"Now that I've a man to help maybe you can help me," I said sure, and she continued, "I've a mirror I want placed on this wall. Sometimes I eat alone here, and if there's a mirror directly opposite where I sit, I'll feel as though I wasn't quite alone."
She went to the bedroom and came back lugging a Big plate-glass mirror, about five feet long, indicating a place on the inner wall, next to the door to the bedroom, where she wanted it hung. There was a nail already there but when I placed the mirror by its hanging-wire, it wasn't right to suit her. She got a hammer and I yanked out the nail and tried again where she told me to put it. There were a few more tries until we got it right. Then she had me sit at the end of the table, my back to the rear wall of the house. It all sounded sort of crazy to me, but I was at the stage where I'd done anything she asked, even to picking up handkerchiefs in a hurry.
She surveyed the mirror, and then me. "Can you see yourself in the glass?"
I eyed my reflection. "Sure, I can even see the end of the table. It's just like there are two of me here. Trouble is, I can't see you—"
"That'll do, Johnny Cardinal," she said tartly. Maybe she was speaking in time too. I'll swear I just wanted to hold her in my arms again and—and—well, anyway, I decided I'd better shut up.
She kept glancing at an old clock ticking on the wall. There was something nervous in her manner that puzzled me. She moved on past me and locked the back door, then drew the curtains until they were almost closed, probably within six inches of coming together, maybe a mite more. I'd settled back in my chair, the back of my head just below the window ledge.
She glanced at the clock again, lifted the coffeepot and filled the cups, placed a bowl of sugar on the table. "Sit in," she invited and took a seat at my left hand. We sugared the coffee and I accepted a cookie. She didn't seem to hear me, but kept glancing up at the clock. I followed her glance and saw it was close to nine-thirty.
Presently she drew a small lace handkerchief from within her dress and I caught a subtle aroma of some faint scent. "Getting ready to play drop-the-handkerchief?" I asked, grinning.
"Quién sabe—who knows?" she replied in Spanish.
She didn't put the handkerchief away again, but kept fussing with it in her hand. I noticed her fingers trembled slightly, and wondered what was bothering her. Was she afraid Webster would learn of my visit? Perhaps I'd better leave and set her mind at rest. I mentioned as much, but she protested, "No, stay. Don't go—out there."
Something damnably funny was going on. I was commencing to feel nervous too. Involuntarily, my right hand slipped down to gun-butt, then I remembered where I was and relaxed momentarily. I took another drink of coffee and tried to make conversation about Tawney and Webster, but it was no use. She only gave a short nod, still fumbling with her handkerchief, eyes lifting to the clock about once every minute. What in the devil was she expecting? The hands of the clock were almost on nine-thirty, I noticed. Then her voice came faster'n I expected:
"Johnny, my handkerchief. Quick!"
Things happened fast then. I saw her toss her handkerchief to the floor at my feet. It flashed through my mind that I'd told her how fast I could pick it up if she happened to drop it. This was like some sort of game—I stooped down to get the handkerchief.
Then all hell broke loose in the thundering detonations of six-shooters, and broken glass from the shattered pane above my head crashed down. I heard the thud! thud! thud! of slugs as they found a resting place across from where I'd been sitting a moment before.
I remember coming up with the handkerchief in my hand, tossing it on the table. Topaz's chair crashed backward as she came to her feet. She was pale as death, one hand to her mouth as though smothering a scream. Then I wheeled, pulling my .44 Colt, and grabbed the knob of the back door.
XVI
"Don't go out there!" And then Topaz' scream really came.
I was too mad to pay attention, struggling as I was to get the door open. I tugged and jerked, but it resisted my efforts. Then I remembered the key. It turned easily in my hand, and I flung the door wide, fool that I was, in my haste. There were trees around, but in the light through them from the moon, I caught sight of three shadowy forms making a getaway, running hard.
I lifted my Colt, felt the .44 jerk in my hand, the orange flash of the detonated shell throwing a brief hard light. I cocked again, released a second slug. I saw one of the shadowy forms throw up his arms and then pitch down, out of sight in the long grass. I fired a third shot and missed. Two men were still running, but in a moment they were lost in the shadows.
I started to follow, then used my head. I could have run right into an ambush. I swung back into the house to see if Topaz was all right, plugging out empty shells and reloading as I moved. I slammed the door and relocked it. Topaz was standing as I'd left her, all color drained from her face. She stared at me, trying to speak, eyes wide.
She finally found her voice. "Oh, Johnny"—it was almost a sob—"it worked, it worked."
I said dumbly, "What worked?"
"The—the mirror. They shot at your reflection, through the window. I assumed they wouldn't come too close to the house for fear you'd hear them, and I left the curtains open only a narrow bit—"
"Topaz—you planned so—?"
She nodded, lips quivering. "And the handkerchief. I was so afraid a bullet might come through the wall, or—or—I had to get you close to the floor—fast. I knew they'd be here at nine-thirty—"
"But why didn't you explain?"
"I couldn't—I was under orders to get you here, and then—"
"Whose orders?" I snapped.
"Shel Webster's."
I stared at her. "Couldn't you have refused?"
"No, under the circumstances—"
I felt my blood rising to a boiling point. "Good God, Topaz, do you have to do everything he tells you to?"
She looked steadily at me, her eyes moist. She didn't say anything. Something in that look slowed me down. I drew a long breath, then I noticed that shattered mirror on the wall, the glass ruined by bullet holes and cracks radiating in all directions. That hit me hard, as I realized how closely the leaden slugs must have passed by her head, knowing bullets were coming and still having the guts to sit there and pull that handkerchief stunt for my safety. Good God! I felt like a worm and very humble, faced with such courage as she had shown. She knew the bullets wouldn't miss her by much. And a poorly aimed shot could have struck her. I knew than she had a hell of a lot more nerve than I had.
"Topaz," I started, "I've talked like a damned fool. I'm sorry, but if you'd—"
That was as far as I got. There came a loud knocking at Topaz's front door, and then a voice: "Topaz, are you all right?"
It struck me right then Webster had got here awfully fast. He must have been waiting in the vicinity.
Topaz brushed past me, passed through her bedroom and opened the front door. I heard low voices, then certain words came to me, "Shel, it didn't work." I heard his low voice reply angrily, but couldn't catch what he answered. Then Topaz: "I don't know why. It was all set. The curtains were drawn back. Maybe you'd better find somebody with a steadier aim."
The curtains were all drawn back? Topaz had lied on that point. The curtains hadn't been drawn far back. I heard the front door close, then Topaz, followed by Shel Webster, came into the kitchen. He looked at me a minute, hard-eyed. "What you doing here, Cardinal?"
"Just paying a social call," I said easily. "I might ask the same of you."