Delphi Complete Works of Thorne Smith (Illustrated), page 77
“Oh, just the usual thing. Nothing that mattered one way or the other.”
“Delightfully vague and uninforming,” murmured June. “Tell me, Dan, did Sam Stoughten also know her?”
“No, I don’t think so. Why?” replied Daniel quickly. “What made you ask that, June?”
“Nothing in particular,” said June easily, “but a good many things in general. A few weeks ago I saw them together when they had every reason to believe they were unobserved. Sam looked as if he were being confronted by a ghost, and a most unpleasant ghost, at that. But you know how Sam is with women,” she continued on a note of reassurance. “He’s never entirely comfortable except when Sue’s around.”
“Exactly,” agreed Daniel. “Sam never was much of a ladies’ man. He’s a faithful old soul. Loyal to a fault, poor devil. Next to Barney—”
“Why ‘poor devil’?” interrupted June.
“I don’t know,” said Daniel. “Just thinking back, I suppose. He lost out a lot in college, but he never envied his friends.”
“And tonight you announce the glad tidings,” observed June for no apparent reason.
“Yes,” said Dan. “That’s just it — the glad tidings. If you ask me it’s all a lot of nonsense. Everyone knows they’re engaged already. It’s just an excuse to throw a party, as I look at it. And this stuff about switching off the lights for a minute just before the announcement — why that? All damn rot.”
“That,” said June, “was not Emily-Jane’s idea. It came from some member of the club crowd. A group of her admirers are going to present her with the most gorgeous Japanese kimono you ever dreamed about.”
“That well may be,” replied Daniel. “I never dreamed about a Japanese kimono.”
“Well you will when you see this one,” went on June. “When the lights flash on, there it will be — presto — all spread out on the table. Emily-Jane has many friends. Are you one of them, Daniel?”
“Of course,” said Daniel, striving to put a hearty note into his voice. “Of course, June. You know that as well as I do. She’s all right. It’s just about Barney, that’s all. Emily-Jane shouldn’t marry Barney. She shouldn’t do it. Of all the men in the world, why did she have to pick out him? I’ve nothing against the girl. Nothing.”
Silence once more fell between them. Both were occupied with thoughts too delicate or dangerous to be expressed. Furtively June was studying the tense, drawn face of the man she loved. A feeling of tenderness so poignant it was painful to bear came over her for him sitting there alone with all his lies and trouble.
“Come here, Daniel,” she said, and held out her arms to him. “Come here and put your head down on this businesslike bosom of mine. It was made for just such a head as yours, big, empty, and, oh, so dumb.”
Then Daniel knelt down beside her and his head was on her breast. On the green of the lawn and the blue of the open sky his eyes closed wearily. What had beauty to do with him? And he rested there. It was a moment of drifting peace. Perhaps the last one he would ever know. From her body came comfort and a sense of things, of life and what had been. How tired he was. How damned uselessly tired. Was there a chance that even now he could find another way out?
“Some day,” he said in a low voice, “some day, June, things will be all jake, won’t they? We’ll be all right, what? All of us? I’m worried, June, that’s all. It’s hell to have a damn fool brother.”
“I know, I know,” she answered. “I know, Dan.”
His weakness was so unlike him it struck her like a physical hurt. At that moment she would have done anything — given herself to him — just to have eased his mind. Anything to have kept him from thinking. Somehow she was going through with it. Even in the dark she would not leave Daniel alone.
This resolution formed she lifted his head and kissed him on both eyes.
“Hit the deck, sailor,” she said. “Let’s go and drag some food from Aunt Matty. She reluctantly hinted that there might be some sandwiches and tea for luncheon. You need food.”
Daniel had eaten and gone to his room, which held a corner position in the right wing of the house, if the rambling old dwelling could be said to have anything so conventional as wings. All the windows were filled with trees and with the Sound. The one at the side gave a long view of the Cliff Path and a glimpse of the orchard. Across the hall from him was Lane Holt’s room, while directly next to his own was the room occupied by Emily-Jane.
