Figure Away

by Phoebe Atwood Taylor

“When I stopped you an’ held you up,” Asey said, “why didn’t you tell me this?” Asey knew he was being unreasonable, but now that he knew for sure he had let his man slip through his fingers, he couldn’t help being and sounding irritated.

  “I tried to,” J. Arthur said, “but – well, I was afraid. I’ve never liked firearms, and there you were, poking me in the stomach with that gun! In the way, that is, while I was at Camp Devens, they made me a clerk because I didn’t like guns—”

  “Brinley,” Asey said, “have you the keys to your car? Give’em to Ham – I know, you don’t like strangers drivin’ your auto, but do you want to walk back to the car? I thought not. Hamilton, get his car. We’ll drive him back to the hollow. An’ drive me, too. I don’t suppose I was ever so weary in all my born days.”

  He felt very old and tired as he got out of the car at the Randall house.

  Lane ran up to him.

  “By George, Asey – you got him! How you did it, I don’t know or care, but—”

  “I didn’t,” Asey said. “Brinley was just on a hunt—”

  “Who said anything about Brinley? Come into the house and take a look – we found him. One of your shots got him in the shoulder. Not much, but enough to stop him, apparently. He was down by the pond. Come on! And how you could ever hit him on a night like this, with this fog, I don’t know! Man, you’re wonderful—”

  “Lane, are you crazy?” Asey demanded.

  “Oh, come on! He even had Kay’s beret beside him – he’s the one, all right! Come on—”

  Chapter 14

  Walking mechanically, as though he had been wound up with a key, Asey followed Lane into the living room of the Randall house.

  On the couch lay the haggard figure of a man; he was muddy and dirty, and his clothes were torn and his hair in wild disorder.

  Cummings, bending over him, obscured the man’s face.

  “Who?” Asey asked blankly. “Who is it?”

  “Win Billings,” Cummings said. “He – why Asey, you look about done up!”

  “I am. Win Billings – you mean, Win Billings?”

  “The last,” Cummings ripped in two a strip of adhesive tape, “the last Billings of Billingsgate. Maybe you can get a word out of him. We can’t. Nice clean wound, Asey. You’re one of the few men I know who can shoot someone up without making a nasty mess for me. Those fellows at the coast guard were always shooting their rum runners in the damndest places. There. You’ll recover, Win. In fact, you got off about as easy as Kay did.”

  Asey sat down in a chintz-covered arm chair.

  “Doc, this is sort of mixed up in my mind. Just what happened here?”

  “Ask Win,” Cummings said. “Maybe he’ll talk for you. He won’t for us. You’d think he’d taken a vow, or something. Not a peep out of him.”

  Asey looked over at Win.

  “Lane,” he said, “you an’ the doc clear out for a few minutes, will you? Maybe I can settle this—”

  “I don’t trust him,” Lane said. “I’m going to stay. He’s playing possum. He’s not anywhere near as weakly as he looks. And he’s sober—”

  “Run along,” Asey said. “Oh, you didn’t get any bullets, did you?”

  “He and Kay were both nicked, that’s all. Asey, I—”

  “Run along.”

  Hamilton stuck his head in the room.

  “Can I—”

  “All of you, beat it.”

  They left reluctantly. Asey took out his pipe and then remembered he had no tobacco.

  He looked around, forgetting that there would probably be no tins of tobacco lurking about in an exclusively feminine household.

  “In m’pocket,” Win said. “Coat’s on the chair.”

  “Thanks.” Asey fished around in the coat pocket until he found an oiled silk pouch. “Pretty swell, that,” he said. “Present, I guess?”

  “No damn good,” Win said. “Don’t taste right.”

  “Same tobacco I use,” Asey remarked.

  “Same I use, too, but gimme t’bacco from a tin, I says to them wimmen. I don’t want no sashay bag!”

  “Kind of fed up with Old Home Week, are you?” Asey inquired.

  Win Billings sat upright on the couch and spit with great accuracy into the fireplace.

  He was tall and straight, and remarkably well-preserved for an old fellow, particularly one so rarely sober. His hands were amazingly steady, and his voice firm, and the stubborn jutting of his chin interested Asey. A hawklike nose, a high forehead and a stubborn chin were Billings characteristics, to judge from the Town Hall portraits, but hitherto Asey remembered no trace of such stubbornness or force in Win.

