The Last Drive

by Rex Stout

  The hall was quite dark, but he knew his position. At the further end, some distance away, was the room of the grocer and his wife, who, he hoped, were both sound asleep. In the other direction, across the hall, was another door; he stepped forward, groping along the wall—it ought to be about here—ah! He raised his hand and tapped softly on the panel. After a pause he tapped again, a little louder.

  A slight movement, a barely audible rustle, sounded within the room, then footsteps. A voice came:

  “Is it you, Mother?”

  “No. It is I—Sackerville.”

  There was a startled exclamation quickly suppressed, and the door opened a little.

  “What—what is it?” came a voice through the crack.

  “I want to talk to you. I knew you would be awake. Will you come downstairs?”

  “Oh—why—I—I can’t!”

  “You must. Only a minute. I will be in the library.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Sackerville turned and groped his way back through the hall to the stairs. He tiptoed silently down to the library, where he switched on the electric pedestal lamp, then went to the windows and drew the shades. He sat down on a chair, then got up again and began pacing silently up and down; he could hear his watch ticking in his pocket. He had a curious feeling, not exactly impatience; the minutes seemed to hang in the silent air. Then, hearing a noise at the door, he turned quickly.

  “Ah,” he said, “I knew you would come.”

  Melissa looked at him from the door. She wore a house-dress of pale green, caught at the throat with a silk cord and a girdle at the waist; and the soft dull glow of her hair seemed to melt into the dim light so that her face was a spot of intense whiteness in a somber frame. She was more beautiful than any vision could have been.

  “And how—how did you know that?” she asked, between a whisper and a murmur.

  Sackerville smiled. “Curiosity will do anything,” he said. “Won’t you come in so I can close the door? We mustn’t wake anyone.”

  “But I am not sure I want to come in.”

  “Yes, you do. Come.”

  And as she took a step forward he went to the door and closed it noiselessly, then took her hand and led her to the divan in the windows.

  “This is—I was never so imprudent in my life,” said Melissa. “What is it? What’s the matter with me? What do you want?”

  “Just to talk with you.” Sackerville sat down beside her. “You are to be married tomorrow, so I won’t have another chance. I suppose this strikes you as—well—a little unconventional?”

  “A little,” said Melissa with a smile. She looked at him. “Yes, it was curiosity. And you—you just wanted to see if I would come. Wasn’t that it? Well, I did, and now—”

  She started to rise.

  “No. Wait. I want to ask you a question first. Are you in love with Gowanton?”

  Melissa sat down again, with a little startled exclamation, and turned eyes of amazement on him. It was an absurd, incredible question from a man she had barely met, a stranger; she must protest, she must assert her dignity. … But his eyes were on hers, and they were certainly not impertinent. . . .

  “I am going to marry him,” was what she said.

  “I know. That would be enough for most men, but not for me. Of course, you don’t love him. You are being married off, that’s all. That’s why I think I have a right— Do you remember the story I told last night of my friend the army officer? Well, that was me. It is your face that has haunted me for ten years. Only I didn’t know you were quite so beautiful. I’m not making love to you, I’m just telling you the facts. And since it will be too late tomorrow, won’t you do this for me? Won’t you talk with me frankly and honestly, like old friends, just for five minutes?”

  “But this—no—I can’t believe—” said Melissa breathlessly.

  “You must. You’re only a girl; you haven’t realized some things, their seriousness. I know you don’t love Gowanton. Of course, you don’t love me either; but I love you and I want you. As far as your promise is concerned, I don’t give a hang for it; that’s up to your mother. She’s arranged it; let her get out of it. It amounts to this, do you care for Gowanton more than you do for me? Of course, I’m a stranger; you don’t know me; but do you know him any better, really? Do you care for him even a little bit? Tell me.”

  There was no reply. Melissa sat looking straight ahead, with her fingers playing nervously with the silken cord at her throat. Suddenly her head fell forward and she covered her face with her hands. There was a long silence. Sackerville could see her white neck curving under the pale green of her dress, and her great mass of hair like a cushion on her lap. The ticking of the clock could be heard from the hall, through the closed door. He sat without moving, waiting, for a long time; then he put out his hand and touched her shoulder. She shivered all over and sprang to her feet.

  “That was exactly what was the matter with me,” she said slowly, in a trembling voice. “That was why—but I didn’t know it till tonight. And now it is too late.”

  She glided to the door and opened it.

  “No,” she said without turning her head, “no, I don’t love him.”

