I was surprised, as we took our seats, to find that Lieutenant Winters was also at the table. Needless to say, his presence threw something of a pall over what was, to begin with, a very gloomy group. The Lieutenant seemed calm, however, and I wondered whether or not it was usual for a police officer to dine with suspects. The fact that he was sitting next to Ellen I had duly noted and registered: he was no fool. She was susceptible and she was indiscreet. If he managed everything properly, he would know all he needed to know about the house of Rhodes in a few hours, pleasant hours.
“I can hardly believe this terrible thing has happened,” said a rather nasal voice in my ear. I turned and saw for the first time that Mrs. Pomeroy was seated on my left. Her eyes were red and puffy and, from the sound of her voice, she had either been weeping or else she was catching a bad cold. As it turned out she had a touch of the grippe.
“Our room was next to the Senator’s study,” she said, sniffing dolefully, her red eyes turned on me for sympathy. “Well, after this terrible thing went off the whole second floor was freezing cold, especially our room. I had had a slight cold when we left Talisman City … well, after last night’s terrible event I now have the grippe. My temperature just before lunch was a hundred point three.”
I suggested that she drink lemon juice in a glass of hot water and go to bed until the fever was over, but she wasn’t much interested in my homely remedies. “It has been,” she said in a low voice, “a shattering experience.”
Especially for the Senator, I wanted to add but decided not to. Across the table Ellen was deep in conversation with Lieutenant Winters. Walter Langdon, her next fiancé (or so I had thought), seemed forgotten; he was talking to Verbena Pruitt.
“You must have been very fond of Senator Rhodes,” I said.
Mrs. Pomeroy nodded. “Oh, there were some little frictions between him and my husband … you know how men are, so touchy, concerned with trifles … but my own friendship with the Senator was, well, very real … and for many, many years.” Something in her voice made me not only believe everything she was saying but, more important, suggested a sudden, unexpected possibility. I looked at her curiously.
“How long had you known the Senator?” I asked gently.
“All my life,” she said. “I was born in Talisman City, you know; Roger of course only moved there from Michigan about fifteen years ago.”
“And you were married fifteen years ago?”
She giggled; then she sniffled and sneezed. I looked away until she had pulled herself together. “Not quite fifteen years ago,” she said archly.
“You should do something about that cold.”
“I’m taking pills … except for occasional political differences our families have been very very close all these years.”
“What were those differences?”
“Oh, one thing and another.…” She gestured vaguely. “Political. My husband was for Roosevelt … that makes quite a difference, you know, out where we come from, that is. I was always for Dewey … so distinguished-looking, and so young. I think we need a young President, don’t you?” I said that I hadn’t given the question much thought. I was growing more and more suspicious, however; yet there seemed no way to find out what I wanted to know … unless Ellen knew, which was not likely. If Mrs. Pomeroy had been the Senator’s mistress years ago, the fact would probably not have been well known by the Senator’s family. I would have to find out, though. Mrs. Pomeroy despite her red eyes and silly manner was a very good-looking woman. If a man like Pomeroy should have a jealous nature.… An elaborate plot began to unwind in my head.
“Did you and Mr. Pomeroy visit here often?” I asked, the roast beef on my plate getting cold as I conducted my investigation.
She shook her head. “As a matter of fact we usually stay at the Mayflower and the Senator joins us for lunch over there.”
“This is the first time you’ve stayed here in the house then?”
She nodded; for a moment her serene features seemed agitated, as though she suspected that I was questioning her for other than polite reasons. Quickly I began to gabble about sure-fire cures for head colds and the crisis passed.
We were given a little speech over the fingerbowls by Lieutenant Winters. He was as unlike a policeman as any man I’ve ever known and he was obviously delighted with the whole business … no matter what happened he was going to get a good deal of publicity; he was also going to meet a number of very important people who might do him some good one day. The murder of the Senator involved, in a sense, everyone in Washington political life, from the White House down to the most confused officeholder. He addressed us quietly, as though he were a fellow guest, anxious to make a good impression.
“I may as well admit quite frankly, ladies and gentlemen, that we are baffled. We haven’t the slightest idea who murdered Senator Rhodes.” This unusual admission on the part of someone in authority made a considerable impression. I almost expected a polite round of applause … only the presence of death in the house prevented his audience from showing their pleasure at his originality.
“We are fairly confident that the murderer or murderers are, if you will pardon me, in the house at this time … but even of that we’re not entirely sure. We do know that only someone who knew the Senator’s habits fairly well could have contrived the … trap which worked so successfully. It would also seem that whoever did the murder could not have planned it too far in advance because the 5-X explosive was brought to the house only yesterday by Mr. Pomeroy. Four paper cartons of 5-X were kept in Mr. Pomeroy’s room. Mr. Pomeroy discussed the new explosive with the Senator yesterday morning at the Senate Office Building in the presence of Mr. Hollister. He then joined Mrs. Pomeroy, Mr. Langdon, Miss Pruitt, Mrs. Rhodes and Miss Rhodes here in the house and there was, I am told, more talk of the new explosive. In short, all the guests, with the exception of Mr. Sargeant, knew about the 5-X, knew that Mr. Pomeroy had four cartons of it in his room, cartons which were to have been turned over to the army this afternoon with Senator Rhodes’ recommendation. The cartons were kept in a special fireproof bag which was locked. Some time between four in the afternoon, when Mr. Pomeroy placed the bag in his closet, and one-thirty-six the next morning when Senator Rhodes lit the fire in his study, the murderer went to Mr. Pomeroy’s room, broke the lock on the bag and took out a single container which he then placed in the fireplace of the study. I believe that whoever did this must have known something about explosives because, had he taken all four and put them in the fireplace, the house would have been wrecked and the murderer killed along with everyone else.” The Lieutenant paused. All eyes were upon him. The room was silent except for the rather heavy breathing of Mrs. Pomeroy beside me, struggling with her cold.
“Now,” said the Lieutenant, with a juvenile actor’s smile, “I realize that you people are very busy. Your affairs are very important to the country and the Department wants to do everything in its power to make this investigation as easy as possible for you. Unfortunately, until we have a clearer idea of what we’re up against, you will have to be inconvenienced to the extent of remaining in this house for at least a week.” There was an indignant murmur; the official soft soap forgotten.