relief, I was almost feverishly excited. It wasn't until I met Michael at the station that my spirits died. For Michael seemed preoccupied still, and his greeting lacked the warmth I expected it to have. Business, I thought.
"Didn't Findlay sign the contract?" I asked.
"What: Oh. Oh, yes, he signed it." Michael returned to gazing moodily out the window of the, coupe at the passing shops.
"Aren't you glad to be back?" I persisted.
"Sure, I'm glad," he said listlessly. His lethargy bothered me. "What's the matter? Don't you feel well?"
"Oh, for God's sake, Ann! Cut out the nagging!" he snapped irritably. But when I'd subsided into hurt silence, he reached over and covered my hand on the wheel with his. "I'm sorry. Guess I'm tired."
But there was something wrong. I knew it.
While he showered, I put the dinner on the table. I still hadn't replaced Mrs. Dunnigan with someone else, and I was doing the work myself—badly enough. But it was fun, in a way. My mistakes made me feel very inefficient and bride-like.
By a miracle, the dinner was surprisingly good. Under its influence the lines of strain slowly became erased from Michael's face. And I relaxed for the first time in days. Surely I had nothing to fear, now that Michael was with me again. We were talking and laughing, almost on the old footing when it happened.
Michael lifted his glass to drink. I saw him lift it. One instant my breath held in disbelief. Then I was screaming hysterically, "Put it down! Put it down!"
That wasn't the plain crystal water glass I'd placed on the table! There, just two inches from Michael's lips, was the cranberry goblet!
Michael's startled eyes went from me to the goblet, and when he saw what it was that he held in his hand, he swore softly. With his face turning a leaden gray, he set the thing back on the table with a hand that shook.
"The goblet!" he muttered. "I cannot escape it. It was there, even in St. Louis."
Oh, I hadn't thought she'd strike at me through Michael, whom I loved ! I could'nt—I dare not fight her any more.
I was standing, half-swaying. "I didn't kill her, Michael! I put those two capsules in the goblet, but Peter said—"
Michael's face was grim, stony.
"Don't look at me like that !" I pleaded. "Three weren't enough to kill her, but—"
"She died," Michael said strangely. "Died, because I, too, dropped two capsules in Coralie's glass that last morning."
My breath caught. I couldn't understand. Michael had loved Coralie! What was he saying?
"Don't you think I saw what she'd been doing all along, working to destroy our marriage?" His face was cold, implacable. "I knew what Coralie was capable of. Why, when a child—" He broke off. "It doesn't matter now. But she never fooled me. Never. I had a right to some happiness. And that was why I killed her."
Why we killed her. Five capsules, I thought dully. Five had been enough.
Michael picked up the cranberry goblet. Looking around for some place to throw its contents, he finally poured the
