Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 50, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2005

“Who? The big fella?” Simon looked imploringly at Volanda, but she said nothing, maybe because Willie’s voice was so steady. But she had her finger on his wrist.

“Oh, my, was he big!” The eyelids drooped again. “And he starts going through the garbage hisself like he was crazy, and I got scared and run down the steps, but he run after me yelling that something wasn’t in the pail that he put there hisself so I must have took it and he starts pulling stuff out of my pockets and then,” the eyes opened again, “Mrs. Fox come.”

Tears began to roll down Willie’s cheeks. Simon took Volanda’s hand and said in a half whisper, “This is the first time he’s ever been able to tell anybody what happened. We gotta let him finish.” He sat down on the bed again. “And then you made a run for it, didn’t you?”

“Oh, did I run!” Willie clutched at the sheet. “I got out of that gate and halfway across the field in the dark, not even knowing where I was going, just grabbing my pockets to see if I had anything left, and then I felt it!”

Simon knew that Volanda had drawn closer to the bed and was listening as breathlessly as he was. Suddenly Willie’s arm shot up in the air.

“I pulled it out — it was still half stuck inside a roll — and I could see by the moon it was something shiny. I thought it was a lady’s bracelet and I was so scared I nearly went to the ground. I had to get it back to Mrs. Fox but I knew the big fella was waiting to cut my tongue out so how could I? So I just did the best I could and now she’s found it and I can go back to work for her and not be scared no more.”

The weak old voice stopped and Willie, smiling, seemed to doze. Volanda whispered, “Let him sleep.”

“But how did he give it back?” Simon was frantic.

“Come down to the cafeteria. I bet I know.”

Volanda leaned forward, her elbows on the table. She said, “First, tell me where it was found.”

“Where what was found?”

“The napkin ring, of course.”

Simon gasped and said the coffee was too hot. “It was never found. I just said that to make him feel happy.”

She looked disappointed, then touched his hand. “That was nice, Si. I’m glad you did it.” She brightened. “But it could have been found. Want to hear how?”

Simon nodded somewhat dazedly. Her sudden interest delighted and alarmed him. He had this nutty secret to keep...

Volanda said slowly, “Here’s what I think happened: Willie ran back toward the château and when he got near the gate,” her eyes sparkled with excitement, “he threw the napkin ring over it, then beat it for home.”

Simon stared at her. “He... threw it... over the gate? But if it landed in the garden why wasn’t it found?”

“Why should it be? Nobody was looking for it.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds, then Simon said, “If I thought there was even the slightest chance, I’d search that garden with my bare hands.”

Volanda shook her head as she stood up. “After all the years and all the changes...”

“I know. Hopeless.” He swallowed his coffee and thought for a moment.

Volanda said, “I hope you’re going back to paint tonight.”

“I sure am. And tomorrow night too. I owe it to Willie. If I could only—”

“Si,” her voice was gentle, “you’ve given that dear old soul peace of mind at the end. That must make you very happy.”

It did. But how could he tell her that another, overwhelming urge was blotting everything else from his mind?

A ghost had to be convinced of Willie’s innocence.

“So it made sense right away when Volanda said that.” Simon mixed his reds, looking back and forth at the Nativity.

Dorothea hovered behind him. She said, “You’re quite good.”

“I’m quite crazy. This light is terrible. But Van Zeller and I are alone together. That’s what matters.”

“Alone?” Her voice was sharp. “That’s hardly courteous. May I remind you that I am also present?”

“And may I remind you that you’re crashing the party?” Simon put his brush down and stretched. He’d been working for more than an hour. “Can’t you just see the poor little guy pitching the thing over the gate and figuring he was ‘giving it back’?” Dorothea drifted a short distance away. “You buy it, don’t you?”

“Buy it? I don’t understand.”

“You believe now that Willie didn’t steal the napkin ring?”

“I believe that he didn’t take it, but not that he didn’t keep it.”

Simon glared at her. “What the heck do you mean?”

She said slowly, almost reluctantly, “It did occur to me that the ring may have dropped when Willie was being chased, and I had every inch of the grounds thoroughly searched the next day. My workmen fine-combed the entire garden.”

Simon sat still. “So you still think he stole it?”

“I think,” her voice was oddly gentle, “that a little boy who was very poor and who suddenly found himself in possession of what appeared to be a valuable article would find it very hard not to keep it.”

Simon began to burn. “What about him saying he gave it back?”

“Perhaps he thinks he did. He’s very old and you say his mind wanders.”