Читать книгу The Lady is Dead - Patrick Laing - Страница 7

Deirdre and I walked home from the little theater building in sober silence. When we were almost there, she spoke for the first time since we had left the auditorium.

“Dr. Fordyce shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

“No,” I agreed, “it was the wrong move to make. Regardless of how much he disapproved of Mark’s taking part in the play, he should never have humiliated the boy in public.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Deirdre explained. “I was thinking of Professor Barto. When he saw that Mark was going to obey his father, his expression became terrible—almost murderous.”

“That’s the second man you’ve described tonight as having murder in his eye,” I reminded her lightly.

“I know,” she admitted. “But this time I mean it literally. It was as if some intense, burning hatred that he’d kept buried deep inside of him for a long time had suddenly broken through to the surface. Paddy, do you mind if we take a turn or two around the block before going into the house? I feel as if I need to walk to get the memory of him out of my mind.”

For perhaps ten or fifteen minutes more, we continued to walk through the quiet night before turning in at our own walk. As we were mounting the steps of the porch, there came to us the sound of muffled sobbing. It seemed to originate in the direction of the swing.

“What in the world—?” Deirdre began wonderingly. “Why, it’s Lee!” She released my arm and ran forward. “What’s the matter, honey?”

Lee choked on a final sob. “Derry, it’s all my fault!” she gulped. “I had to talk to somebody about it, so I came here and waited for you and Pat to come home.”

“What’s all your fault?” Deirdre asked, uncomprehending. “Lee, what are you talking about?”

“What happened back there at the theater.” The sobs threatened to set in again. “I was the one who told Dr. Fordyce about Mark’s being in the play!”

Deirdre led her into the house. “Sit here in this big chair and tell me all about it,” she directed soothingly. “Or do you want me to send Paddy away first?”

“No, let him stay,” Lee managed between sniffles. “Maybe he’ll be able to think of some way I can patch things up—if they can be patched up,” she added doubtfully.

She told us her story then. It began with her chancing to encounter Dr. Fordyce as she was on her way back from classes to the women’s dormitory that afternoon.

“He said that he hadn’t seen me around with Mark lately,” she went on, “and he asked whether we’d had some sort of misunderstanding. I couldn’t tell him it was all on account of That Woman, it would have sounded too childish; so I told him I supposed Mark had been too busy learning his part in the play to see much of anybody. I’d no idea he didn’t already know about that.”

“What did he say?” Deirdre asked.

“He didn’t say anything at first,” Lee replied. “I thought he looked at me rather strangely; only I supposed it was because he’d guessed I hadn’t told him the exact truth about Mark and me. Then he asked me when the play was to be presented. I told him tomorrow night, and that the dress rehearsal was tonight. Even then I never suspected . . .”

“Of course you didn’t!” Deirdre exclaimed comfortingly. “You’re blaming yourself for something that was in no way your fault. Besides, maybe it all happened for the best. Dr. Fordyce was bound to find out sooner or later, and it would have been much worse if he had found out tomorrow night, and had made that scene during the actual performance. Now dry your eyes while I fix you a nice cup of tea.” She hurried out of the room.

“Whether I was actually to blame or not,” Lee said to me while we waited for Deirdre to return, “it was my cowardice in not telling Dr. Fordyce the truth this afternoon that caused all the trouble; and now I’m afraid Mark will think I did it on purpose, and he’ll never forgive me for it. Do you suppose I ought to go over there, Pat, and try to explain?”

“No, Lee,” I told her. “At least not tonight. There’s nothing you or anyone could say that would help matters just now. Give Mark and his father time for a cooling off period; then offer your explanation. If Mark holds you responsible after that, he’ll be less fair-minded than I think he is.”

A minute or so later, Deirdre returned with the tea.

“Drink this and it’ll make you feel better,” she said to Lee. “Then after you’ve washed your face and powdered your nose, Paddy and I will walk you back to the dormitory.”

It was ten minutes to eleven before the three of us finally left the house together; and since all women students living at the university dormitory were required to be in by eleven o’clock unless they had been granted a special late permission, we took the short cut across campus in order that Lee might get back in time. We were hurrying along the path that led between College Hall and the Fine Arts Building when the girl suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, and I heard her catch her breath with what sounded like painful sharpness.

