The innocent Mrs Duff

by Elisabeth Sanxay Holding

  He had left behind him all that wretched life of empty bottles, of fearsome bags, all that confusion and suffering. He was free now, a man of dignity and independence. It’s possible, he thought, in fact, it’s very likely that I’ll never see Reggie again after tonight. I certainly shan’t allow her to come back to the house where my son is.

  He was not nervous, not impatient. He kept track of the time, and when the moment came to go, he rose. The pint bottle of whiskey was half-empty, and he decided to leave it, and buy a new one. It was a splendid symbol of his new freedom that he could do this, simply walk off and leave a bottle here; no more of that hiding, locking bags and doors.

  He got into the train for Driftwood Beach. It was almost empty at this hour and this time of the year, but it was possible that the conductor or some of the passengers might recognize him. Let them. Let them observe how very grave he was, a man upon a stern errand.

  I had received information, from a source I don’t care to divulge, that my wife had arranged to meet her lover in my house at the beach. I went there, with the intention of either proving or disproving the rumors I had heard. But no, he thought. No, A gentleman wouldn’t admit that.

  He envisaged himself standing before a judge and jury, and speaking, gravely and sternly. Mr. Duff, said the judge, or a lawyer, or someone: up to this time, had your marriage been a happy one?

  A. My marriage was at no time a happy one.

  Q. You mean that there were frequent quarrels?

  A. There were no quarrels.

  Q. In what way was your marriage unhappy, Mr. Duff?

  A. I prefer not to answer that question.

  Q. Were your marital relations with your wife normal and satisfactory?

  A. (reluctantly) We had not lived together as man and wife for some months.

  Driftwood Beach! Driftwood Beach! called the conductor, and Duff opened his eyes. Automatically he looked up at the rack for that bag, and again sighed with relief to realize it was gone.

  When he got out at the dim and quiet little station there was a wind blowing from the sea, cool and salt, a tonic for the spirits. He walked leisurely across the road to the filling-station and into the brightly-lit room with a lunch counter. A man in shirtsleeves sat there, reading a newspaper.

  “Yes?” he said, looking up.

  “I’d like to rent a car for a couple of hours,” said Duff.

  “Couldn’t do it,” said the man, a young man with a broad turned-up nose.

  “My name is Duff,” said Duff.

  “Well, I can’t help what your name is,” said the other. “We don’t rent cars no more.”

  “Where’s the owner of this place?”

  “Home.”

  “Get him on the telephone. He knows me.”

  “Hasn’t got a telephone.”

  “See here!” said Duff. “I own a cottage here, and I want to drive out there to see about something.”

  “You could get a taxi.”

  “I want a car to drive myself.”

  “We don’t rent them out no more.”

  “Look here! I told you my name was Duff. Jacob Duff. I’m a property owner here. Everyone knows me.”

  “Well, I don’t,” said the young man. “You could get a taxi.”

  “Look here! I want to hire a car for a couple of hours. I’ve got the money to pay a proper deposit and I’ve got gas coupons. I’m a responsible person; anyone here will vouch for me—”

  “Well, I don’t see why you’d want a car,” said the young man. “A taxi—”

  “I’m not accustomed to being questioned,” said Duff.

  “Ain’t that a shame?” said the young man, tilting back in his chair.

  Damn scum! thought Duff, struggling with his rising fury. But he could not afford to be angry; the time was getting short.

  “Look here!” he said. “I’ll buy one of your damn cars, and sell it back to you in a couple of hours.”

  “Couldn’t do it. You got no priority.”

  “If you know anyone who’ll rent me a car for two hours,” said Duff, “I’ll pay you a commission. Twenty-five dollars.” He saw no interest in the other’s face. “Fifty dollars,” he said.

  “You must want it bad,” sad the other.

  “Oh, go to hell!” cried Duff. “I’ll borrow a car—from the druggist —the grocer, someone.”

  “You go to hell yourself,” said the other. But he was wavering. “You got the cash to pay?”

  “I’ll give you a check. That’s good enough.”

  “Says you.”

