The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  “I’m sure they deserve it, but—”

  “If you should change your mind and decide to do something for them—”

  The challenge brought a feverish heat to Yolanda’s cheeks. But she knew that this officer meant no insult. He couldn’t know that she was already trying, with all her strength and loyalty, to do something big for John How’s honest followers.

  “I’ll consult with Carter O’Connor,” she said, “before I give you my decision.”

  “Do you know where he is?” The officer betrayed worry.

  “I supposed he was at work on his highway,” said Yolanda.

  “One moment, please,” Seemo picked up a phone. “Hello. . . . Have you been able to locate Carter O’Connor? . . . Not yet? . . . If any clue turns up, please call me at once.”

  “Where—where is he?” Yolanda gasped.

  “I’m very sorry to say, nobody knows. He talked with me yesterday. Today he is gone.”

  Yolanda reached into her blue leather purse and brought forth a bright little doll—a Chiam model, from the White Paper Wand. She laid it on the officer’s desk.

  “Mr. How used to make dolls like this,” she said. “I thought you might like to see one before I go, Mr. Seemo.” The officer picked it up, regarded it, laid it down. It was so very simple that it did not attract his curiosity half so much as Yolanda Lavelle’s blue eyes intent upon him.

  “Thank you. I trust you to find Carter O’Connor, Mr. Seemo.”

  Then she picked up the doll and left. A taxi was waiting outside and she entered and asked to be taken to a hotel. Which one? The one where she would find Katherine Knight, the current theatrical star.

  “Temple Hotel, Miss.” The driver turned to give her a curious look. “I guess it’s okay, Miss. You look like you’re on the right side.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I mean, you’re not a member of the Japanese Imperialists or anything like that?”

  “Certainly not.” How absurd, Yolanda thought, for a driver who looked so much like a Japanese himself to be suspicious of her.

  “They’ve been having a little trouble, Miss, at the Temple, the same as they do at any hotel from time to time.

  Please don’t be offended if they ask some sharp questions.”

  At the hotel they did ask sharp questions; that is, the large blond manager did. But he was apparently an American; in fact, she had the strange feeling that she had met him before somewhere. But the name, Jefferson Cotton, was not familiar.

  “If you’re through questioning me,” she said, “I must ask you one before I sign the register. I’m very anxious to see Katherine Knight, an old friend. She is staying here, isn’t she?”

  “Certainly, by all means,” said Jefferson Cotton. “One of our most popular customers. One moment and I’ll give you her room number.”

  “It isn’t necessary. Just tell her, when she comes by, that an old friend—”

  “Not Miss Lavelle? . . . Indeed! . . . Splendid! I know Miss Knight has been wondering about you. You’re an artist, aren’t you—and a stage designer?”

  “Well, I—”

  “You needn’t be modest about it, Miss Lavelle. Katherine Knight has already praised you to the skies. And fortunately, I have good news. The deal has gone through. She had signed up with the new theater group, the wealthiest on this side of the world. So I’m sure she’ll press you into service right away—”

  Yolanda was naturally dazzled by this rapid-fire success talk. The manager declared that he wasn’t really letting the cat out of the bag, because everyone around here knew; that is, all the show folks. And there wasn’t a question but what Yolanda Lavelle would be able to qualify for the designing job—

  “Though of course Miss Knight and all the others are anxious to see your work on exhibition. In fact, we’ve arranged to rope off the south half of the lobby for your famous paper dolls.”

  “Why—why—I can hardly believe it. I mean, things are coming true so fast. I didn’t know—”

  Yolanda fingered her purse, and there was a moment’s impulse to hand a gleaming Chiam doll to this voluble manager. But the news was so overwhelming that she couldn’t manage everything at once; and now her foremost impulse was to see Katherine as quickly as possible, and to assure herself that all the misunderstandings between them had been swept aside.

  “Mr. Cotton, is Katherine Knight in now? May I call her at once?”

