The So Blue Marble

by Dorothy B. Hughes

  Gig began, “But Griselda doesn’t want to go with you. She asked me…”

  David’s smile was sweet. “We won’t keep her long. A small errand.”

  She was icy.

  Missy shrilled suddenly, “If you don’t leave those god-damned women alone, I’ll kill you.” She struck at Danny’s face.

  He took both of her hands in one of his and looked at her for a second. “You won’t kill me,” he said. He had an ugly smile. With his free hand a fist, he clubbed her on the temple. Then he turned his back on her and stared out the window. She began to sob soundlessly.

  Gig was having trouble breathing.

  Griselda whimpered, “Open the window, David. I’ve got to have air.” She gulped it.

  David’s voice was hard. “Danny and Missy are not always the pleasantest of company. I apologize.” Then he spoke to them in a language not even familiar. Danny turned forward again but he didn’t speak to Missy. She hushed her whimpering but the lump on her temple would be blue.

  The brakes squealed on Fifty-fifth. David pointed, “Here.” He opened the door and stepped out “Here you are, Professor.” The cane was pointing.

  Gig pleaded, “Griselda and I have an engagement this evening. I suggest that she join you some other time.”

  Danny’s voice was ugly. “I suggest you get out while you can. We’ve been patient with you too damn long.”

  David warned, “Dan…”

  The taximan must hear. Maybe he was used to scenes. Maybe he was afraid.

  She said, “Go on, Gig. If I’m not back by morning, call Tobin.”

  David laughed, standing there in the frosty night “Just a small errand. We’ll deliver her back to you in an hour, safe and sound.” He walked to the apartment with Gig. She wanted to scream out. She couldn’t see them now and she held her breath.

  Missy said, “A match, Danny?”

  “Don’t smoke now,” he told her. She put her case away without a word.

  David was back again. He couldn’t have done anything to Gig in that time. He directed, “The Biltmore.” They followed Missy and Danny through the revolving door, down the lighted promenade, out into the evening again.

  Griselda asked then, “Where are we going?”

  “A little errand.” He held her arm. Missy and Danny were also arm in arm but they were laughing. They led. Their steps were quicker. Then they were out of sight.

  She questioned, “Where?”

  He laughed at her. “You should stop bothering your head, Griselda. We know what we are doing.”

  She shivered. She spoke from deep inside her, past the surface things. “I’m afraid for Missy. She is my sister.”

  He was sober. “She is happy. She isn’t like you and Ann.”

  The Madison National Bank was great and gray on the corner. He turned her into the darkness, a side entrance she’d never seen. She held back. Forty-second and Madison was lighted; buses were passing and cars and there were always people. Yet no one had noticed them turn. It was as if they were invisible standing there, David holding the door for her. He said, “Come in.” Her feet moved without her will and she was inside looking out into the incredible reality of street lights and street scenes.

  He said, “Come,” and she answered in a dream, “I didn’t know banks were left unlocked.”

  He laughed softly, “Danny and Missy left it open for us.”

  She turned towards the street again and he touched her arm. “This way.” He moved through the semi-dark into blackness. He walked as easily as if his eyes held torches. She was uncertainty beside him.”What are. we doing here?” Automatically she had used a whisper.

  His voice was conversational although subdued. “We’re going to the vaults.”

  She felt stairs, could see nothing. He walked as by daylight, assisting her. She was helpless. “Why are we here? We shouldn’t be here. If we were caught…”

  “We are never caught.” It was a simple statement.

  They were at the foot of the stairs. There was a needle eye of green light ahead in the corridor. At first nothing but the light was in their eyes, then Missy and Danny were behind it.

  She whispered, “Aren’t you afraid to show any light?”

  He patted her arm. “Don’t be nervous, Griselda. That can’t be seen.” She could see the outline of his face. Then she saw what he had seen while he spoke, something dark, taller than a carpet on the floor. Something that didn’t move.

  4

  For that moment the silence was as the dark. Griselda knew she was shivering but she wasn’t cold. Her teeth were chattering as if it were winter here instead of the sultry heat of the under corridor.