Daniel was standing now at the side window. He was idly contemplating the stout old limb of a tree. For him that limb had friendly associations. Ever since he could remember it had been trying to get in through the window as if curious to see what the room looked like inside. Many times as a boy he had climbed out along that inquisitive old branch and thus reached the ground. He had taught Barney to make use of this convenient exit, but only after several hairbreadth escapes. Barney had always climbed with too much confidence. He had proceeded as if he expected something always to be where he was, and when that something failed him Barney came to grief.
Daniel turned from the window and his thoughts. Restlessly he paced the room. Every now and then he turned his head as if looking for something. Suddenly he stopped dead still in his tracks. His chin went up, and he stood there waiting, thinking rapidly. Then he took a quick glance at his watch and left the room. The hall was empty. Taking a key from his pocket he let himself into the room next to his and quickly closed the door. Slowly his eyes traveled round the room. Now where would a person hide a packet of letters? Surely it would be under lock and key. Her trunk was locked. Hopeless. His long hands slid searchingly between the clothes in the bureau drawers. He turned to the suitcase and opened it. The letters couldn’t be here. They weren’t. He ran to the closet and flung open its door. Another bag. Daniel snatched it out and opened it. Quick, delving fingers. Nothing. Nothing! Goddamn! They must be in the trunk and that was locked. If he could only find those letters there still might be another way out. Once more he began to search the room.
On the bureau stood an antique box fashioned to resemble a row of books. Emily-Jane had brought it with her. It was a fairly common specimen. Daniel had seen them before, but to Emily-Jane it had probably seemed an exceedingly secretive hiding place. He slid back the base of the box and pressed the center volume. In a moment the thing was open. No letters of Sam’s, but three of his own and two addressed to him by Emily-Jane. Years ago she had cleverly regained possession of her own letters. He took them all and slipped them into an inside vest pocket.
Light feet falling in the hall outside. Coming closer. Daniel turned calmly and faced the door. He was leaning against the side of the open window when she entered.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he lied effectively. “Come in and shut the door. Lock it.”
Emily-Jane without a word did just that. Her eyes swept the room and discovered that nothing had been disturbed. Daniel had been careful. He had even taken the precaution of substituting a few business letters for those that had been in the box.
It was as well he had done so. Still without speaking she crossed the room to the bureau. Her hands idly shook the box, then she turned back satisfied. Peeling off her jersey, she stood before him half nude, a silken band across her breasts.
“Well, Daniel,” she said. “You’ve got yourself into this mess. Now get yourself out of it. My brain is quicker than yours, and Barney is at the foot of the stairs. If I call for Lane Holt he’ll swear to anything. He’s in his room now. Let’s talk business. What’s the bright idea?”
She searched for a cigarette, found one, lighted it, and seated herself on the bed. Daniel turned to the window to conceal the murder that blazed from his eyes. When he faced the girl once more he had regained his composure.
“Emily-Jane,” he said, “I’ve come in here to ask you to call it off. You have a chance now to do a good thing, a kind thing. Do it, won’t you? I’m licked. Give me Sam’s letters and chuck Barney. Let me look after him.”
“That would listen better from the bed,” she replied coolly. “Come over here and sit down.” Obediently he seated himself beside her. She flung a careless arm round his neck and blew a cloud of smoke in his face. “Now kiss me,” she said.
“Will you give me those letters, Emily-Jane?”
“No.”
“It’s as much for your sake as ours I am asking.”
“That’s a lie, Daniel, dear.”
“Money?” he suggested huskily. “For a great deal of money, Emily-Jane, will you?”
“No, you fool. I’ll get money and more. I can get all yours and his too if I want it. No, Daniel, I’m incorruptible. I’m far above money.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Emily-Jane,” he pleaded, “don’t go through with it. Give me those letters and lay off of Barney. Won’t you, won’t you, Emily-Jane?”
It was not an agreeable sight to see this big, hulking creature pleading thus with the girl. He had swallowed his pride. He was willing to go down on his knees to her.
