He said impatiently: “I understand, Connell. You don’t have to repeat yourself.”
“Did you ever have anybody shoot at you?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, I have. It’s easy to forget things at a time like that, mister. We’ll try it at the sides, first.”
I could see his face, there was enough light for that, and I could see he was a bit whiter but looked as though he was going through with it. It’s tough, running into a thing like that, and he had brains enough to know it. The guards were certainly armed and probably Crandall would have a gun in his room. And his wife’s room and Crandall’s were almost next door; probably only a hall between them.
At that, he wasn’t any more afraid than I was. He couldn’t have been. I didn’t have any wife to take my mind off the danger.
We pussy-footed up to the side of the house and I started to try windows. This after taking off our shoes. I didn’t think Crandall would have anything like burglar alarms on the windows; damned few private houses have, and this didn’t worry me. But the thought of a squeaky window did.
They all were locked... both sides. We went to the back of the house, tip-toed up on a broad back porch and tried the back door and found it the same way. I tried the three pass keys I had and no dice. Then Wendel gripped my arm, pointed down the porch, and hissed: “That window’s open.”
It was... and it was a mortal cinch it was a back bed-bedroom and belonged either to some of the house help or the guards. I went to it, peeked in and could see a shadowy outline of a bed and could hear somebody wheezing. It wasn’t a snore and from the sound of it I couldn’t tell whether it was a man or woman. I took my sap out of my back pocket and whispered to Wendeclass="underline" “Let me get by the bed. Then you come in. For Christ’s sake be careful.”
He squeezed my arm to show me he understood.
I climbed through the window, trying to keep my clothes from rubbing on the sill and making a noise, and got inside with no yowl coming from the bed. I knelt down by it so I could get the sleeper’s face outlined against the wall, and saw it was a woman. I got ready to shove her pillow in her face, if she woke, and Wendel started to come in.
I’ll give him credit. He had the instincts of a first class second-story worker. The guy must have been a thief at heart. He came through the window like a ghost.
We slipped through the bedroom door, which made one squeak when I opened it, and saw a hall leading toward the front of the house and an open door to the kitchen. I whispered to Wendeclass="underline"
“There’s probably back stairs but we can’t look for them. We’d be bound to tack into something that would rattle. Keep about ten feet back of me but keep coming.”
He squeezed my arm again.
I went down the hall and it jogged, right by the front door, showing a staircase going up. There was a door leading to a front room on each side and from the left I could hear good hearty husky snores and I never heard better music in my life. I went up the stairs, walking close to the wall as I’d told Wendel to do, in order to lessen the chance of a squeaky tread, but the house was old and warped and those damned stairs sounded as loud to me as any brass band I ever heard.
But not a sound, outside of that.
I got to the top and waited for Wendel, and I could hear him coming all the way. Not alone from the stairs but because of his breathing. He was wheezing like he had asthma. I whispered to him when he got to me: “For God’s sake breathe slower.”
He whispered back: “I’ll try.”
The tough part was coming. What we’d done was kid stuff, compared to waking his wife up and keeping her from waking up the household. I said:
“What pet name did you have for her?” He grunted, made a rattling noise in his throat that sounded like: “E-r-r-r,” and didn’t say anything.
“You must have called her something besides Ruth.”
He whispered: “I... I... I called her p-puzzums.”
I said: “Oh Jesus!” and wanted to laugh in spite of the spot I was on, but I said instead: “Now when we get inside you get you face close to her ear and be ready to whisper in it. Then just put your hand over her mouth and whisper. For Christ’s sake, don’t let her make that first squawk. She’ll come out of her sleep scared to death and she’ll sing out sure as hell. So clamp down on her mouth until she knows who it is that’s talking to her. Understand.” He said he did.
I went down the hall and got to her door and tried it. It was unlocked, and if I’d been a gal in that den of wolves that door would have been bolted and propped closed with a chair as well. But I thanked God for her trust in men and opened it.
I took plenty of time doing it; at least five minutes. And Wendel was at the back of my neck, breathing like a fire horse after a run. I finally got it cracked enough for us to slip through and I went first, to make sure my Sherlock Holmes stunt had been right.
It had been. It was a warm night; the front windows were open and letting in quite a bit of light, and the gal had kicked off the covers. I couldn’t make a mistake; there was no doubt of it being Mrs. Wendel. I slipped to the other side of the bed, where I could help hold her if she came out of her corner fighting, and Wendel knelt down by her.
Her nightie was thin and not exactly where it belonged and knowing Wendel for such a Puritan I felt sorry for him. After all, a man and his wife should have secrets and she’d given hers away. I’d have been willing to bet his face was red and I wouldn’t have taken the short end gambling that mine wasn’t.
He put his hand over her mouth, ready to grab, got his face close to the side of her head, then reached over with his other hand and patted her cheeks.
And clamped down over her mouth.
She came out of it all in a bunch. She bridged herself like a wrestler trying to break a hold and started kicking. I’ll give him credit. He hung on, now with both hands, but it was a grasp of desperation. His mind had given away under the strain and he was whispering hoarsely: “Puzzums! Puzzums! Puzzums!” over and over again.
I got one hand over his, on her mouth, and leaned across her, trying to hold her so she couldn’t get free. She was bucking like a horse. Finally she quieted down and I took my hand away, and he got himself together and said:
“This is Tod, honey. I’ve got to talk to you.”
She kept quiet. He repeated his identification and added: “It’s all right, honey. We won’t hurt you; we just want to talk to you. Now will you whisper and not make any noise?”
Then he said: “Arrrgghh!” and it was no whisper. It was damned near a shout. Instead of trying to hold his hand over her mouth he tried to take it away, and she came right up with it, holding it with her teeth. She was shaking her head like a damned dog and she was screaming at the top of a plenty husky voice.
If I’d been him she’d never have sued for a divorce; she’d never have been able to sue or do anything else in this world. I’d rather have a wild tiger in the house than a woman who bites. I’d have lowered the boom. But he just jerked away and said: “RUTH!”
She went off that bed like a wildcat and she kept yowling like one. I said to the dope: “Come on! Quick!”
I led the way into the hall and there she was, pounding on the door of Crandall’s room and making the night hideous with her voice. Wendel ran to her, took her by the shoulder, and said again: “RUTH!”
She turned and caught him fair in the nose with her fist and I could hear the good solid sound it made when it landed. He took a couple of steps back toward me and I grabbed him and pitched him toward the stairs and said: “Get going fast.”