  David’s words came, cold as her throat. “Who did that?”

  Missy defended. “He had to. The man saw us.”

  David was ice. “I told you not to. It wasn’t necessary.” He would have left Griselda but she clung to him as he walked toward that black shadow. He warned, “Don’t get blood on your shoes. Be careful where you step.”

  Her giggle was the sob. “I can’t see…”

  His fingers tightened on her arm. “Quiet.”

  It was just a man, not much different from Mr. Grain, only the mustache wasn’t waxed. She looked away.

  Danny rasped, “There’s no sense wasting time. There might be another. The vault’s here.” He had a key. He opened the heavy door, swung it into darkness.

  David said to her, “This way. Watch where you walk.” He circled her past that dark blob.

  Within the darkness was without feeling. Then the green flare dazzled her. Missy held it, a thin pencil with light in the tip.

  Danny ordered, “The number of your deposit box, Griselda.”

  She was too frightened not to remember. “61117.”

  “I hope that is correct.” His voice was without feeling. The same key was in the box that had opened the door. It opened the box.

  She asked in a sudden annoyance, “Why are you opening my box? Why?”

  David said, “Surely you know.” He continued, “You visited your box yesterday. We want the blue marble.”

  If she started laughing, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She bit her lip. “It isn’t here. I could have told you that.” She bit her lip until it hurt. But she mustn’t start laughing. A man dead on the corridor floor because they didn’t ask.

  David opened the box. His fingers touched everything. Rubber-banded letters from Con, dated six years ago. Dated three years ago, last will and testament. She froze but he didn’t open it. The box of keepsakes, prying through them, but the marble wasn’t there. He didn’t open last will and testament; didn’t even see the letter in fresh ink, “To Con, In Case of My Death.” The sheaf of bonds. Her father’s watch.

  He said, “It isn’t here.”

  Missy’s little voice was pointed as a sharpened stick. “Why do you waste time? Why don’t you make her give it to you?”

  “I don’t have it. I don’t know anything about it.” She was husky, frightened.

  Missy coaxed, “She’s lying. You know she has it. Make her give it over.”

  Griselda caught David’s arm in panic. “I don’t have it. I don’t!”

  He said, “That’s enough, Missy.”

  She was scornful and disappointed. She muttered, “Because she has a face.”

  Danny put the box back. It clanged in the silence. “Let’s get out of here.” He locked the door after them. Missy darkened her torch. They skirted the body there in the tiny flare. At the steps Griselda pushed close against David. Even with him beside her, she didn’t like those two following in the black.

  It was uncanny. They went out of the door as they had come in. Danny locked it. They walked up to Fifth; David hailed a cab, said, “The St. Regis.” He added, “You’ll have a drink, Griselda.”

  She was drained. She said, “I only want to go home. Please.”

  Danny was suddenly kind. “Don’t worry. No one can testify against us.” Then he said, “No one has ever
testified against us.”

  David spoke to the driver. “Stop a moment in the middle of the block.” He helped her out of the cab. “Shall I…”

  She shivered away from him. “I’ll go in alone. Please.” If she began to weep now, would the taximan know? Would he help? She didn’t dare. “Alone, please.”

  “As you will. Goodnight.”

  She hurried to the walk. Mechanically she watched the cab drive away. She let herself into the foyer, rang for the elevator. It gave the faint clang that meant it was waiting on first.

  PART VI

  When she pushed back the heavy iron inner cage and stepped into the elevator, she knew why David had not insisted on coming with her. It must have been the reason. Gig was crumpled on the floor. He didn’t move.

  Fury clawed her. The lethargy of fear, of shock, was gone. This was how David had been rid so soon of him. Another killing-nothing to the horrible twins. The elevator stopped at four. She touched Gig’s hand. It was warm-too warm for death? She didn’t know. He did not seem to breathe.

  She opened the cage, the heavy door, held it with her knee and took his hand. She tugged at him but he was immovable, a solid lump. Someone was behind her, had opened her door. The hair on her scalp pricked. She couldn’t turn; she still held that helpless hand, clutched it now.