“No,” she said. “I won’t.”
Then Daniel did go down on his knees before the girl.
“Those letters,” he said in a voice so low she could scarcely hear him. “I ask you now here on my knees to give them to me and to give up Barney. Think, Emily-Jane, think. You’ve got the chance now. Won’t you take it? Please. I ask you.”
For answer she tossed away her cigarette and crushed his face against her breast. Then she suddenly released him and sprang up, laughing tauntingly.
“Get up from there,” she jeered. “You’re making a tragic ass of yourself. Come over here and help me off with my shoes.”
She sank into a deep chair and extended her neat, slim legs. With lowered head as if stunned, Daniel got slowly off his knees. He felt heavy and dead as he turned to the door and fumbled with the key. A few swift strides brought her beside him, and he stood there a moment looking down at her in a dull, abstracted manner. Even now the voice of his pleading would not be stilled.
“No?” he said. “Won’t you?”
As he opened the door she once more threw one bare arm round his shoulder. Then she laughed softly.
“Gosh, you’re a glutton for punishment, Dan,” she said. “Sorry you have to leave so soon. Call again.”
The door closed on her mocking voice. Daniel was in the hall. He turned with hands hanging and came in contact with a figure that was standing perfectly still — frozen. The figure swayed slightly.
“Dan?” his name came in a whisper. “Dan?”
He took June’s arms in his hands just above the elbows. In the dim light of the hall he stooped and peered into her face. Then he shook his head slowly. Neither spoke. Again he peered down at her and shook his head. Releasing his hold on her arms he walked quietly down the hall and entered his room. The door closed.
Alone in the hall June Lansing stood looking at the door to Emily-Jane’s room. All the warmth had gone out of her ale-golden eyes. They were cold spots now, cold, hard, and bright. Then she, too, walked quietly down the hall, entered her room and closed the door.
From the shadow of an alcove used for trunks, Betty, the maid, emerged and went thoughtfully about her appointed tasks. It took all sorts of people to make the world, thought she, but here indeed was a pretty kettle of fish.
Chapter Five: The Searching Blade
SOMETHING WAS GOING to happen that night. Already things were going on, secret things in that old house. Scott Munson, slipping into his black robe, felt it in his bones. What was he going to do about it? How head this off? That well-known ounce of prevention — where could he find it? Should he keep his eye on Daniel or concentrate on Sam Stoughten? Should he divide his attention between the two? From his knowledge of men both had reached a dangerous pitch of desperation. Or would it be better to watch Emily-Jane, the object on which that desperation centered — the source of it?
To work on a case before it had actually broken was a new experience to Scott Munson. He sat down in a chair by the open window and looked out at the dark night. Perhaps he had read his characters wrong this time. Perhaps he had read into them meanings that were not there. Munson had no particular fondness for Emily-Jane. In fact, he considered her a beautiful but unpleasant little hypocrite, but surely she was not capable of creating all the strain and concealed animosity that were disturbing the atmosphere like a palpable thing. On the other hand why wasn’t she? In the forty years of his life he had seen the most insignificant women accomplish disasters far out of proportion to their individual importance.
That little byplay about letters between Emily-Jane and Sam Stoughten on the club-house veranda — what, if anything, was the meaning of that? Now was the time for someone to come out into the open and to speak a piece in no uncertain words. But the trouble was people seldom spoke at the right time and always at the wrong.
Scott Munson felt that if Daniel would only tell him what was on his mind matters could be straightened out. Daniel, he feared, no less than Sam Stoughten and everyone else involved, was exaggerating the seriousness of some situation to the proportions of a tragedy. If properly staged and directed it might well be turned into a farce, or at least brought to the level of plausibility. People did not react that way, however, under certain given circumstances. The situation itself had taken control, and the actors were merely following directions bereft of reason and volition.