  “Huh,” Win said, leaning back against the wall. “Damn this shoulder, it’s worse’n rheumatiz. Look now, Asey Mayo. Did I ever ask anythin’ of ’em? No. House? No. Food? No. R’lief? No. Pension? No. Never asked nothin’ of nobody, ’cept maybe t’bacco, an’ I done work for that.”

  “An’ they washed an’ dressed you up,” Asey said, “an’ they—”

  “An’ made a show of me!” Win said violently. “Won’t stand for it. Won’t stand it no longer. Said so. Mean it.” He drew a pipe from his pocket. “Gimme that pouch.”

  Asey filled his pipe and lighted it for him.

  “Win,” he said, “what’n time happened tonight?”

  “Put me t’bed, they did,” Win said bitterly, “seven o’clock. Locked the door. I got out the window. Got out b’fore, if you want to know. Take away a man’s drink like that! This time, I was through. Feller give me a ride up here. Nice feller, no nonsense about him. I says, gimme a lift, an’ he did.”

  “Headin’ for the ice house, huh?”

  Win nodded. “Well, kind of lost m’bearin’s in the fog. N’en first thing I know, someone starts shootin’ – one, two, three. Right to me. Says I to m’self then, I says, b’God, I am through! Won’t stand it no longer. They can shoot me full of holes like a sieve ’f they’re a mind to, I says, but no more showin’ off for’em. Why? Never asked’em for nothin’. Why sh’d I have to dress up for’em? That’s what I says to m’self. Cel’bration! They don’t know how to hold no cel’bration, Asey! Take like when the Gen’ral come. Turkey red carpets, urns full of flowers, silk hats an’ Prince Alberts, plenty to eat, plenty to drink – Asey, I thought it all over, an’ it ain’t right. They can shoot me all they’re a mind to, but it ain’t right. Won’t stand for it no more, neither!”

  Asey puffed at his pipe. Without any doubt, Billingsgate had vastly underestimated the spirit of the last Billings.

  “Damn gov’ment,” Win said. “That’s the trouble. Reds. Can’t do this, can’t do that, can’t shoot ’thout a license, can’t fish ’thout a license, can’t dig yourself a quohaug ’thout a paper sayin’ so. Can’t get a drink – ’f my father could see things, he’d shoot himself. ’F gregrampa could see it, he’d rue the day the British was licked. Always said it was a mistake, gregrampa did, lickin’ the British an’ startin’ off a new gov’ment—”

  “Win,” Asey said, “how old are you?”

  “Eighty-nine, ninety –m’god, must be ninety-two! Dunno. Round there. But I know one thing. Won’t go back to show off no more, see?”

  “Y’know,” Asey said, “I don’t much see why you should, Win. Look, what happened after you was shot?”

  Win turned two watery blue eyes on Asey and stared at him for a moment.

  “Won’t go back. Made up m’mind.” He grinned.

  “Okay,” Asey said with a chuckle. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise on my word of honor, Win. Now, what’s the story?”

  “M’shoulder hurt,” Win said. “I kep’ out of their way, an’ got down to the ice house. Awful thirsty, I was. Stopped for water.” He made a face. “Know what gregrampa said? He said, water was God’s way to grow gardens, but it wasn’t nothin’ to rust the human body with. Gregrampa was right!”

  Asey went to the door and called for C
ummings.

  “Got anythin’ to drink, doc? Whiskey? Gimme some.”

  “Ten minutes with that old tank,” the doctor said, “and you yowl for spirits. It’s disgraceful. If the Ladies’ Aid ever found out—”

  Asey took the bottle back to Win.

  “Not,” he said firmly, “at one gulp. All right. You got some water, an’ then what?”

  “Why, thanks, Asey, you’re a good feller. No nonsense about you. Y’come to the point. Well, y’see, I was kind of tired like, so I sat there by the pond an’ then when I rested up, I was goin’ to the ice house. An’ then they come up b’hind me, an’ hit me a crack over the head, an’ when I come to, here I was with these p’lice, an’ the doctor – all talkin’ to once, an’ yellin’, an’ sayin’ they was goin’ to send me t’jail. How can they? Ain’t no lawr, my dressin’ up an’ bein’ made a show of. Can’t put me in jail for that. Know m’rights. Gregrampa alius said, know your rights, an’ stick to ’em, an’—”

  “Why wouldn’t you talk to ’em, Win?”

