The Night Before Murder (1939) by Steve Fisher

Author:Steve Fisher [Fisher, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781936456161
Publisher: SRS Internet Publishing
Published: 2011-01-31T21:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

There was the intensity of a terrible minute, and then it was over, as though an earthquake had come and gone, and Dorothy, and the rest of them here were still standing, all too dazed to comprehend. Grant's face was immobile, but stupidity began to show through it; and his mouth gaped, just a little, and it was so apparent that he knew no other emotional outlet than crying, that Clifton put his arm around the tall Englishman's thin shoulders, and said: "She's crazy, boy, that's all. You need a drink." But Grant did not move, he kept staring at Betty, slim and frightened, her face equally blank as her husband's.

West said: "You, Roy, get out of there."

Roy moved into the hall, his hair like patent leather, his sleek face shining; he walked ahead of West and down the hall out of sight. Betty turned from Grant and watched bleakly after Roy. Then she spoke, her voice was high-pitched, as though she wanted her nearly deaf ears also to hear what she was saying.

"We love each other, Grant; I'm sorry."

Grant opened his mouth to say something, but he could not, and Clifton led him off after West and Roy, and Betty still stood there. Dorothy watched her. Betty said, loudly: "Have you a cigarette?"

It was Frances who answered: "I have," she said, and she got one and handed it to Betty, but it was obvious from the maid's expression that she held nothing but contempt for Mrs. Davis' daughter now. She presently went back to her newspaper; Dorothy walked down the hall with Betty. Betty faltered a little, so that eventually Dorothy had to take her by the arm.

They came into the living room. Grant was sitting here, his head in his arms, and Roy was standing, smoking furiously, the end of his cigarette red, and too hot. Mike Wiggam and Sam Tulley had stopped their card game to watch. Clifton was standing at the French doors with his back turned to everyone else.

Johnny West was talking. "How long has this—this personal acquaintance with Mrs. Smyth been going on?" he said.

"I refuse to answer that," Roy replied.

"Why?"

"It's not necessary. It would only drag Betty's name into—"

West snapped: "You refer to her as Mrs. Smyth! And never mind about where you drag her name. That hasn't seemed to cramp your style before. How long has she been in love with you?"

"Well, two weeks, I'd say."

"How did it first come about?"

Roy said, "I met her accidentally on the porch one night after everyone had gone to bed. She couldn't sleep and was walking around. I used to sit on the porch at night and smoke."

"I see. Did you meet her there again after that?"

"Three or four times. We didn't talk much because we'd have to talk loud and people might have heard us. We just stood there enjoying the nights, and gradually, well—it was an honest thing, I'll say that! It's not what you're trying to make it out as being."

"I can see that," said West bitterly.

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