By Edwin Balmer & Philip Wylie
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The young man with the Oxford accent held out his hand to Donald Cornwall. " Melicent caught a glint of amusement in Donald's eyes as he regarded his cousin. Pierre, who was evidently major domo, spoke quietly to her. " As Melicent walked away with him she heard the continual sound of Alice Cornwall's voice. "Yes, it's been a long time. Nine years. Ever since my poor husband died. " The rooms which had been set aside for Melicent and Miss Hannah Cornwall were garishly papered and furnished with too many chairs, too many little tables, too many gilt-edged mirrors, and too many glass pendants.
She tossed her head and faced into the breeze. Behind her lower New York was vanishing in a haze over the flat surface of Governor's Island. They steamed through the narrows and out into the harbor. Coastlines became low and purple, an orchestra began to play somewhere on the ship. A voice at her side startled her. " She turned. "Oh! Hello, Mr. " Donald grinned amiably. There was no hat on his red hair. He wore knickers. He was seemingly enjoying the departure from America. " He shook his head.
Melicent moved through the dark to the great canopied bed. When she lay down she realized that she was exhausted from the strain of that long and fantastic day. In the morning she had read the letter which voiced Donald Cornwall's suspicions. At noon Everitt Cornwall had arrived. Later in the afternoon his nephew had appeared and the lemon-colored roadster. Now Everitt Cornwall lay dead and his nephew was secretly mystified because the death was the result of accident and not of murder. Those thoughts were merely fragments in her mind because superimposed upon them was a repetition of the terror of the night before.
Five Fatal Words by Edwin Balmer & Philip Wylie