“Are you Mr. Jensen?” she said politely.
“That’s right,” he replied. “I am.”
“You wanted to see me about something?”
“That’s right. I do.”
But he seemed to be in no hurry about it, now that he had been admitted. His dark eyes traveled again around the room, from books to projector to globe to Madelaine. The second excursion had the effect of increasing his anger and the ferocity of his expression. There was something besides anger in his eyes, however, and she thought that it was pain.
“Won’t you sit down?” she said.
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I’d better.”
“Why not?”
“Because I won’t be welcome here when you’ve heard what I’ve got to say.”
“We won’t know that until you’ve said it, will we?”
“You’ll see. You won’t like it. You’ll throw me out.”
“Nonsense. I don’t believe I could manage it even if I wanted to. You appear to be quite a strong young man.”
“I didn’t mean literally. I meant you’ll make me go.”
“Well, I assume that you didn’t come with the intention of staying forever. Please tell me whatever it is you want to tell. And please sit down. It makes me uncomfortable to see you standing there like that.”
He moved slowly, in a kind of sequence of jerks, to the chair she indicated and sat down, conveying in doing so the impression of a sullen boy obeying a command reluctantly under threat of punishment.
Once seated, he did not know what to do with his hands, which were for a moment a disturbing problem. Finally he disposed of them by folding them into fists and laying them on his knees.
“It’s about Professor Cannon and Maggie McCall,” he said.
“Maggie McCall?”
“That’s her name. She’s a girl goes to school here. She’s in the professor’s trig class.”
“I don’t believe I know her.” Madelaine’s manner turned stiff and wary.
“Well, it isn’t likely he’d have introduced you. They’re having an affair.”
“My husband and one of his students? Are you quite sure?”
She did not appear to be shocked or angry, and he was shrewd enough to observe that the information was not something she immediately discounted as absurd, or even unlikely.
Buddy deduced from this that the professor was not a first offender, which was no surprise, for the slick bastard was exactly the kind of guy who would have women lying down for him all over the place. Not that Buddy resented this on moral grounds. He had, indeed, no more morals himself than a Tom cat. What he resented with despair and fury was that Maggie had been his girl and had been stolen from him. And he wanted her back.
He missed her and wanted her, and there was nothing he would not do, however shameful, to make her return to him or to make her sorry if she didn’t
“Are you sure you’re not imagining this?” Madelaine queried, watching him sharply.
“Sure enough. She was my girl, and now she’s not, and he’s to blame.”
“Are you the one who fought with him and gave him a beating?”
“Yes, I am.”
“For this reason?”
“That’s right.”
“I wondered what had happened. He refused to say.”
“Now you know. I beat him up, but it didn’t do any good. It only made things worse. That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re obviously disturbed. People often exaggerate things when they are in such a state.”
“Look. Don’t treat me like a damn kid or some kind of nut. I know what’s been going on between them. I thought maybe you’d like to know, too, so you could do something about it before somebody gets hurt. I guess you don’t though. I guess you don’t care what he does or whose girl he steals. Excuse me for bothering you. I’d better get the hell out of here.”
“Oh, sit down. Please don’t be so belligerent. And I’d rather you didn’t swear at me. Of course I care. If you can convince me that you’re telling the truth, I’ll certainly do something about it.”
Buddy had begun to rise, but now he settled back into the chair, flexing his blunt fingers and folding them into fists again on his knees.
“Why should I try to convince you of anything? You can believe me or not, just as you please.”
“Why should I believe you, when it comes to that? I have no doubt that you would tell any lie that suited your purpose.”
“That’s right. I would.”
“Could you prove a single word of what you’ve told me?” she asked.
“He’s been picking her up in his car at different places, and I can tell you where and when exactly. He’s been in her apartment, and I can tell you when he went and when he left.”
“That’s not proof. Only your word again. But never mind. I believe you.”
“That’s good of you. Thanks.”
“Tell me something.” Madelaine looked at him curiously, sensing more strongly than ever his dark potential for violence. “If I should decide to do nothing about this, what would you do?”
“I don’t know. I might kill her. I might kill him, too.”
“Yes, I think you might.” She stood up and smiled at him in a friendly way, as if she were preparing to say good-by to the most ordinary visitor. “Thank you for coming to see me, Mr. Jensen. I’ll call Wanda to show you out.”
“Don’t bother. I can get out by myself.” He walked to the door, pausing there for several moments in a position of peculiar rigidity. Then he turned his head and looked back. “You’ve been good about it,” he said. “You didn’t throw a stinking fit or toss me out or anything like that. It’s too bad you have to be married to a son of a bitch like old Cannon.”
He went on out, and after waiting by the desk until she had heard the front door close after him, Madelaine walked into the hall and called for Wanda. She returned to the desk after that and sat down and waited for Wanda to come.
“When my husband gets home,” she said, “tell him that I would like to see him. I’ll still be here in the library.”
“Yes, Mrs. Cannon.”
Alone again, Madelaine picked up her pen and continued writing checks for the accounts. Then she wrote two letters that she had owed for some time to friends. She was just finishing the second letter when Brad entered the house and, seconds later, the library.
“Hello, Maddy,” he said. “Wanda told me you want to see me.”
“Yes.” She sealed the envelope of the second letter and placed it neatly on top of the first. “I had a visitor this afternoon.”
“Really, Maddy, what’s so urgent about telling me that? Visitors are certainly not unusual in this house.”
“This one was. He was very unusual.”
“That’s nice. Someone I know?”
“Possibly. I’m not sure. And it wasn’t nice. The visit wasn’t nice, and the visitor wasn’t nice. Both were exceptionally unpleasant.”
“What are you trying to say? Who was this mysterious visitor?”
“A young man.”
“What young man?” Brad asked, his curiosity aroused.
“I don’t think I’ll tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you might make things difficult for him if I did.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! Are you trying deliberately to be obscure?”
“On the contrary, I mean to be absolutely clear. Perhaps you should sit down.”
He did, laying on the floor beside his chair the briefcase he had carried into the room. He knew, of course, that something was wrong, and he had a notion, directed by guilt, of what it was. But he still couldn’t believe that she had learned about Maggie. They had been so careful, and possibly, after all, it would turn out in the next minute to be something else of less consequence.