Weakly he moved to the wall. He leaned against it and covered his eyes, vaguely conscious that Lynda was being bound, lifted, carried out.
Suddenly a shot crashed in another part of the house. Regan stood very still, his eyes intent, and then he seemed to crumple.
“What was that?” Peter asked.
“George. He must have figured it — I forgot to take his gun away from him.”
They had taken Annaly into the next bedroom. As Regan went slowly downstairs, Peter went in to look at Annaly.
She looked up at Peter with a sort of dull anger. “You were going to pay them!” she said. “You were going to turn me into a... a drudge!”
He tried to smile. “I won’t have to, now.”
She looked confused. Her face brightened. She was the small girl who had been given back the ice cream cone. “Come kiss me, darling,” she said.
“Were you frightened?” he asked.
“She wouldn’t really have hurt me, Peter. Not really,” she said confidently.
Peter looked at her and he suddenly saw her for the first time. A small beautiful, desirable girl, with the mind of a petulant child. Not a partner — but someone to be cared for, looked after.
As from a great distance, he heard his own voice saying, “Annaly, I hope that some day you will grow up. And I hope that when you do, you will meet someone who will appreciate you.”
As he left the room he heard her call plaintively. But he didn’t go back. He knew that she would soon get over the damage to her pride, just as he knew that life would never actually touch her...
It was after nine before all the statements had dictated, typed and signed and before Chief Daniels felt willing to release them. Peter watched Annaly, seeing in her eyes the bright interest of one who attends an interesting movie. He wondered why he hadn’t understood her before. Maybe that Cowl fellow would be willing to shoulder the burden of a child wife.
He wrote a three hundred dollar check for Regan and thanked him. Regan smiled thinly at the check and tucked it away, made no answer.
Robina left first. Peter was released a few minutes later. He hurried out, looked up the dark street in disappointment.
Then he slowed his steps, began to walk wearily home.
He walked near the big elms, his shadow revolving across the dark lawns as he passed the street lights.
“Hello, hero,” the soft voice said.
He stopped and turned. She leaned against one of the huge trees, her cigarette a glowing red dot in the velvet night.
He held her wrists tightly, the cigarette making a tiny shower of sparks as it dropped into the grass. She had a woman’s lips, a woman’s body, a woman’s strength.
There would be plenty of time later on to tell her how he had been wrong about Annaly, how it had been her all the time.
Plenty of time later.
Not right now.
Because, at the moment, Peter B. Hume, attorney at law, was kissing his secretary, and in some silent and mysterious way, they were telling each other all manner of things that could never be expressed in words.