  “Certainly, certainly. The room is—oh-oh, what’s this?” Jefferson Cotton’s manner changed as abruptly as if it had been a practiced bit of stage business. He had taken a message from one of the pigeon-holes, and he read it two or three times. Then: “You’ve already seen Miss Knight?”

  “No.”

  “According to this, she informed our telephone operator last night that she would not return after the show as she was spending the night with you.”

  “How could she? I wasn’t even in the city.”

  The manager shrugged, and began eyeing Yolanda with cool suspicion.

  At that moment the telephone operator broke in on the discussion to state that Katherine Knight hadn’t been seen all day. The theater had called for her repeatedly, trying to secure her for a rehearsal. But no one could find her.

  CHAPTER XX

  Paper Doll Party

  Yolanda came down from her room that evening to find her artistic paper dolls on display in the Temple Hotel lobby. The place was a riot of color and design.

  “Have we placed them to your satisfaction, Miss Lavelle?” the hotel attendants asked solicitously, removing the last of the dolls from the suitcase. “Everyone is raving about your remarkable art work, Miss Lavelle.” “Even the city’s fashion designers, Miss Lavelle—” “Yes, indeed, Mis Lavelle, they have already come. Those, important looking gentlemen over in the corner.” “Have they your permission to take notes, Miss Lavelle?”

  At once the people were crowding around her to compliment her work. Who they were, whether they were guests of the hotel, or officials of theaters, or some strange breed of professional complimenters, Yolanda had no time to discover.

  If only she could have passed a little Chiam Doll among them?

  “Thank you all so much,” she gasped. “But, please—which of you is the official that Katherine Knight wished me to see?”

  “He hasn’t come yet,” someone volunteered. “He sent word by Mr. Tolozell, the hypnotist, that he might be quite late. An hour or two after the theaters close, at least.”

  “Here’s Mr. Tolozell, now,” someone else said. “He’ll give you the information, Miss Lavelle.”

  Then, before Yolanda had time to invent an escape, Tolozell was before her, smiling as effectively as his sullen brutal face was capable of smiling.

  He offered his hand, and she felt herself being swept in by his questionable graces.

  “So you are the wonderful Miss Lavelle,” he said in a loud voice that made all the onlookers hush. “This is indeed a pleasure.”

  “But of course you do remember me?” Yolanda knew that he did, of course. He couldn’t have forgotten!

  “No, I’ve never had the pleasure, Miss Lavelle—”

  “But I was with Katherine Knight the evening you gave your performance in my town—you know—”

  Tolozell bowed deeply. “Ah, so you have seen one of my performances. I hope I made a good impression. I am really a great hypnotist, Miss Lavelle,” he said laughingly, turning to the crowd for their acknowledgement. “Am I not the greatest?”

  Guests, hotel attendants, mysterious Orientals with no particular excuse for being here except to glorify the great—all of these applauded Tolozell’s boasts with an enthusiastic outburst. It was enough to make Yolanda wonder if she was, after all, in the presence of the world’s greatest showmen.

  It was a trick, thought Yolanda, angering.

  It was all a frame-up to break down her resistance to the man she had every reason to hate.

  And she would prove it, before
this farce went any farther. She reached into her purse to get a Chiam doll.

  At that particular moment, however, something very disturbing broke in upon her train of thoughts.

  Two men in police uniforms stepped into the circle very abruptly and asked for a private word with her. She went with them willingly, and they led her to one side of the spacious arch formed by the curved back of an ornamental green dragon.

  “Miss Lavelle, we have orders to inquire whether you will tell us where you have left Miss Knight.”

  “Left her? But I haven’t seen her.”

  “Last night you—”

  The uniformed man who started to speak was hushed by a very obvious nudge from his uniformed twin; the two of them exchanged understanding nods, and the spokesman concluded, “That’s all, Miss Lavelle, for this time. But you understand you’re to stay right here in the hotel—

  “What’s this all about?” Yolanda demanded. “Where is Katherine Knight?”

  “When she is found,” said the officer in an accusing tone, “you’ll be among the first to hear about it.”