  A man’s voice, a nice lazy voice, asked, “What are you doing? What on earth…”

  She dropped the hand and whirled. Con standing there! Con, tall and bony, with his nice horsy face and wise gray eyes.

  “Con, oh, Con!” She ran into his arms and she hid her face close to him. “Con-Con-Con…” Repeating the word over and again as if it were a talisman, her fingers like hooks on his shoulders.

  His voice, still easy, “What’s the matter, sweet? Boy friend passed out on you?”

  She remembered. She remembered too much, that she didn’t belong in Con’s arms, her nose smelling his tweed coat, but above all she remembered Gig lying there dead or dying. She pushed away. “We’ve got to get him out of there. Help me, Con.”

  She held back the heavy grill again and he dragged the lump over into the narrow hallway. He dusted off his hands as if he had been hauling ashes. “Now what?”

  She told him, “We’d better get him into his apartment, in bed.”

  Con looked down at the mound. “But where? Who?”

  Her eyes were sharp at him, puzzled. “Who is it?”

  She cried out, “Con! Gig, of course!” He looked again, then at her. His voice had lost some of the gaiety. “That isn’t Gig.”

  “Then who is it?”

  “I’ve never laid eyes on him before.”

  She stood there, realized she was tearing at her skirt. She whispered, “But he said-he calls himself Gig…” She couldn’t make sense.

  Con said, “He mustn’t see me. We’d better get him into Gig’s apartment. Does he have a key?”

  “He lives there.”

  She couldn’t move; couldn’t touch him again. Con went into the shapeless pockets; found the key.

  “Is he dead?” She had to know.

  “Don’t think so. More like a coma.” He put his hand against the man’s vest. “Heart’s going. Not very right. Wonder where Gig is. Open the door.” He handed the key to her. He half-dragged, half-carried Gig-it was Gig to her-inside.

  “The bedroom-do you think?” He answered himself. “I can’t figure in this. You’d hardly drag him that far. Couch is better. Have to get a doctor for him. Sure he isn’t drunk?”

  She shook her head. “He isn’t. Someone-hurt him.” She wondered if it were the gas. There didn’t seem to be blood.

  Con took her hand. “Come on, baby. Well go across and you call for help. I’ll hide out when he comes. Can’t let the guy pass out-even if he isn’t Gig.”

  They closed the door and went across to the other apartment. She said, “Be sure it’s locked,” when he closed the door. Her hands were wobbling as if she were old. She just made the couch, slowly, carefully. She clenched her fingers. She couldn’t do anything now, like fainting or hysterics. Not before Con.

  He followed her over and squinted down at her. “You seem pretty rocky yourself, Griselda. This guy mean something to you?”

  She shook her head. “Not that. You-you…” She caught her breath. “I need a drink. A hard one.” You-you’d be rocky too if you’d seen… But she mustn’t talk about it; she might go under. She mustn’t involve Con in this. Danny would kill him, too. And Danny would kill her if she talked.

  He walked to the kitchen. She closed her eyes, just for one moment, one tiny moment. If she could only stay close to Con she wouldn’t be frightened. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to stay with Con. That was silly. They were divorced. Con was satisfied even if she weren’t. He didn’t want a baby doll wife. He’d said so before the divorce. “I can’t keep up a baby doll. Excess baggage to me.” Maybe she was a baby doll then. Maybe he was just trying to hurt her as she used to try to hurt him. But he was content without her.

  He brought her a glass of Bourbon with ice and some water. “Better take it slowly. You’re in a state. You can tell me after you drink a little.”

  She took a swallow, then set it down. “A doctor. We must get a doctor for Gig. Whom shall I call?”

  He went with her to the phone in the bedroom. “Moriarity’s my man. But you can’t-he’d know it wasn’t Gig…”

  “I don’t know New York doctors any more.”

  “Whom does Ann have?”

  So many. One for eyes and one for heart and one for childbirth and one for children’s care. But she remembered a name. Slezak. She dialed.

