by Q. Patrick
It was going to be all right, wasn’t it? The compact. Roy hadn’t mentioned the compact. Steve put his hand into the pocket of his blouse, pulled out the compact and tossed it to the table by the gun.
“You left this at Tony’s, too?” Roy picked up the compact.
“It was probably the most beautiful thing I ever made.”
“But you left it at Tony’s?”
Roy looked up. “Didn’t I explain? Tony owed me for the copy I made of his. Knowing Tony’s vagueness about debts, I’d been holding the original until I got his check. Tonight, however, when I became angry, I forgot I was the cool-headed business man. I threw the compact back at him.” He put it down again on the table. “I’m not fond of it any more. It was made for Celia. The moment she gave it to Tony, it lost its symbolic significance. It became—just a compact.”
No one spoke. In the intense silence, Roy started to move to the phone. Dennie’s hand was still on Steve’s shoulder. He felt it tense.
“Don’t.” Dennie threw the word after Roy. “Stop. Don’t call.” Roy half turned, smiling at her tenderly over his shoulder.
“Why not, my lamb?”
Dennie was watching him with a kind of wild indecision. She swung to Steve.
“Steve, please. I’ve got to talk to you alone.” Steve stirred uneasily. “Alone?”
“Please. And Roy, promise me that you won’t phone. Not till Steve and I come back.”
For a long moment Roy stood still. Then with a faint shrug of resignations, he dropped into a chair.
“All right. I will wait a few minutes. Wait for you, Dennie. A little child shall lead me.”
XIII
Dennie gripped Steve’s hand. Steve rose. She drew him out of the room and down a passage into her bedroom.
“What is it?” he asked. For a moment, back there in the other room, he had been happy. For a moment, life had been indescribably kind. Now he was worried again.
“Steve,” she whispered, “why didn’t you tell me about the compact from the beginning?”
“The compact?” He moved nervously. “Why should I?”
“Steve, it makes all the difference in the world.” She put her hand up to her face. “How can I tell you?”
“Dennie.”
“I’ve got to.” She said that fiercely. “Don’t you see how I’ve got to? I can’t let Roy lie.”
“A lie? Baby, what are you trying to say?”
“He’s lying, Steve. He couldn’t have killed Tony.” Steve’s mouth was dry as ashes. “Why?”
“Because of the compact. It’s true Tony had the compact copied for Virginia. But the rest is a lie. Celia never gave it to Tony. Tony lied to Roy that she had because he knew that was the only way he could get Roy to copy it.”
“But why?” Steve’s thoughts was whirling. “Why would Tony lie? Why would he want a copy for Virginia?”
“Because Virginia had seen it one day at his apartment and she liked it. Because he had to square Virginia. Tony never thought above principles or sentiments. He had to have a present to please Virginia. He knew that compact would please her. So he tricked Roy into making a copy.”
“And the real compact?”
Dennie was shivering. “Steve didn’t you believe me when I said Celia still loves you? She’d have died before she ever gave your compact to Tony. It was in his apartment that day, yes, just because she’d left it there. But she never gave it to him. She treasured it more than anything in the world.”
“Then Tony never had it? Roy never had it?”
“Of course not.” Dennie’s voice was almost inaudible. “No one ever had it—except Celia.”
“And tonight?”
“She had it tonight.” Dennie’s face was stricken as she stared up him. “I saw her put it her purse before she left. She took it with her tonight.”
They looked at each other. Neither of them spoke. Then, suddenly, Dennie threw herself into his arms.
“Oh, Steve, Steve!”
He pushed her roughly away. “Where’s her room?”
“Next to this.”
He ran out. She came after him. Steve turned the handle of Celia’s door. It was locked. He raised his fist to pound on the panels.
Dennie warned, “No, Steve. The others will hear. There’s a balcony that leads from my room to hers.”
Steve ran back into Dennie’s room. He vaulted out onto the balcony. The window to Celia’s room was open. He stepped inside. He felt no reality. It was as if he were moving in a dream.
A single light was burning by the bedside. Celia was lying in bed. Her eyes were closed. Her wonderful silver blond hair foamed over the pillow. He tried to look at her. He couldn’t really. He went to the door and unlocked it. Dennie moved in.
Together they crossed to the bed.
“Celia!” Dennie whispered. “Celia, wake up.”
Steve glared at the bedside table. It was the only way of keeping himself from thinking. There was an empty glass. And propped against it an envelope. There was a word on the envelope in Celia’s large, erratic writing.
Steve.
He picked the envelope up. He opened it. There were several sheets of paper inside.
“Celia!” Dennie called again.
Steve put his hand on her arm. “No. Wait.”
He started to read the letter. He passed the sheets to Dennie as he finished with them.
The letter said:
Steve, darling:
When I did it, it seemed so right, so inevitable. I thought it would be easy to explain, but it doesn’t seem easy now. Nothing about me’s easy to explain, I guess. How could I have gone on loving you all the time I was crazy about Tony? I don’t know, but that’s the way it was. Even when I realized he wasn’t going to divorce Virginia, that he had fooled me, I was half relieved because it gave me the crazy hope that I could get back to you and the way life used to be.
It was a crazy hope, of course. I saw that right away. You’d never have wanted me after Tony. That’s really why I hated him—not because he’d walked out on me, but because he’d brought out all the shoddiness that was in me and made me lose my chance of ever having you again.