  “Why sh’d I? B’sides, they talked about you. I knew you’d come. Waitin’ for you. Shoot me some more, ’f they want. Put me in jail. I won’t go back.”

  “Where was you,” Asey asked, “the night before last? Monday night.”

  “Last night,” Win said, “I met a nice feller, up to that circus. Nice, sensible feller. No nonsense. I says, gimme a drink, an’ he did, an’—”

  “The night before that,” Asey said. “Night b’fore.” Win rubbed his chin. “Night b’fore. Didn’t have no drink, night b’fore. Went to the circus – seen you there. You was shootin’ – b’god, you busted every clay sparrer in the place.”

  “That’s right. How long’d you stay there, Win?”

  Win chuckled. “Oh, I r’member now. Sure thing. The big wheel got stuck. Damn fool woman – she was on it. Know what?”

  “What?” Asey asked obediently. “Feller – some feller – looked like a Swett to me. Dark, like. Come up to me – not Swett. Higgins. It was when they first took me off. Works to the store, he does.”

  “Zeb Chase?” Ase made a valiant stab. “His mother was a Higgins.”

  “That’s the one. He gimme some money, when they first took me. Here, pop, he says, an’ gimme the money. Twenty dollars in ones, an’ two tens, too.”

  “Good for Zeb,” Asey said. “So you had forty bucks?”

  “Nice feller. Here, pop, he says, they got you cooped up, see’f you can have some fun with this. Said I d’served it. Forty dollars, all in them little sized bills they got now. God, even money’s small! But ’twas forty dollars, for me t’spend.”

  Asey began to understand how Win might very possibly have mistaken the engineer for General Grant that morning.

  “So I give the feller ten,” Win said, and chuckled until the pain from his shoulder forced him to stop.

  “What feller?” Asey asked. He wouldn’t have admitted it to Cummings, but he was beginning to wonder if the whiskey hadn’t been a mistake.

  “The wheel one. He caught on.” Win winked. “Damn fool woman, tries to make a show out of me. Guess I made a show out of her!”

  Asey let out a roar of laughter that brought Cummings and Lane rushing to the door.

  “Go off,” he said. “Go ’way. Win – you mean that you gave the ferris wheel feller ten bucks to keep the wheel stuck? So Bessie Brinley would—”

  “That’s her. Damn fool. Pokey. Nosey. Did I ever ask her for anythin’? No. Why sh’d I make a show for her? An’,” Win smiled broadly, “she don’t know ’twas me that done it, neither! I showed her up!”

  Asey laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks.

  At last he went to the door and called Hamilton.

  “Ham,” he said, “drive Win over to my cousin Syl Mayo, will you? Take him right over, an’ tell Syl to take him over to my gunnin’ shack, an’ provide him with enough to drink so as he won’t have to rust his innards with no water.”

  “What’s that?” Lane said. “You – but he’s the one! The Thayer girl said so! He had her cap, and—”

  “Win is over ninety,” Asey said. “Bear that in mind.”

  “But he’s sore at the town and everyone for making him dress up, and why – Brinley was just telling me. Brinley says that he—”

  “Win,” Asey said, “deeply r’sents bein’ deprived of his rights, an’ he don’t feel that bein’ dressed up an’ stared at is what his great-grandfather won the battle of Breed’s Hill for. Lane, Win is over ninety. The feller that I chased an’ lost, he outrun me. He outguessed me. He outsmarted me. He outstayed me. Win just happened to get in the way of one of my wild shots, that’s all. Someone knocked him out an’ planted the beret beside him. An’ besides, Win’s got a cast iron alibi for Monday night—”

  “What sort of alibi?” Brinley demanded. “They say he’s skipped out of Mrs. Holt’s every single night he’s been locked up there – nobody knows how. The old fool’s crazy. He’s a maniac. Stark raving crazy.”

  “On the contrariwise,” Asey said, “Win is as sane as anyone I know, an’ he’s one feller that’ll stand just so much henpeckin’ an’ no more. Lane, did Kay tell you for certain that he was the one? Did she see him plain? Can she tell?”

  “Well, no. She didn’t say it was him exactly, but she agreed with us that it must have been, after we talked it over with her.”

  “Uh-huh, I see. Is she back at Sara’s?”

  “Went back with – who’s that, Konrad?”

  Konrad ushered in Jeff Leach and Weston, both worried and distraught and very much the worse for wear. Jeffs white flannel suit was solidly caked with mud, and Weston was wet and bedraggled.