  The effort to control his rage had given Duff a sharp headache. His hands were beginning to tremble, all that precious composure was going, all of it. The details were so laborious and painful. Better to give it up …?

  “If Mr. Hilley will okay your check,” said the other, “I’ll leave you take my own car.”

  “All right. Get Mr. Hilley.”

  “I can’t leave here. You go see him.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Thought you knew everybody here.”

  “I don’t remember the names of the local people.”

  “Well, he’s the druggist, on the opposite corner. You go see him, and he could give me a ring.”

  The whole thing had started again, the shaking, the nausea, the intolerable tension. Duff walked round to the side of the filling-station, and, in a dark spot, took the new pint bottle he had bought out of his pocket.

  But he put it back again. If I smell of whiskey, he thought, maybe that fellow won’t let me take his car. I’ve got to truckle to him. But this Summer, when we come down here to stay, I’ll see that he gets what’s coming to him. And a little over.

  There was small comfort in that. He wanted direct action now. I want to knock him out of that chair, he thought. I want to teach him a lesson. But he had to forego that; he had to fight down his fury, and sickness, and walk quietly across the road.

  Mr. Hilley, the druggist, was soothing. His pleasant, sheeplike face was not familiar to Duff, who was not in the habit of observing people carefully, but he knew Mr. Duff, and greatly admired him. He telephoned at once to the man in the filling-station.

  “So you’re worrying about Mr. Duff’s check?” he said. “That’s a good one! Why, Elmer, Mr. Duff’s check’s as good as United States greenbacks. Mr. Duff’s been coming down here Summers for five, six years and he’s—What say? Certainly! Any amount.”

  Duff had to go back to that Elmer, had to pay him, had to take his car. It made him sick. God! What a world we live in! he said to himself. When a reputable citizen like myself has to truckle to a fellow like that…

  It was a cheap, shabby little sedan, a make he had never driven before. And now he was nervous about his driving. He had not driven himself for a long time, and it seemed to him that his eyesight was not what it had been. The wheel was stiff, and his hands seemed curiously weak. He wanted a drink.

  He drove the car across the road and parked in the circular drive outside the railroad station. The wind blew steadily, and the village had a queer look, too empty. The thing is, he thought, would a drink make me better—or worse? He did not know the answer. It might make him better, it might make him sleepy, it might make him sick. He didn’t know. I’ll wait, he thought. Later on, if it gets too bad…

  And then Nolan went by, slowing up a little under the arc light; his arm came out, he raised two fingers in a V-sign, and Duff returned the signal.

  This is it. Duff said to himself. He looked at his watch, kept his eyes on it. Give Nolan ten minutes’ start. No more. Then I’ll follow. I’ll look in the window and see them lying there, and I’ll telephone the police. Then it will be over.

  The ten minutes went by, and he started the car. It’s a straight road all the way, he told himself, and very little traffic. Nothing to be nervous about. Except that it’s a stinking little car… But just drive straight ahead, and in a few moments it will all be over.

  It would not be over. Reggie could talk. Sh
e could tell about the old maniac. Let her. He would deny that he had ever set eyes on him, and there would be nothing against him but the word of a guilty, discredited wife.

  And if she told about the bogus telephone call? If Ferris produced the bogus letter? All right! Let them! Let them. If I’m forced to, I’ll admit I set a trap for them. When a man has good reason to believe that his wife is deceiving him, he’s completely justified—

  It was as if a light came on in his mind, a cold white glare. He did not believe that Reggie was deceiving him. If she was in that house with Ferris, it was only through a cruel trick. She had only to speak and everyone would believe her. Everyone.

  He could see her, standing before Aunt Lou.

  “I saw him kill that poor old man. He struck him down, and then, when he was struggling to get up, he held him and struck him again.

  “He hated me, but he would not let me go free. He forged my name to a letter. He gave Nolan a drug to make me helpless. He wanted to destroy me. He wanted to kill me.”

