“No — regrets, Kerrie?”
Kerrie squeezed her friend’s hand. “Not even a little one, Vi.”
Then the two men came back, and the Justice took up a position in a certain formal way and cleared his throat importantly, and Kerrie was so surprised she said: “But aren’t we supposed to have two witnesses, Mr. Johnston?”
“Of course, my dear,” said the Justice hastily. “I was about to explain that Mrs. Johnston is unfortunately in Greenwich at the moment, and if you’d care to wait—”
“Miss Day is one,” said Beau. “And I don’t think we’d like to wait. How about it, funny-face?”
“Certainly not,” said Kerrie firmly.
“Naturally, naturally!” said Mr. Johnston. “This occurs occasionally, of course. If you have no objection, Miss Shawn, the only other thing we can do. is... er... flag a witness outside, so to speak.”
“Pick somebody interesting,” giggled Kerrie.
And the tall man hurried out, and they heard him shouting at passing cars, and finally he returned in triumph, like Pompey, towing an inebriated traveller who leered at Kerrie and at Vi and even at Beau, and Beau had to hold him up during the ceremony to avert the total collapse of his rubbery legs.
That was the last straw, and Kerrie was so busy trying to keep a straight face that she scarcely heard one mumbly word of the service. She was actually astonished when Vi giggled: “Wake up! You’re a married woman!”
“I’m— Oh, Vi!” And she threw herself into Vi’s arms while Beau helped the stranger to a rocker, and paid the Justice, and then approached to claim his bride.
He was actually pale.
“It was the nicest wedding,” said Kerrie with a wavery smile. “Darling — aren’t you even going to kiss Mrs. Queen?”
He took her in his arms without a word.
XI. Villainy at the Villanoy
“Up to now,” said Vi when they got back in the car, “I’ve been chief mourner. But now that the funeral’s over, chickadees, take me to the New Haven and then be gone with the wind — and my blessing.”
“No,” protested Kerrie. “Ellery, don’t you do it!”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” said Beau. “Where you bound, blondie?”
“New York.”
“Then we’ll take you there.”
“But that’s out of your way!”
“Who told you?” chuckled Beau. “We’re headed for the city, too.”
“You mean — a honeymoon in New York?” gasped Kerrie.
“Sure. That’s the one place the smart boys won’t think of looking for us.”
“Oh,” said Kerrie. Then she said valiantly: “I think that’s a gorgeous idea, don’t you, Vi?”
“Yes, indeed,” murmured Vi. “And just think of all the fun you’ll have — a wedding dinner at the Chink’s, and you can go roaming the primeval wilderness in Central Park, and all. Such a romantic place to honeymoon!”
“Well, it is!” said Kerrie.
“Sure it is, hon. Anyway, it’s your honeymoon — and your husband, thank goodness!”
Kerrie and Vi argued all the way into New York. Kerrie wanted Vi to spend the rest of the evening with them, and Vi insisted she was tired and sleepy and had to get settled and all... Beau urged Vi to stick with them, too. Kerrie resented that — just a little. Then she felt ashamed of herself. But she was relieved when Vi remained adamant.
They dropped Vi at a genteel ladies’ hotel in the East Sixties. The two women parted with tears and embraces.
“You’ll keep in touch with me, Vi?” cried Kerrie.
“Of course, kid.”
“Tomorrow — I’ll ring you tomorrow.”
Then Vi’s tall figure was gone, and Kerrie was alone with her silent husband.
He was kept busy driving through the midtown traffic, and Kerrie managed to occupy herself for a long time with her lipstick and powder-puff. But even the most careful make-up duty ends at last, and then there was nothing to do but stare straight ahead, feeling hot fires in her cheeks.
“You smell nice,” he said in a growly voice.
She laid her head on his shoulder in a spasm of tenderness.
“Where are we stopping?” she whispered.
“The Villanoy. Right off Times Square. They won’t find us there in a million years.”
“Wherever you say, darling.”
At the Villanoy a doorman took charge of the car, and two bellboys commandeered the luggage — Kerrie flushed when she noticed the initials K S on her bags — and Beau registered at the desk, writing “Mr. and Mrs. Ellery Queen” in a firm hand, and the desk-clerk didn’t even blink.
Then there was the long ascent in the elevator under the scrutiny of a couple with remarkably inquisitive eyes. The woman whispered something to her escort, laughing, and Kerrie was sure they were whispering about newly-weds, but finally that ordeal was over, and they and their bags and the bellboy were marching down a long corridor to a door marked 1724, and they went in, and the bellboy set down the bags and threw up the shades of the sitting room and opened the windows wide, so that New York flowed into the room in a nice, quiet, above-it-all way.
The boy repeated the chore in the bedroom. Twin beds, Kerrie noticed, recalling that downstairs her husband — husband! — had asked for twin beds. But then she supposed it was because he was accustomed to... The bellboy left noiselessly, pocketing a half-dollar with no surprise whatever, and they were alone at last.
“It’s a darling suite,” said Kerrie in the strained silence. She went to inspect the closets, glorying in the first official impulse of her housewifely existence.
Beau was planted in the center of the sitting room, his hat still on his curly hair, a cigaret forgotten in his fingers — looking rather silly, Kerrie thought with secret amusements as she poked in the closets.
“Aren’t you going to stay a while, Mr. Queen?” she called.
“Kerrie.” Something in his tone made her come out of the bedroom closet, take off her hat, put it on die bed, strip off her gloves, all slowly. There was that pain again, in her chest. It was a pain she felt through no one but... him.
“Yes?” She managed to keep her tone casual. But whatever he was about to say would be — catastrophic. She knew that. It had been coming all afternoon. “Yes, dear?” said Kerrie again in a light tone.
He kept staring at the tip of his cigaret. Kerrie’s eyes burned on him. Oh, darling, darling, what is there between us? That comes up even at a time like this? Then he looked up and she was smiling.
“I’ve got something to do, Kerrie.”
“Now?”
“Now. Hungry?”
“Not a bit. What do you have to do?” That was wrong; she shouldn’t have asked that. It would make him hate her.
“Business. In all the hurry—” She deserved that. Business! It was almost funny. “I’ll send something up for you.”
“Don’t bother. If I want anything, I’ll call Room Service.” Kerrie turned her back toward him, stooping over one of her bags. “Will you be gone long?”
“Here, let me do that,” he said. He took the bag from her, carried it into the bedroom, returned for the other bags, carried them into the bedroom. She followed slowly. He hadn’t answered her question. “While you’re waiting, you can unpack — you’d have to unpack, anyway, and you may as well do it now instead of...”
“Darling.” She ran to him and put her arms about his neck. “Is anything wrong?” She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t.
He looked blustery, and she knew she had failed. “Wrong? Look, Kerrie. I’ve just got to go out—”
“Then you’ve got to,” said Kerrie brightly, releasing him. “Don’t make such funny faces! Any one would think you were about to leave me forever. You wouldn’t desert your bride of an hour, would you, Mr. Queen?”