The French Powder Mystery

Ellery indicated the two bedroom chairs. “Sit down please.” The two women sat down. Doris Keaton kept her big vapid eyes on Ellery, surreptitiously hitching her chair closer to the housekeeper’s.

“Miss Underhill,” began Ellery, pince-nez in hand, “have you ever been in this room before?”

“I have.” The housekeeper seemed determined to out-stare Ellery. Her cold blue eyes flashed colder fire.

“Oh, you have?” Ellery paused politely without removing his gaze. “When, may I ask, and on what occasion?”

The housekeeper was undaunted by his coolness. “A peck of times. That is, so to speak. I never came, though, except at Mrs. French’s request. Each time it was clothes.”

“It was clothes?” Ellery seemed puzzled.

She nodded stonily. “Why, of course. They were far apart, those times, but whenever Mrs. French intended to stay here overnight, she would ask me to bring a next day’s change for her. So that is how—”

“Just a moment, Miss Underhill.” There was a pleasant glitter in Ellery’s eyes as he reflected. “This was her usual custom?”

“So far as I know.”

“When” — Ellery leaned forward — “when was the last time Mrs. French asked you to do this?”

The housekeeper did not reply at once. “I should say about two months ago,” she answered finally.

“As far back as that?”

“I said two months ago.”

Ellery sighed, straightened. “One of these closets, then, belonged to Mrs. French?” he asked, indicating the two modern doors set in the wall.

“Yes — that one there,” she replied promptly, pointing to the concealed door nearest the lavatory. “But not only for Mrs. French’s clothes — the other girls sometimes kept things in there, too.”

Ellery’s eyebrows shot up. “Not really, Miss Underhill!” he ejaculated. His hand caressed his jaw tenderly. “I may infer, then, that both Miss Marion and Miss Bernice sometimes used Mr. French’s apartment?”

The housekeeper regarded him levelly. “Sometimes. Not very often. Only when Mrs. French was not using it, and they brought a girl friend along to spend the night — on a sort of lark, you might call it.”

“I see. Have they slept here with a — a ‘girl friend,’ I believe you said? — recently?”

“Not that I know. Not for five or six months at least.”

“Very good!” Ellery flipped his pince-nez into the air with a certain briskness. “Now, Miss Underhill, I want you to tell me quite exactly when you saw Miss Carmody last, and under what circumstances.”

The two women exchanged meaning glances; the maid bit her lip and looked guiltily away. But the housekeeper retained her poise. “I knew that was coming,” she announced in a calm voice. “But you needn’t think either of my poor lambs had anything to do with this, whoever you are. They didn’t and you can take that for gospel. I don’t know where Bernice is, but be sure there’s foul play been done her...”

“Miss Underhill,” said Ellery gently, “I’m sure this is all quite interesting, but we are in something of a hurry. If you’ll answer my questions—?”

“All right, if you must have it.” She set her lips, folded her hands in her lap, looked at Weaver indifferently, and began. “It was yesterday. — I’d better begin right with when they woke up; it’ll make easier telling. — Well, both Mrs. French and Bernice woke up at about ten o’clock yesterday morning, and the hair-dresser attended each in their rooms. They got dressed and had a bit of something. Marion had already had lunch. I served them myself...”

“Pardon me, Miss Underhill,” interrupted Ellery, “but did you hear what they talked about over the luncheon table?”

“I don’t listen to what isn’t my affair,” retorted the housekeeper tartly, “so all I can tell about that is that they talked about a new gown being made for Bernice. And Mrs. French seemed a little absent-minded, too. She actually got her sleeve into her coffee — the poor thing! But then she was always a little funny — maybe she had premonition of what was to come, you know? — God rest her troubled soul!.. Well, after lunch they remained in the music-room until about two o’clock, talking and things. Don’t know about what, either! But they seemed as if they wanted to be let alone. Anyway, when they came out I heard Mrs. French tell Bernice to go upstairs and dress — they were going to take a ride through the Park. Bernice went upstairs, and Mrs. French held back to tell me to tell Edward Young, the chauffeur, to get the car out. Then Mrs. French went upstairs herself to dress. But in about five minutes I saw Bernice coming down the stairs, all dressed for the street, and when she saw me she told me to tell her mother — whispered, she did — that she’d changed her mind about taking a ride in the Park and was going out to do some shopping. And she fair ran out of the house!”