“Oh, Dick!” cried Eva in a rush. “That door wasn’t open! It was bolted from inside the bedroom!”
There. It was out. She felt better already. Let him be scared, Eva thought with a little snap. If he was scared, this would petrify him.
It did petrify him. Dr. Scott half-rose from the Cape Cod chair, almost dumping Eva on to the floor. Then he sank back. “Eva! What door?”
“The door in Karen’s bedroom which leads to the attic stairs. When I came into the room that door was bolted. Bolted from inside the bedroom.”
Eva kept looking at him appraisingly, wondering at her lack of excitement. The only thing she felt was compassion; he looked terribly distressed. He worked his mouth twice.
“But, Eva,” he said in a dazed tone, “how could anyone have— No one could have got away through the attic, then!”
“No.”
“And the windows in the bedroom—”
“They’re barred,” said Eva, as if she were talking about the trimming for a new hat.
“And the only other way out is through the sitting-room, where you were waiting.” His eyes brightened. “Eva! Someone did go through that sitting-room. That’s it, isn’t it? Somebody went through and you’ve — well, you haven’t told the police.”
“No, darling,” said Eva. “Not even a mouse went through.”
“But, good God!”
“I didn’t lie about that, if that’s what you mean.”
His mouth worked again, and then he set her down on the floor and began to race up and down, like a man hurrying for a train. “But, Eva, you don’t know what you’re saying. That means no one — no one but you could have...”
“That means,” said Eva calmly, “that no one but I could have murdered Karen. Say it. Don’t be afraid to say it, dear. I want you to say it. I want to hear how you say it.”
He stood still then, and looked at her, and she looked back at him, and there was no sound except Dr. MacClure’s growl about something to Venetia from the living-room.
Dr. Scott’s glance wavered. He slammed his hands into his pockets and kicked Eva’s rug so hard it wrinkled up in protest. “Damn it all!” he exploded. “It’s impossible!”
“What’s impossible?”
“The whole situation!”
“What situation — the murder... or ours?”
He tousled his hair so desperately Eva wanted to look away. “Listen, Eva. I’ve got to think. You’ve got to give me time to think. You can’t spring a thing like this—”
Eva pulled the white robe closer about her. “Look at me, Dick. Do you believe I killed Karen?”
“Good God, no!” he shouted. “How should I know? A room — one exit only — nobody went through... What’s a man to think? Be reasonable, Eva. Give me time!”
It was so absurdly inconsistent, so full of pain and doubt, so really definite, that Eva felt a stab in her chest, as if something had suddenly broken inside. For an instant she fought down the feeling that she was going to be ill. But she wasn’t through. There was still one thing more to say. One thing more to ask. Then, she thought, she would really know. She steeled herself.
“Monday afternoon you asked me to marry you. I held you off, Dick, because of that bolted door. I wanted time, too, because I... I couldn’t bear to tell you. And yet I couldn’t marry you without telling you. Don’t you see? Well, now I’ve told you.”
Eva stopped, because there was really no necessity to be any blunter about it. They weren’t children; certain things took on adult meaning without being said in so many words.
He licked his lips. “Get married — you mean, now?”
“Tomorrow,” said Eva relentlessly. “Whenever you get the license. At City Hall. Connecticut. Anywhere.”
It didn’t sound like her own voice. Perhaps that was because there was a coating of ice around her heart, chilling each drop of blood as it went through. She really had found the answer to her question. He didn’t have to speak. Monday he had wanted to marry her; to-day, Wednesday, he was asking for time.
Eva didn’t quite expect what happened. He seized her hands. “Eva!” There was something new in his voice. “I’ve just thought of it. Who unbolted that door Monday before the police came — you, or that Ring fellow?”
“It doesn’t make any difference,” said Eva listlessly. “It was Mr. Ring. He thought of it, and saved me.”
“Who else knows?”
“Daddy. Mr. Queen — the young one.”
“Everyone but me!” He was bitter. “And you expect me to—” He scowled at her. “What’s going to happen when that Inspector finds out?”
“Oh, Dick,” whispered Eva, “I don’t know.”
“What’s Ring’s game? Why should he do a thing like that for a girl he never saw before?” Dr. Scott’s eyes were inflamed. “Or do you know him? Do you?”
Stupid; it was all so futile and stupid. “No, Dick. He’s merely been kind to me in his own way.”
“His own way,” sneered Dr. Scott. “I know his way! That East Side scum! I’ve looked him up. I’ve been finding out things about him. Crony to every gangster in town! I know what he wants. I know his sort!”
“Dick, that’s the foulest thing you’ve ever said.”
“Defending him! I just want to know what dirt my intended wife’s getting into. That’s all!”
“Don’t you dare talk to me that way!”
“Mixed up in a filthy murder—”
Eva flung herself on the bed and buried her face in the candlewick spread. “Oh, go away,” she sobbed. “I never want to see you again. You think I killed her. You suspect me of all sorts of horrible things with... with that Terry person. Go away!”
She lay there, pressed into the mattress, crying into the spread, the robe askew and her bare legs dangling over the floor. But she didn’t care. It was all over. He... he was gone; that was gone, too. Now that he was gone, although she hadn’t heard the door bang, she saw how unreasonable she had been to expect him just to believe. Blindly, without questions. It wasn’t human. No woman could expect it of any man. After all, what did he know about her? Nothing, nothing at all. When a man and woman were in love and spent their time kissing and babbling nonsense, they really didn’t get to learn much about each other. They came to learn every line in each other’s face, every trick of breathing and kissing and sighing — but nothing else, nothing real, nothing on the inside, about which knowledge was paramount. So how could she blame him? And there was his career. It meant everything to him. Now that he suddenly found out, without warning, that his fiancée was up to her neck in a murder, how could he help thinking about his own future — about how people would whisper behind his back — even if everything turned out all right? He was sensitive; he came from a good family; perhaps his family was behind all this — pumping away at him, talking to him. That stiff-necked mother of his from Providence, his bankerish father with the mean face...
Eva sobbed harder. She saw it all now, what a selfish and uncomprehending little beast she’d been. He couldn’t help his family, or the situation she found herself in. He was just a man — a dear, dear... And now she had sent him away for good, and even the chance for happiness had escaped, and there was nothing facing her but that grim and terrible little Inspector.
Dr. Scott unclenched his fists and dropped on the bed, close to her, pressing against her, his face contorted with contrition and eagerness.
“I love you. Darling, I love you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Just kiss me, Eva. I love you.”