn and said, “Gilda! What are you doing here?”
“Read the papers,” the girl said. “Came here right away. I love him and my place is by his side.”
Helene, Bridie, and Elizabeth looked at each other helplessly, and Malone looked at the girl Gilda. She was what his grandfather would have described as a comfortable little lapful. Her hair was red, not auburn, nor titian, nor red-gold, but just plain ordinary red. It was curly and there was a lot of it, falling down the back of her brown fur coat. She had a nice little face, not beautiful nor glamorous, nor even pretty, but agreeable. Right now, it didn’t have much make-up on it and what there was, was smudged with tear stains. Her nice compact little figure made Malone want to pick her up and hug her, the way one would hug a kitten or a pet rabbit, or a stuffed teddy-bear.
“Gilda!” Elizabeth Fairfaxx said, helplessly. “Mrs. Lacy is here.”
Gilda discussed Mrs. Lacy with phrases usually reserved for the inhabitants of chicken yards.
“And her daughter,” Elizabeth added.
On the subject of Mrs. Lacy’s daughter Gilda chose terms customarily used for the discussion of ill-bred and not too young horses.
Helene flashed Malone a look of distress.
Malone said, reprovingly, “Now, Gilda, that wasn’t very nice.”
She turned to him and he realized that her dark brown eyes were enormous, lovely, and framed in lashes long enough to clip and make into a shaving brush. Tears spilled out of them again and the last pretense of make-up vanished from her pale face.
“Love him,” she mumbled. “Read about everything in papers. Came here immediately.” She struck an attitude and said magnificently, “My place is by his side.”
“Right now,” Malone said gallantly, “your place is by my side.” He signaled to Helene with his eyes, smiled a farewell to Elizabeth Fairfaxx, grabbed Gilda by the elbow and had her halfway down the walk to Helene’s car before he remembered he’d forgotten to collect the retainer, which had been his main reason for visiting the house of Fairfaxx.
Chapter 5
Helene swung her car into Lake Shore Drive and said, “I love dumb animals, Malone, and he’s particularly charming, but exactly what are you going to do with him?”
Malone patted the mutt who had jumped into the front seat of the car before he’d been able to close the door and said, “Never mind, I’ll take care of him. He’s an important witness in a murder case, and I’ve always been able to find housing for my witnesses.”
Helene glanced at the dog whose nose rested trustingly
