Murder At Midnight

Mrs. Marshall looking relieved and relaxed. “She is justflirting with him, Mr. Simpson. My daughter does not really knowwhat love is. She can tell ten men that she loves them all in one day, and none mean anything toher.”
“I see,” Isaid slowly, but was not quite sure if I did see.
“You could try your luck withher, Mr. Simpson. You could be the man to teach her what lovereally is,” said Mrs. Marshall smiling. “You neverknow.”
“That’s quite an idea,” I said.“Good night.” She had certainly thrown a new light on her daughter,but it had actually left me more in the dark. And as I groped myway to my room more mystified, I was surprised, to say the least,to see Maria standing by my door.
“Good evening, Mr. Simpson,” shesaid, cheerfully. “I have been knocking on your door. I thought youwere in.”
“No, I was out,” I said in avoice that was a pitch higher than usual.
She gaveme a curious glance from under her beautiful lashes.
“What wasit that you wanted?” I asked, opening the door.
“I need someadvice,” she said. “You seem to be the only level-headed personaround here.” And she followed me in. To say that I was flatteredby her compliment, would be the understatement of the year.
“What of your mother?” I askedher, as she sat down on one of the armchairs in theroom.
“My mother talks too much,” shereplied.
“She does talk a lot, but shespeaks the truth and makes sense,” I said.
“Are yousaying you don’t want to advise me?” she asked, pouting and looking ready toleave.
“No, not at all,” I saidquickly. “I’ll be glad to. Shoot.”
“Actually, itis because you are an ex-policeman and you know the law and allthat …”
“All that?” I asked.
“Well, actually, Mr. Simpson,you’re a gentleman. You’re actually the only male guest here whohas not made a pass at me,” she explained.
“Oh!”I said, wondering what she would say if she could read my mind, orhad heard my earlier discussion with her mother. “What of John?” I asked. But shemade a dismissive gesture with a wave of herhand.
“I don’t count him among humanbeings,” she said. “I have a feeling he does not really like me,anyway.”
I couldnot help laughing.
“Did you know he has a cameraand takes pictures of people when he thinks they are not watching?”she asked.
I shookmy head. That was news to me.
“It is so wrong. The day hetakes my picture without my consent, I will smash thatcamera.”
“And Willie?” Iasked.
Sheseemed troubled when I mentioned Willie. But she said, “No, ofcourse not, I didn’t include him. He is a man of God, youknow.”
“Your mother does not think ofhim along those lines,” I observed.
“She talks too much,” repliedMaria. “Plus I’m sure she makes up some of these stories she tellsabout people.”
But I was inclined to thinkthat if Mrs. Marshall was making up the stories, the peopleconcerned would easily refute them; instead, she always seemed to have them in a verytight spot.
“Let’s leave all that,” I said.“Let’s get down to why you are really here.”
As Maria pouted and flutteredher beautiful eyelashes, I found it difficult to concentrate onwhat she was saying. She was a very beautiful, young woman. I am sure I must havementioned that before. I was utterly entranced by her beauty. Herperfume mademe feel soheady, thatI wanted to hold her close. I had to shake my head from side toside, several times in order to clear my mind.
“You see, Mr. Simpson, let metake a hypothetical case of Ayuba and his wife, Amina. I’m onlybeing hypothetical, you understand?”
I assured her that I understoodand she continued. “Now, if Amina was found dead at the bottom of a cliff, fromwhich she had apparently jumped, having suffered some emotionaltrauma and the Police are satisfied that it wassuicide,so close thecase. But somehow I discover a letter that shows that Ayuba was theone who asked her to meet him on the cliff to discuss certain things, which sheknew he had done but which Ayuba did not want her to tell anyoneelse,and for which hemay have decided to push her over the cliff to shut herup.What should I do with the letter? Because although the letter waswritten by Ayuba to Amina, asking her to meet him there, it stillis not proof that Ayuba kept the appointment with her or that hepushed her.”
I wasquiet for a few moments. Although she said it was hypothetical, itwas obvious that to me that she knew some secret which wastroubling her. Yet, she wanted to protect somebody. Was it hermother or Nagoth?
“If I were in your shoes, Maria,I would hand over the letter to the Police, even if they haveclosed the case. If there is anything to uncover, they will do so.But even if they don’t act on it, you would have done your lawfulduty. Otherwise, you may be suppressing usefulinformation.”
“I thought you might saysomething like that,” said Maria, with a deep sigh. “But what if Iam in love with Ayuba and I don’t want him to feel that I havebetrayed him by going to the Police? Couldn’t I confront him withthe letter and hear what he has to say, first? She was starting toget really worked up about this so-called hypothetical story ofhers. I wondered about the identity of the person she was trying toprotect.
“Maria, ifAyuba did push Amina off the cliff and you confronted him with suchevidence as the purported letter, it could be dangerous for you. Ifhe has killed before to shut somebody up, he could do so again.”
“But if he loved me, he wouldexplain everything to me,” said Maria, still pouting.
I couldsee that she had already made up her mind to confront the personthat she was protecting. She only needed me to back up herdecision. But that, I could not do. Working with the story at hand,it was a dangerous step.
“Why don’t you tell me the wholestory, maybe I could offer more concrete advice?” Iprompted.
“Well you see,it was yesterday. I heard a noise in my room, like a rat scurryingaround. It had disturbed me, all through the night. So, I decidedto search for it. I went over