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turned inward at some private joke. Wharton looked away from it with
an effort.
"I want to see where it happened.”
Reynard stubbed out his cigarette half-smoked. "You can't.”
"I'm afraid I must," Wharton said coldly. "After all, she was my…”
"It's not that," Reynard said. "The room has been partitioned off. That
should have been done a long time ago.”
"If it's just a matter of prising a few boards off a door...”
"You don't understand. The room has been plastered off completely
There's nothing but a wall there.”
Wharton felt his gaze being pulled inexorably back to the fire-dog.
Damn the thing, what did it have to grin about?
"I can't help it. I want to see the room."
Reynard stood suddenly, towering over him. "Impossible."
Wharton also stood. "I'm beginning to wonder if you don't have
something to hide in there," he said quietly.
"Just what are you implying?"
Wharton shook his head a little dazedly. What was he implying? That
perhaps Anthony Reynard had murdered his Sister in this Revolutionary
War-vintage crypt? That there might be Something more sinister here
than shadowy corners and hideous iron fire-dogs?
"I don't know what I'm implying, " he said slowly, "except that Janine
was shoveled under in a hell of a hurry, and that you're acting damn
strange now."
For moment the anger blazed brighter, and then it died away, leaving
only hopelessness and dumb sorrow. "Leave me alone," he mumbled.
"Please leave me alone, Mr. Wharton."
"I can't. I've got to know..."
The aged housekeeper appeared, her face thrusting from the shadowy
cavern of the hall. "Supper's ready, Mr. Reynard."
"Thank you, Louise, but I'm not hungry. Perhaps Mr. Wharton...?"
Wharton shook his head.
"Very well, then. Perhaps we'll have a bite later."
"As you say, sir." She turned to go. "Louise?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Come here a moment.”
Louise shuffled slowly back into the room, her loose tongue slopping
wetly over her lips for a moment and then disappearing. "Sir?"
"Mr. Wharton seems to have some questions about his sister's death.
Would you tell him all you know about it?"
"Yes, sir." Her eyes glittered with alacrity. "She was dustin', she was.
Dustin' the East Room. Hot on paintin' it, she was. Mr. Reynard here, I
guess he wasn't much interested, because...”
"Just get to the point, Louise," Reynard said impatiently.
"No," Wharton said. "Why wasn't he much interested?"
Louise looked doubtfully from one to the other.
"Go ahead," Reynard said tiredly. "He'll find out in the village if he
doesn't up here.”
"Yes, sir." Again he saw the glitter, caught the greedy purse of the
loose flesh of her mouth as she prepared to impart the precious story.
"Mr. Reynard didn't like no one goin' in the East Room. Said it was
dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
"The floor," she said. "The floor's glass. It's a mirror. The whole
floor's a mirror. "
Wharton turned to Reynard, feeling dark blood suffuse his face. "You
mean to tell me you let her go up on a ladder in a room with a glass
floor?"
"The ladder had rubber grips," Reynard began. "That wasn't why...”
"You damned fool," Wharton whispered. "You damned, bloody fool.”
"I tell you that wasn't the reason!" Reynard shouted suddenly. "I loved
your sister! No one is sorrier than I that she is dead! But I warned her!
God knows I warned her about that floor!"
Wharton was dimly aware of Louise staring greedily at them, storing
up gossip like a squirrel stores up nuts. "Get her out of here," he said
thickly.
"Yes," Reynard said. "Go see to supper."
"Yes, sir." Louise moved reluctantly toward the hall, and the shadows
swallowed her.
"Now," Wharton said quietly. "It seems to me that you have some
explaining to do, Reynard. This whole thing sounds funny to me. Wasn't
there even an inquest?"
"No," Reynard said. He slumped back into his chair suddenly, and he
looked blindly into the darkness of the vaulted overhead ceiling. "They
know around here about the – East Room."
"And just what is there to know?"