The Last Drive and Other Stories
- Автор: Стаут Рекс Тодхантер
- Год: 2015
- Язык: английский
- Год: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
- ISBN: 978-1-5040-1134-1
- Жанр: Классические детективы
Электронная книга - «The Last Drive and Other Stories». Краткое содержание книги:
A slight movement, a barely audible rustle, sounded within the room, then footsteps. A voice came:
“Is it you, Mother?”
“No. It is I... Sackerville.”
There was a startled exclamation quickly suppressed, and the door opened a little.
“What — what is it?” came a voice through the crack.
“I want to talk to you. I knew you would be awake. Will you come downstairs?”
“Oh... why... I... I can’t!”
“You must. Only a minute. I will be in the library.”
Without waiting for a reply, Sackerville turned and groped his way back through the hall to the stairs. He tiptoed silently down to the library, where he switched on the electric pedestal lamp, then went to the windows and drew the shades. He sat down on a chair, then got up again and began pacing silently up and down; he could hear his watch ticking in his pocket. He had a curious feeling, not exactly impatience; the minutes seemed to hang in the silent air. Then, hearing a noise at the door, he turned quickly.
“Ah,” he said, “I knew you would come.”
Melissa looked at him from the door. She wore a house-dress of pale green, caught at the throat with a silk cord and a girdle at the waist; and the soft dull glow of her hair seemed to melt into the dim light so that her face was a spot of intense whiteness in a somber frame. She was more beautiful than any vision could have been.
“And how — how did you know that?” she asked, between a whisper and a murmur.
Sackerville smiled. “Curiosity will do anything,” he said. “Won’t you come in so I can close the door? We mustn’t wake anyone.”
“But I am not sure I want to come in.”
“Yes, you do. Come.”
And as she took a step forward he went to the door and closed it noiselessly, then took her hand and led her to the divan in the windows.
“This is — I was never so imprudent in my life,” said Melissa. “What is it? What’s the matter with me? What do you want?”
“Just to talk with you.” Sackerville sat down beside her. “You are to be married tomorrow, so I won’t have another chance. I suppose this strikes you as — well — a little unconventional?”
“A little,” said Melissa with a smile. She looked at him. “Yes, it was curiosity. And you — you just wanted to see if I would come. Wasn’t that it? Well, I did, and now—”
She started to rise.
“No. Wait. I want to ask you a question first. Are you in love with Gowanton?”
Melissa sat down again, with a little startled exclamation, and turned eyes of amazement on him. It was an absurd, incredible question from a man she had barely met, a stranger; she must protest, she must assert her dignity... But his eyes were on hers, and they were certainly not impertinent...
“I am going to marry him,” was what she said.
“I know. That would be enough for most men, but not for me. Of course, you don’t love him. You are being married off, that’s all. That’s why I think I have a right— Do you remember the story I told last night of my friend the army officer? Well, that was me. It is your face that has haunted me for ten years. Only I didn’t know you were quite so beautiful. I’m not making love to you, I’m just telling you the facts. And since it will be too late tomorrow, won’t you do this for me? Won’t you talk with me frankly and honestly, like old friends, just for five minutes?”
“But this — no — I can’t believe—” said Melissa breathlessly.
“You must. You’re only a girl; you haven’t realized some things, their seriousness. I know you don’t love Gowanton. Of course, you don’t love me either; but I love you and I want you. As far as your promise is concerned, I don’t give a hang for it; that’s up to your mother. She’s arranged it; let her get out of it. It amounts to this, do you care for Gowanton more than you do for me? Of course, I’m a stranger; you don’t know me; but do you know him any better, really? Do you care for him even a little bit? Tell me.”
There was no reply. Melissa sat looking straight ahead, with her fingers playing nervously with the silken cord at her throat. Suddenly her head fell forward and she covered her face with her hands. There was a long silence. Sackerville could see her white neck curving under the pale green of her dress, and her great mass of hair like a cushion on her lap. The ticking of the clock could be heard from the hall, through the closed door. He sat without moving, waiting, for a long time; then he put out his hand and touched her shoulder. She shivered all over and sprang to her feet.
“That was exactly what was the matter with me,” she said slowly, in a trembling voice. “That was why — but I didn’t know it till tonight. And now it is too late.”
She glided to the door and opened it.
“No,” she said without turning her head, “no, I don’t love him.”
She disappeared in the darkness.
Here is a scene of activity; seven or eight servants running around, preparing everything from a hot iron to a wedding breakfast; six bridesmaids dodging in and out of every conceivable sort of errands, or none at all; Mrs. Beach holding on to her daughter by a long something and yelling frantically for pins; Andrew Beach roaming around the halls in a cloud of cigar smoke swearing under his breath and looking at his watch every two minutes. And it still lacked an hour and a quarter till noon, which was the time set for the wedding at the church twelve blocks away.
Andrew Beach was just seating himself on the porch in the vain hope of escaping from the turmoil for a few minutes when his friend Sackerville appeared from somewhere and said calmly:
“I’ve just telephoned Gowanton that you want to speak to him. He’s coming right over. It would be best to take him up to my room, out of the way.”
“What are you talking about?” demanded the grocer, leaping to his feet. “Are you crazy, too? I don’t want to see Gowanton. What’s he coming here for?”
“No, but I do,” replied Sackerville. “Take it easy, Andy. I’ll explain to you shortly. There’s something I want to say to you and Gowanton together. He’ll probably come in his car; he ought to be here— There he comes now!”
A big gray limousine had appeared down the street, and soon it drew up at the front curb to deposit Mr. John Gowanton, redder than ever, on the brick walk. He looked stiffer than usual, too, but that was merely the effect of his very new clothes.
“What is it, what is it?” he puffed, ascending the porch. “Good morning, Mr. Beach, Mr. Sackerville. Is there anything the matter— Melissa—”
Andrew Beach was flustered himself, but he managed to follow Sackerville’s instructions and lead the way upstairs to the guest-room. They met three or four servants and a bridesmaid or two in the halls, but no one noticed the bridegroom’s presence. Sackerville placed chairs for Mr. Beach and Mr. Gowanton, then seated himself on the edge of the bed.
“But what is it? What’s the matter?” repeated Gowanton, who was beginning to be alarmed by all this mystery. He looked at Beach, who in turn looked at Sackerville; and Sackerville got up from the bed and walked to the window, where he stood with his back to the others looking out on the lawn with its great shade trees, while Gowanton kept saying over and over, “What’s the matter, Mr. Beach? What is it?” And the grocer shook his head confusedly, wondering what on earth his guest was up to.
“Look here,” said Sackerville, turning suddenly, “I’ve been hesitating. I’ve thought perhaps — but it has to be done this way.”
He went over and stood in front of Gowanton, close to his chair.
“I sent for you,” he said in a sharper tone. “Beach had nothing to do with it. I sent for you to tell you that you can’t marry Melissa.”
The grocer’s cigar dropped to the floor. There was a swift silence, then Gowanton’s falsetto laugh sounded nervously in the room.