The pieces were falling into place. The picture on the puzzle was emerging. Magda, darling, she said to herself, watch your step.
He came to her office that afternoon before the Twentieth Century was due to pull out.
“Here is the picture and here is the pattern. You can follow the pattern, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes, I can follow a pattern.”
“And here,” he said with a flourish, “is the material.”
It was cloth of gold and there was a box of cultured pearls with it.
“It is a formidable undertaking,” he laughed. “Each pearl has to be sewn on just so but, if you can accomplish it, it will be worth the effort. You will be wearing a blouse such as has not been seen since the time of the Byzantine Empire. What do you think, Martha?”
“I agree on both counts. Formidable indeed and, if accomplished, worth it.”
“So. Now I must run. Goodbye, Martha. Goodbye, my love.” And he kissed her...
Both women looked down at the box.
“I don’t blame you, darling, for looking afraid of it,” Martha said. “That’s six months of hard labor. But Walter is such a perfectionist. If a thing isn’t perfect of its kind he has no interest in it.”
“Yes, I know. Would you mind wrapping it up for me?”
“No. But I wouldn’t be that much afraid of it.”
“Don’t vorry. Somehow I vill make the blouse.”
But she did not touch the package that night or the following one. And in the meantime she went to a chemist.
“Do you analyze drugs?”
“Of course, Madam.”
“This sleeping medicine.”
“Very fast in its action?”
“Very.”
“Saponin, I suppose. Let me smell it. No, not saponin, but we can identify it in a few hours.”
When she went back, the chemist asked, “Where did you buy this medicine, Mrs. Brand?”
“My husband bought it. It does not say on the bottle.”
“Well, whoever sold it to him was a dishonest druggist. This is digitonin, very effective in inducing sleep but very rare because it costs twelve times the cost of saponin and is no better — no better in any way.”
“But this is not harmful?”
“Not in the least. Go right ahead using it, a half gram a night if you wish. But when you want it refilled I suggest that you get saponin. Shall I write that down?”
“Please.”
So now she was not quite vulnerable. The half gram of digitonin went down the drain each night and she slept very well indeed. It had not said on the paper what happened with a very small injection of pseudaconitine alone but it had called it the most lethal of poisons. She put on kid gloves and smoothed out the cloth of gold. Could it be impregnated? It seemed harmless enough. Certainly there was nothing dangerous in the box of pearls.
She pinned and cut out the pattern. The pearls were to be sewn on first and she traced the lines where they were to go. When the pearls were on, the various parts were to be assembled. It was simple after all and not too laborious a chore. Where was the hidden danger? It must be in the fabric. She decided never to touch it without her gloves on.
She got out her pink brocaded kit that held her needles and thread, and then, because she had been very frightened for a very long time and perhaps because she was Hungarian, she began to laugh. Aloud, uncontrollably, until the tears ran down her cheeks. Walter, dear murderous Walter, the perfectionist. Her sewing kit had places for six needles, graduated in size. But, doing the red blouse, she had broken one and had not touched them since. Now all six needles were there. She knew him well. He could not stand a gap in an orderly row, a row of anything. She looked at them closely, saw a faint yellow stain on the point of each. Sewing the round slippery pearls onto cloth of gold? Could anyone help but prick her finger eventually? She laughed again, happily. For the moment she was safe. You’ll have to thinly of something else, my darling, she thought.
In a week he called from San Francisco. Could she detect surprise when he heard her answer? The rosewood secretary was every bit as good as he had heard and it had been shipped already. If it arrived before he did, and he might have to stay longer than he had expected, she was to instruct the doorman not to allow the truckers to touch it until one of the boys from the shop was called in to supervise its handling. The old secretary was to be taken to the shop and a price of $3000 put upon it.
“Very well, Walter.”
“Are you lonely?”
“No. I have some good books.”
“Well, goodbye,” he said rather harshly, and hung up.
A week later he called again and this time was quite brusque. Had the secretary arrived? No. But they had called and it was due tomorrow. Everything was arranged.
“How are you doing with the blouse?”
“Oh, fair. It goes slowly. Such careful work, you know.”
“I would like it if you had it finished and wore it the night I get home.”
“If doubt if that can be done. I get bored with it sometimes.”
“Damn it! I spent a great deal of money. Those are real pearls, Magda.”
“I know, Walter. That’s why I wouldn’t want to rush it.”
He hung up without a word, and Magda smiled.
The secretary was very heavy. Four men carried it with effort while the assistant from the shop sweated blood and died a thousand deaths for fear it would be scratched. Even so, when they set it down it rested on one leg for a moment and there was a sharp crack. “My God,” said the assistant from the shop, turning pale. “It was my responsibility. He will never forgive me. It is an absolute masterpiece and you know how he feels about repairs.”
“There, there,” Magda comforted him. “It seems solid enough. And it won’t be moved again for a long time. If it is a masterpiece Walter will want to keep it for himself.”
“Yes, I suppose so. It only shows if you inspect it closely. If I tried to touch it up he would know it was my fault. Those clumsy brutes. Will you tell him it happened in transit?”
“Of course. It could have, three thousand miles. Don’t worry.”
It has been said that Magda, though she had no taste, was clever with her hands. And so, although she was no carpenter, she conceived it her duty to her husband to fix that leg. Using only a thin-bladed knife meant for cutting cardboard, she did manage to repair the leg; then with shellac and wax she fixed it so that unless you inspected it very carefully you could not see the crack.
Then she turned diligently to making the blouse, needles being cheap and easily obtained, and it was finished when Walter came home.
“Ah, there you are,” she said, holding her face up to be kissed. “See, the blouse is finished. Do you like it?”
“Yes.” He seemed indifferent to everything but the secretary. “Isn’t that magnificent? They called it a museum piece, the fools. That is the most exquisite piece of furniture in the world. Absolute perfection!”
Unless you inspected it closely... but trust Walter to do just that. He was down on his hands and knees. “What the devil have they done with this leg? It was perfect.”
“Dere vas a leetle accident.”
“And those idiots tried to fix it!”
He reached out and the leg came away in his hand. He was so completely surprised that his reflexes failed him, and the great piece loomed over him until he leaped back; but it was too late and suddenly he was pinned on his back with a great weight of shattered glass and splintered mahogany.
He was gasping. He could hardly breathe. “Get somebody!”
“Are you in pain, Valter?”
“Get — get somebody,” he croaked.
“Here iss some of my sleeping medicine. Eet acts fairy queekly. A beeg swallow, Valter.”