Joe Colton didn’t hear him, but he nodded with that vague agreement which characterizes the gesture of a deaf man. “Now you’re cooking with gas,” he said. “That’s the way to handle it.”
Chapter 9
The city of Falthaven was a typical city boasting a population of 10,000 despite the fact that the census figures insisted 7,134 represented the total citizenry which could officially be rounded up.
The soft-drink parlor where Rob Trenton asked for directions catered to the bobby-sox crowd. The interior was filled with the incessant clatter of youthful voices, each voice raised enough to make itself heard above the din of the other voices, which were then in turn raised so as to be heard above the confusion. The result was that Rob Trenton had to lean well across the counter to make certain that he was heard.
“East Robinson Street?” the waitress said, while she was busy putting scoops of ice-cream on split bananas, covering the mixture with heavy syrups of crushed fruit, whipped cream and nuts. “The best way for you to get there is to go up to the next stop light, then turn right and go five blocks. What number did you want?”
“205 East Robinson Street.”
“Well, when you’ve gone five blocks, that’ll be Robinson Street. Then you turn to your left and it’ll be about five or six more blocks.”
“All right,” Rob told her, smiling. “I guess I’ll drive through it. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said, spooning thick marshmallow sauce out of the jar. “You won’t have any trouble.”
Rob Trenton thanked her, started for the door. “Say,” she asked, “what’s the name of the party you want? That isn’t where Linda Carroll lives, is it?”
Rob nodded.
“Well, you won’t have any trouble finding it. It’s the second house from the corner on the right-hand side. A big two-story house. She’s an artist and she won’t answer the telephone, so you’ll have to go up and see if she’s home. I saw her uptown an hour or so ago... had some groceries with her. I guess she’ll be back by this time.”
Rob found East Robinson Street without difficulty, and following the directions which had been given him, came to the big grey house on the right.
It was an old-fashioned house evidently dating back to the turn of the century. There was about the place an atmosphere of spaciousness which, while lacking the efficiency of the modern small-spaced cottage, nevertheless was reminiscent of stability and that slower tempo which characterized a bygone era.
Rob’s heart was beating more rapidly than usual as he parked the battered old station wagon, and climbed the wooden stairs to the porch, then pressed his thumb against the bell button.
He could hear the sounds of musical chimes from the interior of the house.
There was no other sound from within.
Rob once more pressed his thumb against the bell button, holding it there for several seconds.
This time as the sound of the chimes faded away he distinctly heard someone moving in one of the rooms, but no one came to the door.
Rob felt Linda Carroll would hardly leave him to stand on the front porch, regardless of what she might be doing. She certainly would look through one of the windows to find out who was calling, and when she had learned the identity of her visitor, Rob was sure that he would be admitted. His ears heard a faint sound immediately on the other side of the heavy front door. He had the feeling that he was being carefully scrutinized. Yet nothing else happened. He stood there on the porch until the seconds ripened into a full two minutes. Angry, he rang the chimes twice in rapid succession.
Suddenly the door burst open.
A woman in a smock stained with oil colors, red hair in stringy disarray over her ears, glasses perched on a sharp nose over a broad mouth, which might be capable of smiles but which was at the moment a thin line of indignation, glowered at him. She was slender, willowy, angry, and twenty years older than Linda Carroll.
“What do you mean... ringing my doorbell four times like that?” she asked in a rapid fire of angry speech. “Can’t you see I’m busy? I’d have come to the door if I’d wanted to. I heard you the first time. I’m not deaf. What do you suppose I put those loud chimes on there for? My goodness, you’d think I didn’t have anything to do except answer the telephone and the front doorbell. Someone wants to sell something. Someone wants to get charitable donations for a fund. Someone rings up just to see how I am...”
“I’m sorry,” Rob managed to interrupt the tirade. “I want to see Miss Linda Carroll, please, and it’s quite important.”
“Of course you want to see Linda Carroll!” the woman stormed. “So does everyone else in town. This is one of those days. I do my shopping early so I can come back and settle down to a little uninterrupted painting, and what happens? The telephone rings, the doorbell rings, and now you come, and you ‘want to see Linda Carroll’,” she mimicked. “You and two thousand other people in town.”
“Please,” Rob Trenton said, “I have to see Miss Linda Carroll on a matter of considerable importance.”
The woman tilted her head back so that it seemed her sharp nose was pointed directly at Trenton. Her shrewd eyes studied him carefully. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Rob Trenton. I have just returned from a trip to Europe. I sailed on the same ship with Linda Carroll, both going over and coming back.”
She held the door open and said, “Come on in.”
Rob Trenton entered the house, went through a reception hall and was ushered into a front room which had at one time evidently been a parlor and living-room and which was now fixed up as a studio. There was a half-finished painting on an easel and dozens of other paintings, some in frames, some without frames, scattered around the place, hanging on the walls or simply propped up against the sides of the walls.
“This is my workshop,” she said. “Sit down.”
“I want to see Miss Linda Carroll.”
“I’m Miss Linda Carroll.”
“I’m afraid there’s some mistake,” Rob said. “I must have the wrong Carroll. Perhaps, however, you can help me out. I know that the Linda Carroll I want is an artist and lives here in Falthaven.”
The woman shook her head, her lips tightly clamped together, her manner decisive. “You’re either trying to spoof me or you’re barking up a wrong tree. Now which is it?”
“The Linda Carroll whom I know is about twenty-five years old. She has chestnut hair, hazel eyes, is about five feet five inches tall, and weighs about a hundred and seven teen pounds.”
“You say she’s a painter?”
“That’s right.”
“And lives in Falthaven?”
“Yes... I happen to know she gave this as her address. It was on her passport.”
The woman slowly shook her head. “I’m Linda Carroll. I’m a painter. I live here in Falthaven, and there isn’t any other Linda Carroll living here. Now suppose you tell me just what this is all about.”
Rob Trenton, rather dazed, reached for his hat, said, “Well, if there’s been a mistake... I...”
“Now just a moment, young man. Don’t think you’re going to come in here with a story like that and then just get up and walk out. I want to know what it’s all about.”
“I’m afraid that the matter I have in mind is private and something which has to be discussed with the young woman in question.”
“Now, I don’t know what this is all about, but I don’t like the way you come in here and tell your story. Apparently someone’s been impersonating me and I want to know all about it. Why are you so anxious to see this woman? What’s it all about? What makes you in such a rush?”