Wolf in Man's Clothing by Mignon G. Eberhart

her pointed, vehement fingers and went hurriedly into the hall. Craig couldn’t be far away. So I tried the bedroom nearest me; the door opened upon chill, orderly emptiness and a “Stag at Eve” gazed mournfully at me from above the mantel. No sign of Craig or Drue. I started toward the door opposite and, as I turned, I bumped into a man hurrying along. We collided with a shock that whirled us around toward each other and it was Nicky. He all but pushed me out of the way and I dropped Maud’s flashlight. It struck his foot, I believe. At any rate, he swore in a sharp, startled way and cried, dancing on one foot and clasping the other in his hand, “Did you see Conrad? Where is he?”
    â€œIn the library. Why don’t you look where you’re going?” I caught my balance and my cap and wondered if I’d damaged the flashlight.
    â€œIs he dead? Are you sure? Is he dead?” His eyes were bright as jewels in his elegant, small face.
    â€œGo and look for yourself,” I snapped, and retrieved the flashlight as he hurried limping toward Maud and Alexia who were at the door of Craig’s room. I heard Alexia say, “I’m going down. Come with me, Maud. …”
    Then I opened the next door and found Craig. The room was a kind of linen closet, narrow and long, lined with cupboards and smelling of lavender, and Craig lay at full length on the floor with Drue bending over him apparently trying to drown him, for she was holding a towel dripping with water to his head.
    â€œDrue!”
    â€œSarah, he’s been hurt! Look …”
    His face was drained-looking and white; she lifted the towel from one temple and it was broken and cut and bleeding.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œI don’t know. He wasn’t in his room when I came upstairs. I looked for him and found him here. Like this …”
    He wore a dressing gown and slippers and a blanket had been put around him. “Blanket and all?” I asked, kneeling to look closer at the cut.
    â€œNo. I brought the blanket. He must have heard us downstairs, and tried to come, and fell against something.”
    â€œWhat was he doing in here?” His pulse wasn’t bad; I took a gingerly look at the dressings on his shoulder and the wound hadn’t opened again for there seemed to be no fresh bleeding.
    â€œI don’t know. But he was here, not in the hall. Sarah, is he hurt?” There was a sharp anxiety in her tone.
    â€œOh, the cut isn’t bad. Painful maybe, later. We’ll put something on it. The thing to do is get him back to bed before he gets pneumonia.”
    I sat back on my heels and took a long breath. At any rate he wasn’t dead. And she had thought of that too; for she said then, jerkily, “When I saw him like that I thought he was dead. There’d been no sound of a shot. But I thought …” She stopped and leaned over him and pressed the towel to his temple again. “I’ve got some surgical dressing in my bag.”
    My knees were still shaking. “What was the noise?” I asked.
    â€œWhat noise?”
    â€œ What … ” I stared at her face, bent over Craig. “ That noise! Surely you heard it.”
    â€œI didn’t hear anything,” she said, intent on Craig. “Perhaps I was in the bathroom. Sarah, do you think we can carry him?”
    I gave up. “No,” I said. “I’ll get somebody to help.”
    I got up, and, as I moved, Craig Brent’s eyelids fluttered and opened. His eyes were hazy, the pupils were small and sharply black so I knew he was still heavily drugged. But his eyes fastened upon Drue’s face leaning close above him, fastened and then changed as if a flame leaped into them. His lips moved a little and he said in a faint whisper, “Drue …”
    She didn’t speak; she only leaned over him, her white cap haloish in the light, her face inexpressibly tender and