  The car swerved wildly, and nearly smashed into a tree. Duff shut off the engine and leaned forward, coughing. He was choking; he could not draw any air into his lungs. His neck swelled; there was a frightful pressure in the back of his head. O God… This is it…

  This is dying, he said. He tried to get the bottle out of his overcoat pocket, coughing, choking, shaking from head to foot. He got it out, and he could not unscrew the top. With those horrible, uncontrollable hands, he knocked the neck of the bottle against the window-frame, but too feebly. He tried again, and broke it; he took a swallow and coughed and threw it up. He took another swallow and he kept that down. He was still coughing, but between the spasms he could swallow.

  He leaned back, gasping, taking a sip from time to time. I’ve got to hurry, he thought. Got to get over this. Got to hurry.

  But he could not move, just yet. The budding trees rustled overhead, and he could hear the sea running up on the sands and draining back, with the labored sound of his own breathing.

  He drank, and waited; he drank, and waited. Then at last the thing that had seized him let go. With a great, loud sigh, he threw the broken bottle out of the window and started the car.

  How long had that thing, that attack lasted? Never mind. Go ahead, do the best you can. Heart attack? I don’t know. I feel very weak, very cold… It was a dreadful thing, whatever it was.

  He did not dare to drive fast, with his hands so weak and unsteady. But he got there. He stopped the car and got out; he started down the wooden steps to the beach. He could not hurry here; he had to go carefully, holding tight to the rail.

  When he got down to the beach, he was shocked to see no light anywhere. He had expected to look in at a lighted window. Why was the house dark? What were they doing in there?

  He took out his flashlight and turned it upon the sitting-room window. It was empty, the breakfast dishes still on the table. He moved on, close to the house, and turned the beam into the kitchen. There he was, face down on the floor, a fair-haired man with a white muffler round his neck. He was there, all right. The smell of gas came leaking out through the walls, strong and sickening, making Duff cough again.

  He smashed the window with the flashlight, and turned away. He ran to the steps and clattered up them, pulling himself along by the railing. He got back into the car and drove, steadily and fast, back to the village. He was sorry to see Mr. Hilley’s drugs-store closed and dark. The one bright spot… he said to himself. The one bright spot.

  Elmer was still sitting reading in the filling-station. He looked up.

  “For Crissake, what you done to yourself?” he cried.

  “What d’you mean?” Duff asked.

  “Your mouth’s all blood.”

  “That’s nothing,” said Duff. “I’ve got to telephone—quick—to the police.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Get me the police,” said Duff.

  “Here you are,” said Elmer presently, and Duff took up the receiver.

  “Police?” he said. “There’s been an accident in one of the houses on the beach. There’s a man lying on the kitchen floor unconscious. There’s a very strong smell of gas. I broke a window. I understand it’s Mr. Duff’s house.”

  “Where are you at now?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” said Duff.

  “What’s your name and address?”

  “I prefer not to give them,” said Duff, with simple dignity.

  Chapter 19

  The trip home was effortless. He got a train almost at once from the Vandenbrinck station; he had only a few minutes to wait in the Grand Central. An immeasurable stretch of time was going by, but he did not mind that. He was not exactly tired; he felt quiet, his thoughts were quiet.

  It’s out of my hands now, he thought, over and over. I’ve done all I can, and now it’s out of my hands.

  He got a taxi to himself at the Vandenbrinck station and lit a cigarette, leaning back in a comer. It’s out of my hands now. It’s unfortunate, more than unfortunate that I had that attack to delay me, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.

  The police would certainly get in touch with him, sooner or later. Someone would identify Reggie. Then he would simply tell the truth. I was the one who reported the accident, but naturally, I was most reluctant to tell anyone… Naturally, the shock…

  It was queer, he thought, that he did not feel any shock. Even the sight of the fair-haired man on the kitchen floor had been no shock. He had felt only a sense of recognition. Captain Ferris was there, all right.

  The lighted windows of his house looked beautiful to him, tranquil and welcoming. Home… he thought, with a sigh. I must remember to get those pills from Nolan. I need a good night’s sleep.

  He paid the driver, and as he mounted the steps. Miss Castle opened the door.

  “Oh…! Mr. Duff!” she cried.

  “Good-evening!” he said, entering the hall.

  “Mr. Duff…” she said. “What’s happened?”

  He was terrified. Was there something in his face, his eyes…?