“What’s the matter, Lee?” I asked. “Are Derry and I walking too fast for you?”

“No,” she answered, and her voice trembled a little, “it isn’t that. It’s up ahead there—Mark and That Woman! I can’t pass them!”

“You can and you’re going to,” Deirdre said firmly. “This is no time to back down before either one of them. Do you want to act like a coward and make Mark think you really did know what you were doing when you told his father about his being in the play? Anyway,” she added as Lee continued to hesitate, “it’s dark where they’re standing. We can pretend we didn’t recognize them and pass without speaking unless Mark speaks to us first.”

This suggested compromise worked, and we proceeded along the path in a somewhat grim silence.

We passed the place where Mark and his companion were standing without a word being spoken on either side. There was no way, of course, of being sure whether they had recognized us or not. But I suspected that they had, for as we came abreast of them, I received the impression that they drew farther back against the building beside which they were standing, while their eyes watched us anxiously; fearful, perhaps, that Deirdre or Lee would give some sign of recognition.

I was also conscious of one other thing. The woman was wearing a heavy perfume, a heady, unusual scent there could be no mistaking. It was the same perfume that had been worn by the woman who had been in Barto’s office when I had gone there that morning three weeks before.

After we had left Lee at the dormitory, I mentioned this matter of the perfume to Deirdre. “Of course,” I finished, “I realize there may be absolutely no connection between the two. Probably hundreds of women use that same perfume.”

Somewhat to my surprise, Deirdre disagreed with me. “Not that perfume,” she replied. “It’s too heavy for the discriminating woman unless she happens to be a very unusual type, and too expensive for the other kind.”

“Was the woman you saw talking to Mark this evening a very unusual type?” I asked.

She considered a moment before she answered; then, “Not in the way I meant,” she said finally. “If you want my opinion, Paddy, she didn’t buy that perfume for herself, but some man bought it for her.”

“Mark?”

“Hardly. He’s too young and inexperienced to have selected that particular scent. More likely it was an older man—Professor Barto, for instance.”

There are times when Deirdre’s understanding of masculine nature positively amazes me.

“You’re assuming, then, that she was the woman who was in Barto’s office?” I inquired.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” she admitted. “It would be too much of a coincidence otherwise. Paddy, what do you suppose it all means?”

“Probably only that she’s someone Mark met through Barto, and became infatuated with,” I replied. “So even if the two women are one and the same, there’s nothing in the least unusual or mysterious about the circumstance.”

But again Deirdre disagreed with me, and this time I was given an example of her understanding of feminine nature.

“I’m afraid there is,” she said soberly. “If this woman were a close enough friend of Professor Barto’s for him to buy her expensive presents like that—and that perfume did smell terribly expensive—she wouldn’t run the risk of endangering that friendship by encouraging Mark. And if she isn’t a close friend of Barto’s . . .”

“And if she isn’t . . .?” I prompted when she didn’t go on.

“I’m not sure,” she replied. “Maybe I’m entirely wrong, but I’ve a suspicion Professor Barto gave her that perfume, and probably other expensive presents as well, as a bribe to get her deliberately to encourage Mark. Oh, I’ve no reason for thinking so, I know; and even if I did have, it still wouldn’t make sense. What reason would he have for doing a thing like that in the first place? What could he hope to gain by it?”

“For that matter,” I observed, smiling a little at the lengths to which her active imagination had already carried her, “what reason have we to assume that Barto did give her the perfume? Remember, that part was only a supposition to begin with.”

“Yes, I know,” she admitted. “But somehow I can’t get over the feeling that there’s more behind all this than appears on the surface; that it’s all part of some crazy plot that would make a lot of sense if we only knew how to look at it. Ever since we left the theater building tonight, I’ve had a queer Irish hunch that what happened back there, instead of being the climax of the situation, was really only the beginning; that ever since it happened—perhaps even long before—certain forces have been gathering that will very shortly come to a head.”

They did come to a head even sooner than she had expected, and in a way more horrible than either of us could have foreseen. That night Dr. Fordyce’s laboratory, as well as all that was in it, was completely destroyed by fire.