Easy to Kill

Mme. Storey drove her own car up to Newport. According to instructions,
we left it standing at the front door of the Van Tassel mansion, and
made our way by a path around to the rear. This was to avoid coming in
contact with the house servants.

In the darkness under the side windows our way was suddenly blocked by
an armed guard. The unexpectedness of his appearance almost fetched a
scream out of me. In a husky whisper he demanded to know our business.
Mme. Storey gave him the password that had been furnished
us--"Redwood"--and he drew back. I had the feeling that other men were
watching us from the shadows of the shrubbery. Who would want to be
rich, I thought, if you had to live in a state of siege like this.

At the back of the mansion, looking over the cliffs toward the sea,
there was a wide outdoors room that would have been called a porch in
any ordinary house, but at the Van Tassels', we learned, it was
dignified with the name of terrace. It was glassed in all around for bad
weather, and though now the June night was warm and sweet smelling, all
the sliding panels were closed. Here Mr. and Mrs. Van Tassel had
arranged to be waiting for us.

I glanced with strong curiosity at the bearers of so famous a name.
Neither was very impressive.

Howard Van Tassel was an old man suffering from some form of heart
trouble that forced him to keep his mouth always hanging open and to
breathe with difficulty. You were always uneasy in his presence because
he seemed likely to have a stroke at any moment. His wife had been a
beauty. Her faded hair was tricked out in the puffs and whorls and kinks
that went out of fashion years ago, and her faded cheeks were bright
with rouge. They showed little of the dignity you would expect from
people of their position.