tranquilly.
"Dead?" said Anita blankly. "Already?"
"She's a clever girl," said Ross dispassionately. "She knew he was going
to die. So did we all. He carried it around with him."
"Be quiet," said Anita impatiently. "How did it happen?"
Baudaker had a copy of the first edition of the evening paper. A paragraph
low on the front page, headed DEATH FALL, was marked:
John Fletcher (43), 24 Beechview Gardens, has
been found dead in a disused basement well at his
lodgings. According to the police statement, an iron
gate leading to the basement well had given way as
Fletcher leaned on it, and he pitched over the edge,
missing the steps, landing on his head. There are no
suspicious circumstances.
"I'm going there to find out about it," said Anita.
"Find out what, Miss Somerset?" Baudaker asked.
"I'm going to that house. What's the address? -- 24 Beechview
Gardens. That's not far from here."
"Such a tragedy," Baudaker sighed. "His ESP rating, under controlled
conditions, was phenomenal. If only he had cooperated in a really
exhaustive series of tests . . . "
"I know," said Anita. "Now please excuse me."
"If you're really going there," said Ross, "I'll come with you."
"Please don't bother."
"It's no bother, Maiden."
As they walked, he spoke less provocatively than usual. His interest
had been caught and he did not want the episode to close, as so many
episodes in his life had closed, because of something said by someone
else or himself that made it impossible to go on.
"Except for about five minutes with you, Maiden, he had a totally negative
score. That must mean something."
"Of course it means something. It means he had to be wrong. Consciously
or unconsciously, he made all his answers wrong. And he could do that
only by knowing the right answers."
"I don't know about that . . . "
"It's the only way. You understand mathematics, don't you?"
"Through a glass, darkly."
"Well, don't argue about this. Obviously, if a man can manage to be
always wrong, it can't be due to chance."
"Obviously."
"All right, then . . . just don't argue about obvious things. And then,
suddenly, Fletcher was able to score fantastic positive results with
me alone."
"Of course," said Ross, "we only have your word for that."
"What?"
"By arrangement, there was no tape recorder, no spyhole, no outside check.
You took down the figures . . . "
She said coldly: "If you think I'd falsify results . . . "
"I don't. Did anyone suggest anything of the sort? But remember,
if anything has to be proved, seven people spent umpteen hours with
Fletcher and demonstrated beyond doubt that he could score zero per cent
with unfailing regularity. Only in a private test with you, carried out
and scored by you, were there positive results."
"I see what you mean," Anita said.
They found the house and looked at the iron gate. A new padlock had been
fitted on it. Anita peered over reluctantly, aware that Fletcher's body
would no longer be there, yet a little scared it might be.
As she rang the bell, Anita said: "Let me do the talking."
"Certainly, Maiden. Next to your pale white body, the thing I love best
about you is your seductive voice."
"Oh, shut up."
The door was opened by a pretty girl who might have been sixteen, but
was not.
"We're friends of John Fletcher," said Anlta.
"Oh? I didn't think he had any friends, but I'm glad to know I was
wrong. Do come in."
Fletcher took immense pleasure in sight and sound of Judy. First, she
had not fallen from the balcony to her death. Second, her composure,
her intelligent elegance in a plain print dress, no makeup and no
nylons showed that she had acquired discrimination quite beyond the
Judy of old. Third, what she said
Legs McNeil, Jennifer Osborne, Peter Pavia