"No." She handed him the keys to the car.
"Who's this KUleen?" Fred asked abruptly.
"Oh. Why, he's a lawyer."
"You blush easy," said Fred.
"rm afraid that's none of your busmess," she told him frigidly.
"I know it. Go ahead. Smack me down some more. Is he coming, though?"
"How would I know? I suppose so. He'll probably come." Her voice got bitter in spite of her.
Fred said, "Well, I was going to say . . . When will he get here, do you know?"
"Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock," Alice said
promptly and blushed again. "I mean, naturaUy, that's the first tram."
'Well look, if I were you I wouldn't... You didn't say anything about him downstairs?"
"No."
"Don't," said Fred.
"Why not?" she said carelessly.
He pushed the door a Httle tighter and came nearer. Don t want to put a time lunit on this thing," he said soflyy. "Can't you see?"
"No. What do you mean?" She wished he'd go.
"Well, look, if they think tomorrow's too late, there's still tonight."
"Oh God,''said Alice, "I can't keep thinking about that always. Things are bad enough without worrying about murder. Murder!" she repeated scornfully
Fred considered her m silence for a moment "Yeah, but look, just don't let it out."
"All right I won't," she said. "Is that what you want? Then..." she wanted to say, "Let me alone."
"You know," Fred drawled, "if anything does happen to him, you'll be a million dollars out"
Alice felt shocked, "Why, yes," she said carefully, "though I hadn't quite thought of it that way."
"I though you did think of it that way. I mean, I'm sorry, maybe I got you wrong after all. But I thought you wanted to marry hun because of the money "
Alice stared at him. It all seemed long ago, somehow.
"I'm sorry, Fred said. "I mean if I'm wrong. I mean if you..."
"I told you," said Alice boldly, "and it's true."
"That's what I thought."
"Look, Fred," Alice said desperately, "you've been a big help. Keep on being a big help, will you'?"
"I'm on your side," Fred said. "I thought you knew that.
"Then why does it matter what I'm marrying him for? The thing is, now, to get out of this mess." "We can't get out until he's well enough to go." "I know."
"And all I meant was to warn you. A million dollars isan awful big stake. You've got to keep it in mind."
"I've got it in mind," Alice said.
"Relax," Fred said. "Gosh dam it. What do you want to get mad at me for?"
"I'm not."
"Well, good," he said.
She tried to smile. "Tell me again, what's this about not talking? Maybe I wasn't listening."
"All I say is, watch out they don't know the money's getting willed to you tomorrow. Because if they do know, and if they really are up to something, that would make tonight a bad night for the boss. Now do you see?"
"Yes, I see," said Alice.
Fred leaned back on the door. It swung closer to closing. He seized the knob and pushed it, using his strength. It wouldn't close.
"Oh, my God!" screamed Alice.
She saw the fingers in the crack. In the crack where the hinges were. Fingers being squeezed. She knew it must be excruciating pain.
Fred looked at her, startled. He didn't release the door, kept leaning his weight on it But there was no sound. Weirdly, impossibly, there was no sound. The fingers were caught in the door, and it must hurt. It must hurt terribly, but no one cried out. There was no scream of pain.
Alice wrenched the knob from Fred's hand and pulled the door open. Isabel stood there.
"Oh, Miss Whitlock, Tm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
Isabel freed her right hand from the crack. She used her left to do it. She lifted the stiff, unnatural gray kid fingers out of the crack and hung them at her side.
"It really doesn't matter," she said, with a brilliant smile. "I was just going by." She nodded and moved off.
Alice felt hysterical. "It couldn't hurt her," she said, "but I thought it was a real hand. I thought it was real."
"It's artificial, all right," Fred said thoughtfully. "I guess that proves it. So she's only got one arm."
Alice looked up in alarm.
"I was thinking, last night," he muttered, "how do we know?"
"How do we know what?"
"If they're really blind, or deaf, or crippled."
Alice said, "Do you feel all right?" sarcastically.
"I don't feel so good," Fred said, "and that's a fact. I wonder what she heard."
"You think she was listening?"
"Certainly I think she was listening. Am I a dope? Are you?"
"I guess she must have been listening," Alice said humbly. "Now what?"
"It means a hard night tonight and no rest for the weary," Fred said. "Thaf s what it means. Like I said."
10
They had an argument about mentioniag the incident to Innes. Fred said they ought not. Said it would scare the pants off him, and he was scared enough already. But Alice insisted that if a man was in special danger he had a right to know it. She said if Fred was really worried, then Innes must be told. Otherwise, she pointed out, it was taking too much responsibility.
"You don't like responsibility, do you?" grumbled Fred, giving up. "All right, we tell him."
"But not until tonight," Alice compromised.
Through the long weary afternoon, Alice drowsed in a chair beside the big bed where Innes lay. Fred came in and spelled her about three o'clock, and she slept on her bed for an hour. Nothing happened. The whole world seemed to be waiting for Innes to heal or for night to fall. The house was quiet. The sisters were invisible. It was too quiet. They were too retiring. One felt one hadn't an eye on them.
Susan came while Alice napped. She didn't stay long.
Innes begged for company at dinnertime, and Alice thankfully ate from a tray in his room.
At about eight o'clock Gertrude rapped on the door. She came in with her somehow stately walk, steering herself a straight course across the room, avoiding furniture in her imcanny way.
"How are you feeling, Innes?"
"A little better." Innes forced a confident note into his voice, though he shrank in bed.
''Are they taking care of you?"
"Yes, oh, yes. They wash my face and they feed me pills." Innes was being brave and funny, but his fear blared like a trumpet to Alice's ears.
''rm sorry," said Gertrude daintily, "that there is so little I can do for you. But if there is anything, please let me know."
"Of course. Of course, Gertrude."
"Then good night." She found the door herself. She made Alice think of a sailboat. Her progress went in geometrical designs, like tacking—as if she knew by memory how many paces to a fixed point and the angle there on which she must turn.
Innes swallowed, as if he gulped down the heart that had been in his throat, and he looked at Alice, but they said nothing.
Soon after Isabel came sidling in. Alice watched her eye. She seemed to be able to look at one straight with one eye while the other remained sly and shifty. Still, she wasn't cross-eyed. It was baffling and strange. It made Isabel elusive, not to be pinned down.
She said anxiously, "Innes, my dear, are you comfortable?"
"I guess so," said limes.
"Have you much pain?"
Alice Imew her anxiety was a habit. Isabel was always anxious about something. Just the same, she did seem more sympathetic than her sister Gertrude, whose precise good manners only made her more withdrawn and cold.
"The pain's not so bad," Innes admitted.
"I suppose the doctor gives him something?"
"Yes," said Alice.
"That's good," said Isabel. "I'm so glad you have no unnecessary pain."
"I'll be all right," said Innes. "And I know it's a nuisance for you, Isabel . . ."
With her usual whine, Isabel said, "After all, Innes, you are one of us." She put her claw on his brow. "AUce, dear, what a fine nurse you are. We are all so glad you're here." One eye smiled frankly, but the other had a secret.
"Thank you. Miss Isabel," said Alice. "Good night."