Free Hildegarde Withers Makes the Scene by Stuart Palmer

your story? Perhaps you had better tell it to me briefly. If it is not plausible, we may have to edit it a little.”
    “Oh, nonsense. What we had better do is call a doctor. It’s too late to do any good, of course, but there will have to be a death certificate or something.”
    “That won’t be necessary. The police will supply their own doctor. They call him a medical examiner.”
    “You keep harping on the police. Why should the police be involved at all?”
    “Because, my dear child, Captain Westering did not die a natural death. If you have any such foolish hope, put it right out of your mind. He ingested a lethal dose of some kind of poison. He was murdered.”
    “Murdered!” Lenore’s face, which had begun to recover its natural coloring, went white as chalk again. Her great dark eyes swam with resurgent terror. “What makes you think so? How could you possibly be sure?”
    “You will simply have to trust me. We don’t have time for lengthy explanations, I tell you. Exactly what happened here tonight so far as you were concerned?”
    “Well, Captain Westering asked me to see him in his state-room tonight. In here, I mean. To discuss things about the voyage we were going to make. It was supposed to be a kind of cooperative voyage, with everyone chipping in whatever he could, and I had more to contribute than some of the others, and so Captain Westering seemed to feel that that gave me a right to sort of be on the inside and have a kind of voice in things. Anyhow, he discussed things with me and asked my advice and all, and that’s why he wanted to see me tonight.”
    “How much have you contributed to this fantastic venture?”
    “It’s not fantastic. Nothing of the sort. At least, it wasn’t until now. I had about a thousand dollars when I arrived, and I got another thousand by selling my Volkswagen.”
    “That’s a considerable sum. What has been done with it?”
    “I’m not sure. Perhaps Aletha would know.”
    “Who’s Aletha?”
    “She’s Captain Westering’s wife. Or was. I have to keep reminding myself that he’s dead.”
    “Where is she now?”
    “Living conditions are rather crowded here on the yacht, so she’s been staying with her sister in Sausalito. She’s there now, I guess. I don’t know.”
    “All right. We’ve digressed again, and we haven’t time. Finish telling me what happened. Be as brief as you can.”
    “Nothing much happened, really. After dinner, which mostly came out of cans, Captain Westering asked me to meet him later in his cabin. I said I would, and when I got here he had out the decanter of sherry that he kept for me because I can’t seem to drink strong liquor without getting sick, and not very much of the sherry, but then I remembered that I’d agreed earlier to go ashore with another girl here on the yacht. Rebecca Welch. I told Captain Westering that I’d be back in a short while and went to find Rebecca, to tell her I couldn’t go ashore with her, and finally I found her in the crew quarters. We talked for a while, and then I came back here and found Captain Westering just dying in his berth, and right afterward you were suddenly here too.”
    “You must have come down the passage just ahead of me. We barely missed each other. How long were you gone after leaving Captain Westering?”
    “It must have been half an hour or so. As I said, I had to look for Rebecca, and then we talked.”
    “I see. The story is plausible enough. How many of your collection of Argonauts knew that Captain Westering kept a special supply of sherry for your consumption when you visited him in his cabin?”
    “I don’t know. It was no secret.”
    “Is that it there on top of that chest?”
    “I think so. Yes, I’m sure it is.”
    Miss Withers crossed to the chest and examined the decanter without touching it. With her handkerchief she removed the stopper and sniffed the contents, bending over and poking her nose close to he opening. Lacing the odor of the sherry