  “Your mouth, Mr. Duff …”

  “Oh, that? I cut myself. In the taxi. Driver swung around a curve and threw me against the window.”

  “Let me dress it for you, Mr. Duff.”

  “No, thanks, don’t bother,”

  “Please!” she said. “It looks—”

  “No, thanks,” he said, “I have other things to think about. I’m going to have a drink, Miss Castle. Will you join me?”

  “Thank you, yes. I’ll fetch it, Mr. Duff’.”

  “No,” he said. “No. Sit down. Miss Castle.”

  He wanted to pour out his own drink. He went into the dining-room where, in a locked partition of the sideboard, the public supply of liquor stood. He seldom touched those bottles, which could be checked on, even measured, by anyone. He poured himself a drink of gin, a large drink, and colored it with whiskey; he poured a small whiskey for Miss Castle and filled the glass from the carafe.

  My God, it’s good to be able to sit down and have a drink in my own house, openly and decently, he thought. No locked doors, and all that nightmare nonsense. Miss Castle is a woman of the world. She doesn’t see anything criminal in a man’s taking a drink in his own home,

  “Mr. Duff, your mouth is bleeding,”

  He patted his mouth with a handkerchief, and he was a little surprised to see the crimson stains. He was pleased by his own fortitude.

  “Mr. Duff, you don’t look at all well,” she said.

  For a long time, he thought, nobody had cared how he looked, how he felt; nobody had noticed. The whole story would be out tomorrow, about Reggie being found there dead, with Ferris, There was no risk in talking, a little, to this sympathetic and sophisticated woman.

  “I’ve had a shock,” he said, sipping his drink, “Miss Castle, do you know anything about a Captain Ferris?”

  “Well, yes…” she said.

  She was alarmed, poor girl.
Always loyal to Reggie,

  “I have good reason to believe that my wife was—is carrying on a love affair with him,” he said.

  “Oh, no, Mr. Duff!” she cried. “You’re quite wrong.”

  “I happen to know that she’s given the fellow money.”

  “But that was sheer kindness, Mr. Duff.”

  “Odd sort of kindness.”

  “Really, it wasn’t. Really, she did it on my account.”

  “What?” he said. “You mean—you were interested in this fellow?”

  “He’s my half-brother,” she said. “I’m quite fond of him, but I’m afraid he’s—a bit of a rolling stone.”

  “What?” said Duff.

  “He’d got himself into debt,” said Miss Castle. “It did worry me. Mrs. Duff noticed that, and when I told her, she insisted upon helping Wilfred to get on his feet.”

  Duff slouched down in his chair and stretched out his legs. He felt tired, crushed by fatigue. It was a blow, to hear this about Ferris. But I—am—not—going—to—worry, he told himself. What’s done is done. And if it’s true that Reggie was simply playing Lady Bountiful-with my money-it’s certainly going to look like something else. Nobody on God’s earth could blame me for being suspicious.

  And anyhow, he thought. Miss Castle is too honest and upright herself to be suspicious of anyone else. Too loyal. Reggie could have been carrying on an affair with this fellow under her nose, and she wouldn’t have seen it, wouldn’t have admitted it, even to herself. No. What she’s told me hasn’t made any real difference.

  “Mr. Duff…?”

  “Yes, Miss Castle?”

  “I’m very sorry to trouble you when you’re so tired…”

  “Why? Is there anything wrong?”

  “I’m afraid there is, Mr. Duff. Mr. Duff, Jay—isn’t here.”

  “What d’you mean?” he asked, carefully.

  “Jay has gone, Mr. Duff. He went out with Mrs. Duff after lunch.”

  “Stop!” said Duff. “Stop! I don’t understand you!”

  “Mrs. Duff and Jay went out after lunch—”

  “You had lunch at Rio Park.”

  “No, Mr. Duff, we didn’t. When we got there, we found the circus had closed, and everything seemed quite dreary. We took the first train home. We had lunch here, and after we’d finished, Mrs. Duff and Jay went out. They didn’t take the car. Mrs. Duff didn’t leave any message. I saw them strolling across the lawn, hand in hand. And that’s all.”