Do you understand a bit? This evening, just as I was getting ready to go out with Goody, Tony phoned. He asked me to come to his place. I wouldn’t have gone if he hadn’t mentioned your name and threatened me. But I went and he was wild with anger. You’d beaten him up, he said. I could tell that from the way he looked and, darling, I was so glad I could have laughed out loud. But it wasn’t really the time for laughs because he was seething. He accused me of setting you on him.
He said he was going to have you arrested for assault with intent to kill. He’d get you behind bars, he said, if it was the last thing he did. That frightened me for you, darling, because you were still in uniform and maybe he could make trouble for you. But that wasn’t the real thing. The real thing was his face. That horrid, angry little face. As I looked at him, I thought, This is what wrecked my life. Our life.
And I couldn’t stand it. It was like a physical sensation, a dreadful physical loathing for him and for myself. I knew he had a gun in the bureau drawer. While he ranted on, bawling out filth against you, I got the gun. I didn’t care about anything except stopping the noise he was making. I killed him almost before I realized I’d pressed the trigger.
And the moment I’d done it, I knew it was right. You see, it wasn’t just killing him. I was killing myself, too. Because you’d beaten him up, I knew you still felt something for me. Darling, I couldn’t bear to think of you loving me, carrying me around like a virus in your blood. So I did this thing to get rid of me, too. I didn’t want to cover my tracks. I just put the gun in my purse and went off to meet Goody. Any moment the police would catch up with me, I thought.
And when they came, I was going to say, “Okay. Here I am. Take me, champagne and all.”
But the police didn’t come, baby. Y
ou came. And when you showed me the compact, I knew I must have left it there—I was always careless, wasn’t I—and that you must have known Tony was dead. That was the worst moment of all. I know you so well. I knew that if you thought I’d done it, you’d try some awful, chivalrous thing like taking the blame yourself. I had to prevent that, so I lied about the compact.
You see, I thought if I said I’d given your compact to Tony you’d despise me so much that it’d kill your love for me. Baby, I tried to do everything, so that you’d think I was the scum of the earth and be free of me.
But what’s the use of saying that now? I almost spoiled it as few minutes ago when I came in and saw you there. And I’m spoiling it completely now, aren’t I, by telling you I love you. Because I do, Steve. Maybe, in some queer fashion, what I did and what I’m doing is the only way I really could prove I love you.
The gun’s in my purse. I gave it to Roy. Maybe he’s found it by now. If not give it to the police when they come. As for the compact, keep it baby. Pink ribbons. Among my souvenirs. Did I say all that revolted me? Oh, Steve!
If you don’t want to keep the compact, give it to Dennie. Dennie’s worth a thousand of me. Lately I’ve been hoping that perhaps you and she … Oh, well, if it’s to be, you’ll find out for yourselves.
Good-by, Steve. When you read this, I’ll be asleep. Very much asleep, if the pills can be trusted. Let me be, won’t you, baby? Let me sleep on.
Celia.
P. S. Remember that old corny play we saw? Remember the line: Thank you for having loved me? Thank you, Steve.
This was how it felt to be lost, thought Steve. Dimly he was conscious of Dennie drawing the last page of the letter from his limp hand. Contact with her finger brought a fleeting comfort. But wasn’t a real comfort. Nothing could be a real comfort.
During the evening there had been moments of wild, racing hope, moments when he’d thought he was on top and could thumb his nose at doom. They hadn’t been real, of course. Steve saw that now. He’d been licked from the start. He, who’d sworn he’d never kid himself, had walked about with blinders. He’d refused to see what had always been obvious, just because he didn’t have the strength to face it.
“Roy found the gun in her purse.” Dennie’s voice trailed through his thoughts. “He realized then—and he was trying to take the blame. He loved her that much.”
Who didn’t love Celia that much—too much?
Steve forced himself look at Celia then. “Pale beyond porch and portal.” Who’d said that? Some poet. Her smooth arms lay outside the covers. He felt for her wrist. There was the faintest stirring, like the echo of a pulse.
“Celia!” He almost shouted her name. “Celia!” He leaned over her to shake her.
But a hand touched his arm. Dazedly, he saw Dennie. Standing there, staring up at him, she didn’t look like a kid any more. She looked like Celia—so hauntingly like Celia that it confused him.
“No, Steve.”
“No?” He echoed her word, not really understanding what she had said to him.
“Don’t wake her. This is the only way, Steve. Let her be. Let her sleep on.”
Sources
“The Frightened Landlady.” Street & Smith’s Detective Story Magazine, December 1935
“Killed by Time.” Street & Smith’s Detective Story Magazine,
October 1935
“The Hated Woman.” Street & Smith’s Detective Story Magazine,
February 1936
“Hunt in the Dark.” Short Stories, October 10, 1942 “The Woman Who Waited.” The Shadow, January 1945 “This Way Out.” Mystery Book Magazine, March 1947
The Puzzles Of Peter Duluth by Patrick Quentin. Lost Classics Series.
Anthony Boucher wrote: “Quentin is particularly noted for the enviable polish and grace which make him one of the leading American fabricants of the murderous comedy of manners; but this surface smoothness conceals intricate and meticulous plot construction as faultless as that of Agatha Christie.” Full cloth in dust jacket, $29.00.
The Cases of Lieutenant Timothy Trant by Q. Patrick. Lost Classic Series.
Full cloth in dust jacket, $30.00.