Well, if things must be they must, he supposed. Perhaps it was written and could not be deleted. If people perversely insisted on making a hash of their lives there was little that he could do to stop them. Then a wave of human emotion for a moment smothered the cool, impersonal logic of Scott Munson. These people were his friends, and this old house itself was too homelike and friendly to be the scene of some stupid but irreparable tragedy. But damn it all, why were his thoughts constantly dwelling on tragedy even before a tragedy had occurred? There was a feeling in the air, or was he just giving rein to his imagination? That was not like him. Some mischief must be afoot.
He rose, dropped the black hood over his head, and left the room. In the hall he saw Sam Stoughten entering Daniel’s room. Sam was robed but not hooded. The expression on his ruddy, homely face was anything but festive.
“The uniform of the evening seems highly appropriate,” mused Scott as he passed down the hall. “I’d give a lot to hear the conversation between those two gentlemen.”
He paused, then shook his head, and swiftly descended the stairs.
Sam sat down on Daniel’s bed and looked at him. There was a mute inquiry in his mild blue eyes, an expression suggestive of a decent-spirited dog, one that wanted something very badly but was too considerate to ask for it outright. Daniel turned from the mirror and regarded the slightly upturned face. Then he shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I found mine, Sam — only mine.”
“No,” repeated Sam as if trying to puzzle out the exact meaning of the word. “Glad you found yours, though.”
Neither spoke again. Daniel turned back to the mirror and brushed a hand across his face. Ten years seemed to have been added to his face since he had left Emily-Jane’s room. He was trying to brush them away. It was fortunate they were wearing hoods. . . . All men would look alike tonight.
Sam rose from the bed and stood with idly swinging arms.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I just dropped in to ask. Be getting back to Sue now. She’ll be waiting. You’re looking tired, Dan.”
“Oh, I’m all right,” said the other. “Have a drink?”
“Yes,” said Sam.
Daniel swung up a bottle from the floor beside the bureau, and they drank the whisky neat. Their eyes met as they put down their glasses. A lifetime of associations mutually shared passed between them.
“I tried,” said Daniel. “She caught me at it, but I don’t think she suspected. They must be locked in her trunk. Couldn’t go that.”
“That girl’s a devil, Daniel.”
“She’s not so good, Sam.”
“And she’s got the two of us, not to mention young Barney.”
“Wish she were a man, Sambo.”
“Don’t see where that makes a hell of a lot of difference.” There was a new note of hardness in Sam Stoughten’s voice. “After a woman has passed a certain limit she has no sex.”
Their eyes met searchingly, but not frankly, then looked away. Daniel turned back to the mirror for no reason at all. He was tired of his face.
“We were damn fools, Daniel,” went on Stoughten, in a voice that seemed to be summarizing the past before writing finis. “But I was the damnedest. It was all my fault, old man. I dragged you in.”
“Shut up,” said Daniel, reaching for the bottle. “Have a drink.”
“I had one.”
“Have two.”
They drank neat again and larger.
“Somehow it doesn’t make me feel so good,” observed Sam in gentle complaint. “I used to love to get drunk.”
Daniel grinned. “And you did, Sam. You did. As a lord — as a whole houseful of lords, in fact.”
“Not going to get drunk tonight,” announced Sam. “Must keep a clear head.”
“Why?” asked Daniel curiously.
“The occasion calls for it,” said Sam. “One should keep a clear head tonight.”
“You’re not going to make some sort of a damn fool of yourself, are you, Sam?”
Once more their eyes studied each other.
“I’ve stopped making a damn fool of myself,” said Sam deliberately. “I might make myself something else, Dan, but not a damn fool.”
Dan was across the room and had seized Sam’s thick wrists. Sam refused to look up. He stood there stolidly.
“Look at me, Sam,” commanded Daniel. “This is my show. Understand that. My show entirely. You go back to Sue and stick by her. That’s your show, your job. Stick by Sue.”
“And let us all drift to hell, I suppose,” said Sam.
“Misery loves company,” replied Daniel.
“There should be one member less,” said Sam. Daniel released his grip. Sam looked up and laughed a little recklessly. “I don’t know what we’re talking about, Dan,” he said, “but don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right. Watch and see.”
