"You must have felt something wrong, or we'd have gone right over."
"Maybe I did," said Fred, without any false modesty. "I can't tell now. But we sure weren't going very fast, or I couldn't have stopped her."
Alice thought a moment. "There's only one thing wrong with the idea that they aU knew which road we'd take."
"What's that?"
"Maud's deaf."
"By gosh, that's right. Could she read our lips?"
"I don't know. But look, Fred, another thing: If she were up here, waiting to push over the lamp, how did she know when to push? It must have been done by sound. And she couldn't have heard Innes come out of the bathroom under the stairs. Not if she's deaf."
"And she couldn't have seen him. That's right," Fred said. "Say, there's more in this than you'd think. Listen, Gertrude's blind. Well, could she read a detour sign? Would she know what it was or what it means, even? How
did she know there was one there? She lost her sight years ago, before there were many cars on the roads around here. I bet she never heard of a detour sign. Or knows how traffic works or the rules of the road. All that is new since she last saw. How could she even guess you could be fooled in the dark? No, Gertrude couldn't have moved that sawhorse."
"Could Isabel, with only one arm?"
''It was dragged," said Fred. "I'd say she could if she wanted to bad enough.''
"Then it was Isabel," said Alice.
"Look"—Fred turned a wrinkled brow—"suppose old Maud thought it was the doctor coming out of the bathroom. Maybe she's got it in for the doctor."
"How could she think that? She couldn't hear hhn any better than she could have heard Innes. She wouldn't know anyone was coming."
"But Gertrude could have dumped the lamp."
"Could have ain't did," Alice said wryly. "You know, we're making this up."
"Well, it's been fun," Fred said, grinning.
Alice looked down at his feet. "Where did you play football, Fred?"
"University of Michigan."
"What's your last name?"
"Bitoski."
|'Oh," said Alice, "so that's who you are."
"Football's a great game," Fred said, stretching. "Got me two gold teeth and a college education. Better get some sleep, eh?" He helped her up.
Alice lay a long time on the hard bed in the little guest room with her eyes open in the dark. In Ogaunee night was untroubled by the lights of man. It came down dark and tight around the house, and for aU Alice kept telling herself there was no menace in it, she was a lone time going to sleep.
In the morning she dragged herself up early. After all, she was a nurse now. She had to look after Innes. "It
looks," she said to her cross and sleepy face in the mirror, "as if I'm damned well going to earn my million dollars."
She found Innes awake and fretful, and Fred with him.
Fred said, "Good morning. Miss Brennan."
"Alice, my dear," said Innes. He held his brow up to be kissed, and Alice kissed it, feeling like a fool. Innes was full of agitation. His face was busy and sly with worries. "Alice, Fred has been pointing out something I hadn't considered. Is the door tight? See, will you? Josephine's gone for my breakfast. I don't want her to overhear."
•The door's tight. What's the matter?"
"Fred says they're upset because of our engagement."
"Oh, dear," said Alice. "Fred, you shouldn't have talked about that. Innes, I don't think you ought to brood, really I don't We had an accident. That's aU."
"Maybe." Innes began to speak rapidly, spilling out his words. "But you don't realize what happened last night You don't see the significance. But my sisters do. Lx>ok, dear, when my father died he divided his money, which was rather a lot, evenly among the four of us. Witfi a little to my mother, of course. Anyway, the girls elected to stay here and maintain the house just as it had always been, and I went off with mine to Chicago. I was twenty-one then and anxious to get away. After all, there was nothing for me to do here. I did ... pretty well in Chicago. But the girls, of cotirse, just used the money they had. Gertrude lets the bank manage hers. She scrapes along on the income. It's not bad, you know. But of course she never increases her capital. Never has.
"Maud is a fool with money. She simply spends it. And Isabel manages to lose a great deal because she always hangs onto everything she buys, and she will not take her losses. She never gives up. Anybody with a business mind knows there's no use hanging on when the investment goes bad. But Isabel hangs on. And because she doesn't Imow how to cut her losses, she gets into trouble. Well, what happens is that sooner or later they are all living on Gertrude's income. And I have to step in and straighten them out again.
"I've done it and done it And I've threatened to stop. I mean it, too. There's no reason for the same thing to happen again and again. It's ridiculous." Alice sensed a cold,
thin thread of shrewdness in Innes when he spoke about money. "I have no more patience with it. I intend to stop stepping in and taking all their losses myself. If they are incompetent to manage, I must manage for them. You heard me speak of it. But you don't realize that they know I meant it."
Innes raised his silly chin. 'Tve made threats before. This time I think they sensed my determination."
"What of it?" murmured Alice, with baUoon-pricking impulses.
"What of it! Don't you see? I'm not a source of income to them, aUve, any more."
"Innes, that's horrible!" she said. "You shouldn't think of your sisters so . .. why should you?"
"I can't help it. I do," he said childishly. Then his voice went an octave down. "I think of Gertrude. If it isn't the money, then she's . . . she's determined I shan't be happy. Why should I pretend, Alice? Their mother was odd. They're odd. I'm afraid."
ffis hand reached out, but Alice folded her arms. "All right. You're afraid. We'll go on from there."
His eyes fell. "You despise me," he murmured.
Alice said clearly, "Not necessarily. If we're not going to pretend, I'm afraid of them myself. I don't hke your sisters, Innes."
He looked merely grateful. "Neither do I," he whispered.
Fred moved away.
"Well, what shall we do about it?" Alice said.
"I want you to wire Killeen."
Blood rushed into her face. She could feel it. She was startled and dismayed.
"I want you to take the car while Fred stays here and run down to the telegraph office. It's in the railroad station. Wire Killeen. I'll give you his address."
"I know his address," said Alice with stiff lips.
"Tell him to hop a train and come right up here. Right away."
"But, Innes, why?" He mustn't come, she was thmking.
"I want to change my wiQ," Innes said, pursing his lips stubbornly. "I want to leave my money to you, Alice."
"But—"
"So I can live long enough to marry you," he said savagely.
"Very well," she said. "Just as you wish, Innes." She marched out of the bedroom.
Fred was after her. "Here are the keys," he said. "She's got no gear shift, you know."
"I know," Alice said. Her eyes were full of angry tears. She felt abused and sorry for herself.
"Fd go," Fred said, "but he wants me to stay here. I guess I'm promoted to bodyguard." Alice took the keys. "Look," Fred said.
"You better go back to your bodyguarding."
She wanted to strike out and hurt somebody. Fred would do. Fred and his sympathy.
A little later she drove the big car down the hill, handling it delicately," because she was unused to it. The town of Ogaunee was depressing—shiftless, she thought; shabby and patched and peeling. A broken trestle to the east spoke of its past. There wasn't much to be said for its present. She drove the length of the main street and foxmd the drab little depot with its old-fashioned eaves, and the telegraph station tucked inside.
"Mr. Arthur Killeen," she printed. Art Killeen. Oh, God, why did he have to come up here? She didn't want to see him. Or him to see her in this mess. Or him to draw the document that would guarantee her wages for this time and trouble. He must hear about her engagement, of course, but not the way it was going to be if he came up here. Not seeing her like a rat in a trap, playing nurse, being a phony tower of strength, being Innes's beloved. Oh, Art, don't come, because I can't stand all this and seeing you, too.