  They whirled to go.

  “Wait!” Yolanda cried, at the same time dropping a bright Chiam doll to the floor. As the uniformed men turned back to her she pointed to the doll. “If you please, I dropped it—”

  “Don’t touch it,” one of the men hissed. “He might be after our fingerprints! ”

  The two uniformed men hurried off. “Miss Lavelle!”

  Yolanda whirled, wondering what dreadful thing might descend upon her next. Facing her was the large blond hotel manager, Jefferson Cotton.

  “I find there was a package left for you by Miss Knight before she went out yesterday. Here. Shall I help you open it, or—”

  “I’ll go to my room, thank you.”

  It was a tremendous relief to be away from that mad crowd, thought Yolanda, closing herself in her room. In her heart she was thankful to Katherine Knight for the package, whatever it might be, if only because it took her out of the menacing shadow of Tolozell.

  How could Katherine be so trusting as to accept the friendship of such a treacherous creature? Yolanda had often pondered this matter. She knew that there was a solid value to hypnotism itself, when used by competent psychiatrists and doctors for certain types of cases. Well, perhaps Katherine had been one of those so-called neurotic persons, highly suggestible.

  Perhaps Katherine had needed just that extra ounce of initiative which Tolozell’s hypnotic suggestions had provided; without it she might never have overcome her fears and lack of confidence.

  Yolanda opened the package and lifted the beautiful jeweled costume from it.

  “Gorgeous! The loveliest, the most daring, the most glittering gown I ever saw.”

  The note was typewritten, even Katherine’s signature. It was a brief and highly impersonal hint that the paper doll party must be a success; the big theater magnate must be won over. He would not be won by paper dolls alone, but also by the personal beauty of the artist; hence this gown, given by a friend, passed on to Yolanda by “your loving friend, Katherine.”

  Yolanda, dressed in her new finery, paused before the mirror for a long breathless moment. In her softly curved hand was the White Paper Wand that John How had given her. Its brightness was a perfect match for her radiant new costume. How like a fairy princess she was!

  But she turned away from the mirror a little angry with herself.

  “There’s not time to be sentimental about bright jewels. The party is waiting. For Katherine’s sake I must—”

  Her fingers pressed to her lips. What could have become of Katherine? Would she be down there waiting now? Or had something dreadful happened?

  And what of Carter O’Connor? Was there any cause to be worried over his strange disappearance?

  The terrors of a few nights previous flooded back upon Yolanda as she wended her way toward the stairs. Over the balcony she could see the fairyland of paper dolls swaying gently from wires. Her world! And yet it would all be meaningless if anything had happened to her dearest friends.

  If only she had kept that paper doll of Carter O’Connor! To have it in her possession—and again the old superstitions swept in with full force!—she could surely help protect him by protecting the doll of him!

  Fresh courage and confidence came to her with the thought.

  For she did have the paper doll of Katherine Knight!

  There it hung, as pretty a cut-out of a dancing girl as any artist ever looked upon.

  Very well, Katherine Knight must be safe, in spite of those dark hints from suspicious-looking officers.

  With these assurances, Yolanda descended the stairs in a calm and determined mood. Had not some unknown powers of magic come into her life during those past years with Jolly John?

  Very well, she would put her utmost trust in those powers; she would not be the victim of any overwhelming trickery, but a wielder of the destinies of others.

  Even as she told herself these things, she was aware that the lights in the hotel lobby were being dimmed. And then, as she reached the bottom step, the whole floor was enveloped in deep, penetrating, almost tangible blue.

  Rows of blue ceiling floodlights sent streams of blue down upon the circus of paper dolls.

  Blue footlights blazed upward like shafts of a silent blue fountain.

  At once this riot of Yolanda’s favorite color began playing a game with her will power. A game of melting, softening.

  The soft blue glowed weirdly from the array of gems in her gorgeous gown. Now, as never before, she was aware of the many mirrors with which this enchanting lobby was walled.

