When he reached the first floor he found the other women huddled together in the hall.
Paula turned to him and said huskily, “Please. Please hurry. We have to get out of here.”
Dubois said, “Where’s Crawford?”
“He’s getting ready,” Paula said. “You’ll have to help us, Mr. Dubois.”
“Of course,” he said politely. “I am quite ready to leave when Crawford is.”
“Do you feel better, Mr. Dubois?” Mrs. Vista asked.
“Oh, yes, thank you. I just felt faint for a moment,” he said.
He turned away with an impatient twitch of his shoulders. He went down into the cellar and began to put on his heavy jacket, moving quickly and precisely. He did not even glance at the trunks when he passed them.
There was too much fuss about death, he thought.
He brought his skis inside through the cellar door and examined them and brushed off the snow. Then he slung his poles over his shoulder and went upstairs again. There was no use thinking about death until the very moment it struck you...
Crawford was at the front door, attempting to fasten the snowshoes to his shoes. He had his overcoat on and a scarf tied around his head and he was in a savage mood.
“You are ready?” Dubois said.
“No!” Crawford barked. “Somebody get these goddamn women off my neck.” He glared up at Gracie. “Do you have to stand there watching me?”
Gracie took a step back and said helplessly, “I only wanted to...”
“Shut up!”
“You are still not learning politeness,” Dubois said mildly. “But perhaps this is not the time to demand it. You are fastening the thongs improperly. Shall I assist?”
“I’ll do it myself,” Crawford said roughly. “Just tell these dames to beat it.”
“We were just giving you a send-off,” Gracie said with resentment. “You big piece of cheese.”
She felt Joyce Hunter’s hand on her arm.
“Don’t,” Joyce said in a low voice. “Don’t antagonize him.”
“Well, who does he think he is?”
“Hush.” Joyce scowled at her. “Where’s Miss Seton?”
Gracie’s eyes widened and she looked around the group.
“Where’s Isobel Seton?” she asked loudly.
The rest looked at each other blankly. Finally Chad glanced dryly at Dubois and said, “She’s fainted, I believe? You carried her upstairs?”
“That is correct,” Dubois said blandly. “She was much affected by the excitement. She will be better after a time.”
Gracie stared at him. “Yeah? She’s not the fainting type and she wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”
Dubois said, “I am sorry I have no time to convince you. You are welcome to go upstairs and find out for yourself.”
“I’ll do that,” Gracie said. “And don’t try to leave this house until I find out if she’s all right!”
Crawford straightened up and glared at her. “Who in hell are you talking about? Christ, I can’t move in these things! Look at me.”
“They’re not for walking on floors,” Dubois said, and turned back to Gracie. “I am waiting for you to reassure yourself about Miss Seton. I have no time to waste. Please hurry.”
With a defiant toss of her head Gracie ran up the steps. Dubois called after her, “I placed her in the first bedroom on the left.”
She found Isobel lying on the bed. She was breathing quickly and her face was pale, but she appeared to be all right.
Gracie said, “Isobel, you’re okay? Hey, Isobel?”
Isobel did not stir. That’s some faint, Gracie thought uneasily, but what else could be wrong?
When she came down again Crawford was still cursing about his snowshoes and Dubois was opening the front door. The sun streamed in, jeweled with snow. Dubois’ breath came out of his mouth like smoke as he leaned over to fasten his ski straps. When he saw Gracie he said, “You are satisfied? Miss Seton is perfectly all right?”
Gracie muttered, “Y-yes.”
Mrs. Vista was bustling around Crawford, making hysterical little noises. “Be sure and come back — so upset — so grateful if you would rescue us.”
Crawford tightened the scarf over his ears and stepped out on the veranda. “How grateful?” he said. “And in what language?”
Mrs. Vista’s hysteria disappeared, as always, at the mention of money.
“You shall be paid,” she said, rather stiffly, “and paid well.”
Dubois was already out in the snow, flexing his knees and jabbing the ski poles into the snow. It was hard and crusty, with a layer of soft fine snow on top.
If I were alone, he thought, I could make speed on this... If I were alone...
Crawford stumbled down the steps after him, but he didn’t curse, he was hardly aware of the snowshoes any longer because he was wondering how much money Mrs. Vista would pay him.
If I were alone, he thought, I could work this both ways. I could disappear by myself and go back to Mrs. Vista later for the money when everything had blown over. She’d be fool enough to give it to me...
“Hurry up there,” Dubois said.
“Sure,” Crawford said. He could feel the gun swinging against his thigh as he moved. Every time it bumped him he felt the excitement rising in his throat like bubbles.
This is swell, he thought, this is a wonderful feeling. I can do anything, anything, anything...
It was always other people who bungled things. After this he’d go on his own. He’d be alone, free. He wouldn’t have to plan anything.
His eyes glittered as if they were bright with tears.
Dubois said quietly, “Not planning anything, are you?”
Crawford’s teeth showed in a smile. “Not a thing. Are you?”
“I shall be watching you,” Dubois said. “Your eyes give you away.”
He gripped his poles and skied off across the snow. Crawford began to walk.
“Good luck!” Paula called from the veranda. “Good luck!”
Crawford waved, and turned, following in Dubois’ tracks. He moved slowly at first and Dubois was forced to lean on his poles and wait for him.
“Glide!” he shouted. “Don’t lift your feet far off the snow!”
Crawford moved on, faster now, in a smooth walk almost like a dance. The snowshoes kept him on top of the crusted snow.
“Get going!” he said to Dubois. “I can keep up with you! I can keep up!”
The gun swung and bumped against his thigh, and an exultant laugh pushed up from his stomach and rang out in the still clear air. I can keep up. I can do anything, anything. Jesus, Jesus, this is swell.
The people watching from the veranda were suddenly quiet. Crawford’s laughter struck their ears and cut into their memories.
“Look at him!” Maudie shrieked suddenly. “Look at his face! He’s not going to come back! He’s running away! He’s not coming back.”
Crawford turned and the sun caught the gleam of his teeth and the air echoed with his sharp shrill laughing.
“Come back!” Chad shouted. “Back! Come back!”
Dubois did not even turn his head and Crawford was gliding ahead again, his head thrust high as if to meet the challenge of the cold and the sun and the brilliant air he breathed.
Chad leaped off the veranda and began to plod through the snow after them, but he could barely move in it. It was as thick and soft and treacherous to the feet as quicksand. He kept shouting and waving and calling Dubois’ name. Then with a faint cry he toppled into the snow and disappeared from view.
When he stood up again he brushed the snow from his eyes and mouth, and with a weary gesture of his shoulders he made his way back to the veranda.
“It’s no use,” he said.
For a moment there was a hushed despairing silence in the group.