  The servant said that Dr. Slezak made no night calls.

  “Then the name of some doctor who does. It’s terribly important and I don’t know. I’m just a visitor here.”

  There was finally a name. Dr. Kane. Again she dialed, and after a space reached him. New York doctors were not as in smaller places, leaping out at every call. She tried to explain, urged, “Will you come?” until he agreed. “Ring my apartment. He isn’t conscious -or wasn’t…” She replaced the phone, rested her head for a moment against the head board of the bed. Then she stood.

  Con caught her when she tottered. “Easy,” he said. “You do need a drink-or something.”

  They returned to the living room. She sat stiffly on the couch. He pulled a chair for himself in front of her, looked into her eyes. “I suppose this is all a part of the blue marble.”

  Her eyes shivered but she nodded. “It is. Con, put the chain on the front door and see if the back one’s still tight.”

  He obeyed, returning, asked, “Why the ramparts?”

  “People have had a strange habit of barging in here without invitation. I thought it safer.” She tried to be casual.

  “Mm.”

  She asked, “Why are you here? I thought-” He grinned. “I’m not here-officially. I had a fellow fly me up. Have to be back by tomorrow afternoon. No one’s to know I’ve been here, baby.”

  “I won’t tell.” So much she mustn’t tell. If only she could keep it straight. But this much she would remember. No one to know about Con. “Why did you come?”

  He grinned again. “More than one reason. Maybe to see how you were doing. No time to go into it now. Is the marble safe?”

  She whispered, “Yes,” and she shivered and looked beyond him at doors but none was opening. She leaned to him, “Why don’t you give it back? Why do you want to keep it? If you only knew…” She jumped at the buzzer’s sound.

  He nodded to her to answer. Hesitantly she went to the communicating phone. “Yes?” Then relief, ”Yes, Dr. Kane. The elevator is self-running. Button four.” She hung up, pushed the opening bell.

  He said, “I’ll get out of the way until he goes.”

  She held her hands tight at her side because she couldn’t let him go. “You’ll come back?”

  He laughed. “Your eyes are like saucers, angel. I won’t be out of earshot.”

>   She heard the elevator and opened the door into the hall. Dr. Kane’s mustache was to disguise his young mouth, his sobriety, his young emotions. She said, “I am Griselda Satterlee. I called you. Professor Gigland is in his apartment.” Con had left the opposite door on the catch. She preceded the doctor.

  Gig was limp on the couch. She caught her breath, whispered, “Is he dead?’

  “No.” He worked over him a long time but Gig lay there, unresponsive. The doctor’s face puckered. “I’ve tried restoratives. I’ve tried everything. But nothing happens. It’s like an anaesthetic but that seems impossible. He mustn’t be left alone. Can you stay?”

  She couldn’t. “I scarcely know him. I couldn’t stay here.” She tried to explain just enough, that she had found him in the elevator. This wasn’t Inspector Tobin but better to get the story set now. If Gig, this Gig, died, she would be questioned. The very young doctor would be questioned.

  He decided. “I’ll call a nurse for tonight. In the morning with Dr. Slezak…” He took the phone.

  She was on edge. “Need I wait? I’d like to get to bed. I’m so tired.”

  “Of course.” His whole face apologized. “Sorry to keep you so long, Mrs. Satterlee.” He hesitated. “You don’t look well. You’re nervous. Would you take a sedative if I gave it to you?”

  She said no. Again she crossed to her own apartment, let herself in. She didn’t know where Con had gone. She sank on the couch, took up her drink. The back door was opening. Her throat was too dry to scream.

  It was Con re-entering and she began to weep without sounds. She heard him chain the door. He came over to her and there was surprise on his chin.”Don’t start that angel,” he said mildly. “We haven’t much time and I want you to talk.” He took her glass from her, went to the kitchen and returned with a fresh one for each. “I’d put you to bed but I’m afraid you’d pass out on me soon as you touched a pillow and I’ve got to know first what has you in such a frazzle.” He looked at his wrist. “It’s ten-thirty. I have to be out of here by midnight.”