"Fran!"
"Why not? He must be on the track of why I'm hanging around here. He must know by now. He's too smart not to see my motive sticking out like a sore thumb. Oh, he's caught on. I hope he hasn't caught on to you. He's quick too. No sooner did he realize that the
police knew a fuse had blown . . . Althea's snuffed out. Quick. Neat. No fuss, no bother. Althea was quietly assisted to her grave, all right. And no nasty little loose ends this time, either."
"But you think—you're sure he did it?"
"He did it." Francis dropped his hands. His voice was sick. "But I can't prove it. There's no proof at all. And if he knows now what I'm after, I expect he'll arrange to deal with me."
"You're different," said Jane sharply. "You're no girl."
"True," said Francis. "True. Just the same, if anything does go wrong—"
"Oh, Fran!" Jane shivered.
"Remember Grandy's back-door caller?"
"Do you mean Press, the garbage man?"
“Yes.”
"Why?"
"Because," said Francis thoughtfully, "he comes to the back door. And I'm young and strong."
"I'll remember," said Jane. "But what are you going to do?"
"See here. No matter what happens, don't let anything make you admit you're ... on my side. Mind that, Jane. Promise. Never mind, I've got a better idea. You go home. Resign, Nobody would blame you."
"But what are you going to do?"
“I'll try a bluff."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll insist I've got a witness to what Althea told me. I'll spread out the whole case against him. Pretend it's complete. Maybe I can bluff him. I've got to try. If I could only catch him off guard. Let him make one slip of that tongue! Don't you see, Jane, it could add
just enough— You be in there and we—" He broke off.
"I'm not going home," said Jane. "You see, you need me."
"But how am I going to protect you? How can I protect Mathilda?"
"Mathilda?"
He was impatient. Couldn't she see Mathilda was in the most dreadful danger? Couldn't she realize, as he did so clearly, that some one of these days that proud head, those long lovely legs, the exciting green eyes, the whole lovely, bewildered girl, could die? If the old man took a notion—
"Yes, damn it, of courser he cried. "Look, he's got to get rid of her someday. How am I going to be sure she's safe? She thinks the world of him. She'd do anything he asked, any time. Won't stop to think, because she's clinging to him now. Because she's got to believe in something! And, dear God, how can she believe in me? It's driving me"—he calmed down—"a bit wild," he confessed.
"But he wouldn't dare!"
"Jane, he's more dangerous than you know. He's what Rosaleen said. Perfectly selfish. There's nothing to make him hesitate."
"Can't we go to the police now?"
"Yes, try it. Maybe Gahagen will listen. I wish we had the cold proof. Jane, Grandy'll talk himself out of what we've got. My word's going to be less than enough, after the lies I've told. I don't see how Gahagen can listen."
Jane looked at his face and nearly wept
"Unless— After all, he's guilty," said Francis. "And he's got guilt in his mind and a mixture of lies and truth to remember. He could slip. Its the only thing I can see to try. Attack. With all I've got. Bluff him down. So," he said rather softly, “I'll try . . . one more
legal way."
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe you'll have to go outside the law to get the devil."
"Fran!"
"Sh-h."
Grandy was coming up the stairs. They slipped Jane's door tightly shut and stood without breathing.
If he was coming in here— If he were to find them whispering together—
Luther Grandison was near a violent death just then, as he walked placidly past the door where it was waiting and went into Mathilda's room instead.
Chapter Nineteen
Nor did he know that Francis went like a cat out Jane's window to the kitchen-porch roof and that he clung, tooth and nail, in the angle the house made there outside Mathilda's window or that he watched, one foot on the sill, cheek on the house wall, fingers wound in a vine. Grandy didn't know. Francis couldn't hear. Through the glass he tried to read across the dim room those thin, mobile lips through which the voice was pouring.
"Resting, darling?"
"I'm awake."
"Poor Tyl. Poor sweet Tyl."
"Oh, Grandy."
"Hush, don't cry." Grandy sat down, heavy and sad. "You're all right, Tyl?"
His anxiety pricked her like the tip of a knife he was trying out. "Of course " she said.
"Because it frightens me. I'm afraid."
"Don't be afraid, Grandy. I'm all right." She sat up. "You're thinking of what Francis said this morning?"
"I can't help thinking. There's that old, old, ancient rule of three. It frightens me."
Tyl's pulse began to pound in her throat
"Make me a promise, sweetheart," Grandy said.
"Of course."
"Promise you'll come straight to me if you feel—if you have any feelings at all that you can't cope with or bear. Promise, Tyl?"
"Yes, Grandy."
"There's a pressure in my house. You can't see it, of course. You can't hear it. Five senses don't betray it to you, but you feel it all the same. I was afraid of it before. It's death, I think. Not our familiar death that comes on schedule for the old or the sick. This is Death, the fascinator. The Death that's like a dark lover. Don't you see, duck? If it got Althea, it was because it got her unaware. She didn't know. She hadn't been warned. There's an attraction, a dreadful pull. Have you never stood on the edge of a steep drop, Tyl, and felt the urge to go over?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Grandy."
"It's similar, similar. Pressure. Pull. What difference? Something wants you to go over and be done with everything. Francis was so right, duckling, to be afraid."
Tyl tightened her hands on the coverlet. She had been lying on top of the bed, still dressed. Now she sat up, tense, not resting her back against the headboard. The light was dim. Grandy's face was in darkness. His voice was vibrant. She could feel the vibrations
in her breast.
"You mustn't worry about me," she said as stoutly as she could. "Please, Grandy. I do love you so. And I'm all right."
"Bless you."
"Grandy," she whispered, "if you're frightened, it scares me more than anything. Don't talk any more. Not about that."
She reached across. She thought he glanced at her, although she couldn't be sure, since his head didn't move in the dusk. Her fingers found the chain and she pulled on her light near the bed. "Let's talk about something else." She sent her voice high and gay. "Please,
Grandy. Darling, I brought you a present and you haven't even seen it. I nearly forgot"
It took all the strength she had to be so gay. It took all the courage she could find to try to change the mood for him, as he had so often done for her.
"A present?" he said. His effort was obvious. But he understood and he would play. He would try to be cheerful. "A present for me!"
She slid off the bed and ran to her dresser. The bag of Dutch chocolates was in the drawer. Grandy took it in his hands. He bowed his head. For a dreadful moment she thought he was going to weep. But he did not He opened the bag gleefully. He took a