  This fairyland as unspeakably lovely—yes, and she was lovely, too. She couldn’t help knowing it.

  But where was everyone?

  The one lonely looking person sauntering across the carpeted floor was Tolozell; and his casual manner and subdued voice somehow did not jar as violently against the softness of the scene as Yolanda might have expected.

  “There’s something about blue lights,” he said, “especially this blue. It makes things almost luminous.”

  “It is rather nice,” said Yolanda. “Do they often light the lobby this way?”

  “Only at the very late hours, after most of the people have retired. Unfortunately, the average person doesn’t catch the strong magnetism from colors that you and I do.”

  “Won’t the other people be coming back this evening?” Yolanda asked. There were only the two or three attendants, circulating among the hallways farther on.

  “The guests understood that there was to be a conference of a more or less private nature. I suggested that if they would come back tomorrow they might see a paper doll of me among your collection. Would you be so kind?”

  “Are you sure you want me to make a representation of you?” Yolanda said. There was a little catch in her throat. “You might not guess it, but my paper dolls have been known to carry certain powers all their own.”

  “Wonderful,” said Tolozell. “Please do a cut-out of me and bestow upon me all the virtues you think I should have.” The evil sullen face seemed a trifle softened under the dim light. Yolanda impulsively gave her decision,

  “Please sit there and think of those virtues you want most,” she said. “I’ll make a doll of you before you know it.

  I have only this paper, but it will do.” The hypnotist posed, and Yolanda unrolled a rectangle of paper from the White Wand and went to work.

  A few minutes later Yolanda hung the latest addition to her collection at the end of the paper doll string. It was a simple representation, with features done in brief bold strokes.

  “A pleasant pastime, Miss Lavelle, making me virtuous?”

  “I am glad to do a good turn for anyone who really needs it,” Yolanda said.

  In the semi-darkness she could imagine that Tolozell, standing beside the bright paper representation of himself, actually might grow to resemble its line of virtue.

  But would that be p
ossible? She wondered.

  She was sitting in a soft, comfortable chair, now, musing upon this matter, wondering whether such a dream was within the range of her unknown powers.

  The strain of the swift art work under the dim light had left her fatigued.

  Tolozell was apparently occupied with studying the paper symbol of himself. His presence was no longer a disturbance to her mind. He was still talking, but she was too much relaxed, all at once, to pay much attention.

  The hypnotist’s low drawn-out words were in a soothing monotone. Yolanda felt strangely sleepy as she listened to the continuous hum of his voice. “A very pleasing picture, Miss Lavelle. Yes, very pleeeeasing, indeeeeeeeed. You weeeeesh me to beeee a man of goooood deeeeeds. So pleeeeeasinnnng. Pleeeeeasinnnng.”

  Yolanda made no answer. “Pleeeasing . . . Yes, indeeeeeeeed,” A stupor engulfed her. She seemed to be fading away, as if under the influence of ether.

  A twinge of responsibility caught in her dwindling consciousness. She glanced down beside her, Yes, the White Paper Wand was still leaning against the arm of her chair, its silver knob hanging in her limp curved fingers. The scissors lay on the floor in front of her. She drew a long, quiet breath.

  “An eeeasy tiiiiime to sleeeeeeeep.” The knob of the wand slipped from her hand. . . but it was all right . . . no clattering from its fall . . . someone must have caught it.

  Then a sharp voice: “Now try to sleep! You must try. Put all your energies into trying!”

  CHAPTER XXI

  Hypnotic Trickery

  “You are very good at cutting paper dolls, Yolanda,” said Tolozell.

  “Yes,” said Yolanda dreamily. “John How taught me.”

  “Here is a piece of paper. The scissors are in your hand. Go ahead and cut a nice little design for me.” Yolanda’s hands moved a little. “But the scissors are gone out of my hands.”

  “No—they are in your hands. Don’t you feel them? They’re the very scissors you’re used to.” Tolozell placed the scissors in her hands. “Now go ahead.”

  “I don’t see very well.”