“You and him and me, too,” cried Terry. “We could all go together!”
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Eva, widening her eyes.
“I mean — say we all... Look.” Terry bellowed at her. “The first thing I’m going to do is hie me up Park Avenue a way and take a poke at that palooka who ran out on you!”
“Terry!”
“Well, all right, I won’t if you say so,” grumbled Terry. His brown features twisted desperately; he took a deep breath and leaned forward again. “Eva, what say you and I—”
“Pardon,” whispered a firm voice. They looked up. It was the headwaiter. “Pardon, pardon, Monsieur, mais vous faites trop de bruit!”
“Huh?” said Terry blankly.
“Monsieur will be so kind!”
“Go away, Lafayette,” said Terry, seizing Eva’s hands. “Look, hon, what I mean was—”
“He says,” said Eva faintly, pulling away, “that you’re making too much noise.”
“And if Monsieur does not abate the tone,” added the headwaiter even more firmly, “I shall ask him to depart!”
Terry stared up. Then he said flatly to Eva: “Stay right where you are.” He got to his feet and faced the Gallic gentleman spread-legged. “Did I understand you to say,” he asked in a gentle voice, “that I’m making too much bruit for this dump?”
The headwaiter took a backward step. “Philippe! Antoine!” Two large and swarthy garçons came up. “Escort Ma’m’selle and Monsieur—”
“Hold everything, Antoine,” said Terry.
A silence fell. All over the restaurant people were staring, shocked. Eva felt herself grow hot and cold by turns. She could have crawled under the table.
“Please, Terry,” she whispered. “Don’t forget where... Please don’t—”
“Proceed, Antoine,” said the headwaiter nervously.
Antoine’s brawny fist reached for Terry. Terry crouched a little, and Eva shut her eyes. She knew what was coming. A brawl. In a nice restaurant. Where did he think... It would be in the newspapers... The last straw!
“I said hold it,” she heard Terry say, in such a peculiar tone that she opened her eyes quickly.
Terry was hanging on to Antoine’s fist almost imploringly. And he was perspiring. “Listen, Antoine,” he said, licking his lips. “You ever been in... love?”
Antoine gaped. He looked at the headwaiter. The headwaiter paled. He said, quavering: “Perhaps Monsieur does not feel well? Perhaps a doctor—”
“Love! Love!” said Terry tensely: “You know what love is, don’t you? A-mour! Kitchy-koo! L-o-v-e!”
“He is cra-zee,” muttered Antoine, carefully retreating.
“Sure I’m crazy!” shouted Terry, waving his long arms. “I’m off my nut trying to figure out a way to propose to my girl, and he tells me I’m making too much noise!”
Eva thought she knew what Joan of Arc had gone through at the stake. Her cheeks felt burned to crisps. She had never been so humiliated in her life. The restaurant was in an uproar. Everybody was laughing. Even the headwaiter smiled, definitely relieved.
“You oaf!” panted Eva, jumping up. “After all I’ve been through!”
And she fled, pursued by bellows of delight from all sides. It was like a nightmare. How could he— The... the—
But she got only as far as the rubber mat under the canopy outside. There, inexplicably, she found Terry facing her.
“Listen, kid,” he said hoarsely. “Marry me and put me out of my misery!”
“Oh, Terry,” sobbed Eva, putting her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy. You’re such a fool. I love you so much.”
There was an enthusiastic huzza behind them, and they wheeled to find the restaurant doorway thronged and the headwaiter bowing gallantly in their direction.
“Vive la France,” said Terry feebly, and he kissed her.
Dr. MacClure’s ring was answered by Djuna, who looked first surprised, then angry, and finally philosophical. Djuna was accustomed to people who appeared, hat in hand, at the conclusion of a case.
“Hello,” said Ellery slowly, getting out of the arm-chair before the fireplace. “Come in, Doctor.”
“I won’t keep you long,” said Dr. MacClure. “I felt that I hadn’t thanked you properly, and of course—”
“Oh, that.” Ellery seemed embarrassed. “Sit down, Doctor. Dad’s at Headquarters cleaning up the last details and satisfying the reporters. So I’m rather alone.”
“Terry says you aren’t feeling especially well,” remarked the doctor, accepting a cigaret. “I suppose it’s the reaction. Really wonderful piece of rationalization. You don’t look well. How do you feel exactly?”
“Low. It’s funny, but it struck me that you’re rather peaked yourself.”
“Oh, I.” The doctor shrugged over his cigaret. “Well, I’m human. No matter how calloused the human temperament becomes, there are some things that penetrate it. One is danger to someone you love. Another is shock — there was Esther, and finding out she was alive, only to find out she was dead after all. And there was,” he added quietly, “Karen.”
Ellery nodded, staring into the dark fireplace. The doctor sighed and rose. “Well, it’s hardly necessary for me to put into words—”
“Doctor, sit down.”
Dr. MacClure looked at him.
“I must talk to you.”
The big man’s arm remained poised, the cigaret smouldering in his fingers. “There’s something the matter, Queen?”
“Yes.”
Dr. MacClure seated himself again. The anxiety returned to his gaunt, chunky face. His brows met.
Ellery got out of his chair and went to the mantel. “I’ve been thinking hard all afternoon and evening. I’ve hardly got out of that chair... Yes, there’s something the matter.”
“Vital?”
“Extremely.”
“If you mean,” began the doctor slowly, ‘that Karen didn’t really commit suicide...”
“Oh, she committed suicide, all right,” said Ellery scowling at the crossed sabres above the mantel. “That part of it is right.”
“Then what do you mean?” The big man jumped up. “You can’t mean that somehow Eva — that she’s still—”
Ellery turned round. “There are certain aspects of this case, Doctor, which have not yet been touched upon. The case is not closed by any means. It’s closed as far as the police are concerned — my father, too — but that’s not enough. I have a terrible problem to solve — the most difficult in my experience. I don’t know, frankly, what to do.”
The doctor sank back in bewilderment. “But if Eva isn’t — if Karen committed suicide — I fail to see—”
“I’m glad you’ve come. Apparently there’s a design in human relations that isn’t quite material.” Ellery removed his pince-nez and began to polish them absently. “Your coming resolves some of the difficulty. Have you a little time, Doctor?”
“Of course. As long as you want me.” The big man stared at him anxiously.
Ellery went to the kitchen. “Djuna.” Djuna appeared like Jack-in-the-box. “How would you like to take in a movie?”
“I don’t know,” said Djuna doubtfully. “I saw all the pictures around here.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something.” Ellery pressed a bill into the boy’s hand. Djuna stared up at him. Their eyes locked.
Then Djuna said: “Sure. I guess so,” and he went quickly to the closet and got his hat and let himself out of the apartment.