“How mean-spirited,” I said and took another welcome gulp of coffee.
“I was furious, naturally,” Sid continued, glancing across at Gus. “That poor Gus’s chances should be dashed because of me was absolutely unfair. I decided to go and confront him and tell him he was not to punish Gus because of her connection to me. Gus and Mary tried to dissuade me from going but I was adamant. I stalked off to his home. I rang the bell. No one answered. I tapped on the front door and it swung open. I called out. Again nobody answered, so I went in and made my way through to his studio. I thought he might be too absorbed in his painting to have heard my knocking. He was there all right. He was sitting on a chair, looking at the painting he was working on. I went right up to him. ‘Now look here, Mr. Bryce,’ I said. He looked up at me and there was terror in his eyes. For a moment I thought that he had red paint splattered across his front. Then I saw he was clutching at a knife that had been plunged into his chest. Blood was seeping across his white shirt, Molly. It was awful. I’ve never seen anything so ghastly in my life.”
I nodded. I had seen several dead bodies in my time and one never really gets over the shock of them.
She turned to look at Gus again, and swallowed hard. “I didn’t quite know what to do. He was trying to pull out the knife but I knew if he did that, the blood would coming gushing out of the wound and he’d quickly bleed to death. I put my hand out to stop him. ‘No, don’t do that,’ I said.
“At that very moment I heard someone behind me. Footsteps coming into the room. I spun around, afraid that it might be Bryce’s attacker. But it was his housekeeper. She was standing in the doorway, staring at us in horror. Bryce opened his mouth, looked at her, tried to speak. An awful gurgling moan came out, and then he died. She backed away and ran screaming for help. ‘Murder! Assassins!’ she was shouting.”
Gus reached out and took Sid’s hand. “Sid realized right away how bad it would look for her,” Gus said. “She was sure the housekeeper must have recognized her as we had both been to the soirée. He had just written me a rude letter then a postcard, saying that there was no way he’d ever consider my amateurish and substandard paintings. Also she was Jewish and his feelings on Jews were well-known. A perfect double motive.”
“So what did you do?” I asked.
“I didn’t know what to do,” Sid said. “I was sure they’d come and arrest me and that would be the end. But then I saw that the window was open. It overlooked the street and outside there was a little garden of shrubs and a small tree.”
“I remember it,” I said. “I went to his house and found out he had died.”
“Luckily I have renounced skirts,” Sid went on, her voice sounding calmer and more confident now. “I eased myself out of the window and into that tree. I heard the screams and running feet. I waited until the street appeared to be empty then I lowered myself to the ground and ran off as fast as I could. I made it back to Miss Cassatt’s house without anyone seeing me, or so I thought.”
“We thought we should get a cab back to our place immediately,” Gus said, “but Miss Cassatt said we should stay put until we were sure we were safe. We just prayed that the housekeeper had been so shocked that she hadn’t had time to recognize Sid. But then we learned from asking in the neighborhood that a young Jewish man was seen running away from the house. Obviously they thought Sid was a young man, on account of the trousers and her short hair.”
“I see,” I said. “So what happens now?”
“I suppose we remain hidden until they catch the real killer, or we try to make it to the coast and take the next steamer bound for America.” Sid sank her face into her hands. “We hate to compromise Miss Cassatt in this way. She insisted we stay here, even though she hardly knows us, saying that we women needed to stick together. She’s been so wonderful to us. Such a pillar of strength, but we’d certainly not want her to be accused of harboring a fugitive from the law.”
“But you can’t go back to your place in Montmartre,” I said. “Madame Hetreau would sell her own grandmother for tuppence.”
This made them laugh. “Yes, she is rather frightful, isn’t she? And so nosy,” Gus said. “You see now why we had to contact you through the postcards. We were sure the police had been to our house and the housekeeper had identified Sid. Mary volunteered to go herself but we couldn’t let her, in case she was followed back here. In fact we couldn’t give any hint of where we were, sure that the dreadful Hetreau would relay any scrap of information to the police, in the hope of getting a reward.”
“She almost didn’t want to let me use your apartment when you were not there,” I said. “And now she takes great glee in asking me if I’ve found you every time I come back.”