  “We thought – oh, you’ve got him! Well, thank God,” Weston said wearily. “Come on, Win, and—”

  “Did I ask you for anythin’? No!” Win said. “Why sh’d I show myself off—”

  “Sit down,” Asey said as Win got up from the couch. “You, too, Weston. What happened to you?”

  “Oh, we chased someone we thought was Win,” Jeff said, “in the meadows over by the Mill Road. Wes landed in the creek, and I hit a mud hole. It seems we were chasing a perfectly good tourist. We don’t think he recognized us. And what Sara’ll say to my clothes, I hate to think.”

  “Look here, Asey,” Weston said, “what’s all this? What’s the matter with Win?”

  “Win’s been honorably wounded in the service of the town,” Asey said, “an’ he’s herewith bein’ excused from any more paradin’ whatsoever.”

  “That’s right,” Win said complacently. “Won’t go back.”

  “But he’s got to!” Weston said. “Don’t you see, tomorrow he’s on the radio program! It’s town day, and he’s going to read a piece about the town when he was a boy. He’s the oldest inhabitant, you know. And—”

  “Won’t,” Win said.

  “See here, Win Billings,” Weston lost his temper, “we have this settled, and you—”

  “No,” Asey said. “Nope, Weston. Win is through.”

  “Well then,” Weston said, producing a trump, “if he doesn’t go on the radio, you’ll have to!”

  Asey drew a deep breath. “Oh – oh, well. All right. But I’ll speak my own piece.”

  “And Win,” Weston continued, “was going to get paid ten dollars. What do you think of that, Win? Ten dollars!”

  “Got more’n that’n m’pocket right now,” Win returned airily. “Got m’poll tax, an’ enough to live six months on. Keep y’ten dollars.”

  His tone indicated that ten dollars was so much pig feed.

  Jeff laughed. “I admire his spunk. Let him off, Weston. Asey’s right. Enough is enough. Don’t you agree, Brinley?”

  “No,” Brinley said. “No! He’s had more care and attention lately than he’s had in years, and what thanks do we get for it all?”

  “Y’can put me up in front of that tin pan on a broomstick,” Win referred to the microphone, “but gregrampa used t’say, you can lea
d a hoss to water, but even he won’t drink the stuff.”

  Asey and Jeff chuckled.

  “Consider,” Jeff said, “that angle. Suppose Win decides to give some unexpurgated anecdotes over the air. That is very definitely something to think about.”

  “I’ll tell ’em,” Win promised, “ ’bout you,” he waggled a long forefinger at Brinley, “you an’ that girl. I seen you, while y’wife was stuck up in the wheel. I seen the two of ye, out b’hind that tent! I seen what y’was up to. ’N I’ll tell.” There was fortunately a chair behind Brinley, and he collapsed into it.

  “It’s a lie!” He tried to speak out manfully, but his voice turned out to be a hoarse whisper. “It’s a lie!”

  “Lie nothin’,” Win returned. “I seen you, makin’ up to her. Seen it all. Girl the feller throws knives at. Furrener. Eyetalian, or somethin’.”

  “So that,” Asey said, “was where you was, durin’ the ferris wheel fun? Just frollickin’, huh? J. Arthur, it’s lucky for you he told. We couldn’t seem to get you placed, an’ believe me when I say you was goin’, sooner or later, to be run through the mill until we did find out where you was.”

  “I’ll resign,” Brinley said. “I’ll resign. Only – don’t tell Bessie! Don’t let Bessie know! Bessie wouldn’t forgive me, ever! And it was just – just a – only – I mean—”

  “Just what?”

  “Oh, I’ll resign! Bessie said, when I first went into politics, that a slip would mar – I know it means the end of my career. And I did want,” Brinley said plaintively, “to go to the state legislature!”

  Asey looked at Jeff, who nodded.

  “Come, come, Arthur,” Jeff said soothingly, “no one knows but us here, and look – come along home. Wes, you come too. You’ve got to settle about the tags for tomorrow, Brinley, and your accounts. Come on. Forget this. Asey, you take care of Win, will you? We’ll explain it officially as a bad cold, and perhaps native pride’ll keep the town folks from telling what they’ll know has happened.”

  “And don’t you forget,” Weston said to Asey, “about the radio!”

  Dr. Cummings watched the selectmen leave and then wandered back into the living room.