She led him across the room.
“It’s a go then,” he said. “I’m going to be able to think of you spending one quiet evening at home?”
“Of course you can think of me that way.”
“You won’t let something steal you?”
“I won’t be kidnapped.”
He made an odd gesture that Kildare never forgot, extending his hand a little past her, as though he were trying to keep some danger away. When he spoke, it was only for her, but the natural bigness of his voice carried the words in a murmur across the room.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Every time I’m with you lately I feel that I’ll never see you again.”
“Charles! Don’t say such a thing!” whispered the girl.
“I shouldn’t say it. Forgive me, Nancy,” said the murmuring, deep voice.
Kildare turned his head sharply and looked out the window. It was true that he was in the house as a physician to make inquiry into the state of a patient, but now he felt like an eavesdropper. It was as though he had peeped through a keyhole and seen big Charles Herron weeping, unmanned.
Herron went out hastily. The girl, starting to go down with him, changed her mind. She stood for a moment at the open door hesitant, fighting out a quick, earnest battle in her mind. It was as though she were tempted to hurry after Herron and say something more. Kildare felt the eyes of big Messenger fixed upon him, urging him, in the silence, to consider this moment as a piece of important psychological evidence. As a matter of fact he could add up a number of interesting items, but the chief of all was that Nancy Messenger loved Herron no matter how she allowed her way of living to displease him.
“I’m going up to change for dinner,” said Nancy, and went out with her head still thoughtfully bent. The door closed behind her soundlessly, as though she were in fear of making a noise.
CHAPTER SIX
To Kildare, lost in thought, the voice of Messenger came eagerly, saying: “How does it seem to you, Kildare?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” answered Kildare, frowning at the fire.
“It’s a puzzle, of course,” said Messenger, “but I hoped that you might arrive at something about Nancy. You’ve seen the two largest factors in her life—her past in me, her present and future in Herron. Doesn’t some light fall on the problem?”
“Light? There’s too much light,” said Kildare. “There’s enough of it to blind me. The sort of light that shows one the solution in a psychological case like this is usually a single ray, not a whole flood.”
“For a man in doubt, you’re saying a great deal. You’re calling it a psychological case at once. You’re dismissing the possibility that her sudden change in the way of living is simply a natural desire to see a great deal of the world before she settles down in marriage.”
“Yes, I’m dismissing that possibility,” said Kildare gloomily.
“Will you give me some of the reasons?”
“You know most of them. Herron is one.”
“Charles Herron?”
“A man in love doesn’t see things with ordinary eyes, and what he sees in her frightens him badly. He can’t live without her; but he’s afraid that he’ll have to try to before long.”
“You’ve only had a glimpse of them,” said Messenger curiously, “but you think it’s a grand passion?”
“I think it is,” said Kildare.
“At least,” said Messenger, “you have the advantage of a quiet evening’s talk with her, because she’ll be staying home tonight.”
“I don’t think so,” said Kildare, shaking his head.
“My dear fellow,” said Messenger, “you heard Herron directly ask her to stay in, didn’t you? You’ve already told me how much they mean to one another. No matter how headstrong she may be, she couldn’t disregard as direct and strong a request as this.”
“Nevertheless, I think she will.”
“That’s impossible—if she loves Herron.”
“I think she’ll do anything rather than spend a single evening in this house.”
“You can’t be sure of that!” declared Messenger.
“I wish I were never less sure of anything,” answered the intern.
“Do you think there’s some profound reaction against her home? Might it be a revulsion against me?”
“I hope not. I don’t know.”
Messenger put up his hand and dragged it slowly down over his face.
“Let’s get it down to words of one syllable: You think that Nancy will leave the house this evening?”
“She will,” said Kildare. “And when she goes, you must try to hitch me to her.”
“She can’t leave. She had Herron’s very strong injunct against it. She’s promised. She knows that Herron is not a fellow whose wish can be bandied about lightly.”
“No. She doesn’t take him lightly,” agreed Kildare. “But she has to go.”
“But where? Into the nonsense of the night clubs again? What do they mean to her?”
“Nothing, probably.”
“Then why in God’s name should she go to them? Doctor Kildare, I’m trying to understand you.”
“I’m trying to understand myself,” said Kildare. “But there’s only a vague light to see by. In a case like this, there’s no use straining the eyes. A glimpse will probably tell more than a microscope. We have to wait for some accidental clue—perhaps something she says; perhaps not the words, but the way she speaks them. It may be something as small as a colour she likes or shrinks from. Detectives and their crimes—they have an easy time of it—they have a bloodstain—or a body—or a weapon; they have motives printed large enough to serve as headlines. But a case like this—why, she probably doesn’t know what drives her to act as she’s acting now. If I dared to ask her direct questions, I doubt that she’d be able to give me the answers even if she wanted to.”
The door was pulled open and Nancy stood on the threshold in a fur jacket over a taffeta dress with a widely flaring skirt. A double round of big pearls shimmered at her throat.
“Hello and good-bye! I’ve had a call!” she cried, waving to them.
“Wait a minute! Nancy!” exclaimed the father as the door began to close again.
“Yes?” she called, looking back for an instant. “Take John Stevens along with you.”
“Oh, I’d be glad to. But it’s not my party. It’s Harry Wendell…”
“Wendell? You can’t go out with people like the Wendells, my dear!”
“Oh, yes. In this country I can,” she answered, laughing a little.
“Very well. But add John Stevens to the Wendell party…Sorry to let you mix with such a crowd of bounders, but go along, John. It will be better than glooming through an evening alone with me. Be nice to him, Nancy. He’s worth an effort—if you’re really going out. You haven’t forgotten what Herron said, have you?”
“Charles?” She winced. It was almost a shudder, and her eyes closed. Then she said briskly: “Shall we be starting on? We’re late, Mr. Stevens.”
Messenger, following on to the door, stuffed into the coat pocket of Kildare a stiff sheaf of money; then the two of them were hurrying down the hall, Nancy saying with an unhappy attempt at lightness: “I don’t need to worry about Charles Herron, do I? When a lawyer expects to be taken seriously, he sends a court order or a summons, doesn’t he?”
She was stating a theory, not asking a question, so Kildare did not have to answer.
However, he said: “Lawyers are always dealing with facts; overt acts mean a lot to them, don’t they?”
She stopped short. She had been hard-hit by his remark, but after an instant she shrugged it off and went on.