  She disappeared in the darkness

  Here is a scene of activity; seven or eight servants running around, preparing everything from a hot iron to a wedding breakfast; six bridesmaids dodging in and out of every conceivable sort of errands, or none at all; Mrs. Beach holding on to her daughter by a long something and yelling frantically for pins; Andrew Beach roaming around the halls in a cloud of cigar smoke swearing under his breath and looking at his watch every two minutes. And it still lacked an hour and a quarter till noon, which was the time set for the wedding at the church twelve blocks away.

  Andrew Beach was just seating himself on the porch in the vain hope of escaping from the turmoil for a few minutes when his friend Sackerville appeared from somewhere and said calmly:

  “I’ve just telephoned Gowanton that you want to speak to him. He’s coming right over. It would be best to take him up to my room, out of the way.”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded the grocer, leaping to his feet. “Are you crazy, too? I don’t want to see Gowanton. What’s he coming here for?”

  “No, but I do,” replied Sackerville. “Take it easy, Andy. I’ll explain to you shortly. There’s something I want to say to you and Gowanton together. He’ll probably come in his car; he ought to be here— There he comes now!”

  A big gray limousine had appeared down the street, and soon it drew up at the front curb to deposit Mr. John Gowanton, redder than ever, on the brick walk. He looked stiffer than usual, too, but that was merely the effect of his very new clothes.

  “What is it, what is it?” he puffed, ascending the porch. “Good morning, Mr. Beach, Mr. Sackerville. Is there anything the matter— Melissa—”

  Andrew Beach was flustered himself, but he managed to follow Sackerville’s instructions and lead the way upstairs to the guest-room. They met three or four servants and a bridesmaid or two in the halls, but no one noticed the bridegroom’s presence. Sackerville placed chairs for Mr. Beach and Mr. Gowanton, then seated himself on the edge of the bed.

  “But what is it? What’s the matter?” repeated Gowanton, who was beginning to be alarmed by all this mystery. He looked at Beach, who in turn looked at Sackerville; and Sackerville got up from the bed and walked to the window, where he stood with his back to the others looking out on the lawn with its great shade trees, while Gowanton kept saying over and over, “What’s the matter, Mr. Beach? What is it?” And the grocer shook his head confusedly, wondering what on earth his guest was up to.

  “Look here,” said Sackerville, turning suddenly, “I’ve been hesitating. I’ve thought perhaps—but it has to be done this way.”

  He went over and stood in front of Gowanton, close to his c
hair.

  “I sent for you,” he said in a sharper tone. “Beach had nothing to do with it. I sent for you to tell you that you can’t marry Melissa.”

  The grocer’s cigar dropped to the floor. There was a swift silence, then Gowanton’s falsetto laugh sounded nervously in the room.

  “Oh—I see—a joke,” he stammered. “Ha, ha! I—pretty good!”

  “No,” said Sackerville, sharper still. “It’s no joke.” He turned to the grocer. “You must forgive me for this, Andy; I think you will. As for you, Gowanton, I don’t care to make any apologies or explanations. I don’t criticize you. I will even admit that you have as much right to happiness as I have. But I happen to be stronger—so much the worse for you. You can’t marry Melissa Beach, because I’m going to marry her myself.”

  “By——” cried the grocer, starting up.

  Gowanton was on his feet, too, but he was too astounded to speak. What can you say to a madman? Who ever heard of anyone going up to a bridegroom on his wedding morning and telling him he is going to take his bride away from him? It isn’t done, that’s all. Stupefied, Gowanton grew red and pale by turns as he stood and gazed at Sackerville with his mouth open.

  “Why—” he stammered, why—you must be crazy—”

  “No.” Sackerville smiled. “I don’t wonder you’re surprised. No doubt it’s a bit stiff. If I may say so, I am treating you as well as I possibly can. I could—I am pretty sure I could—have run off with her last night, but that wouldn’t have been fair to her or you either. I was talking to her in the library. She doesn’t love you, Gowanton, and she doesn’t want to marry you. She isn’t even willing to marry you. Why, she’d even prefer me. So you can’t have her.”

  It was at this point that Andrew Beach stepped softly to the door and turned the key in the lock. Why? Probably he didn’t know himself. He merely felt that it would be best to have the door locked, so he locked it. Then he turned with his back against it and stood looking at the two men facing each other in the middle of the room.

  “So,” Gowanton was saying, “you’ve been talking to her.”

  “Yes. Last night.”

  “And you knew—you knew—”

  “Yes, I knew.”

  “Then—” Gowanton paused, and his eyes slowly left Sackerville and went to Andrew Beach at the door.

  “I am sorry,” he said to the grocer, “to have to call your guest a cad in your own house.”

  Then his eyes came back.

  “You are a cad, Mr. Sackerville,” he said calmly.

  But Sackerville never budged. “No doubt,” he said drily. “I don’t measure a man by his manners, Gowanton. Anyway, you’re wrong. I have a thousand claims here to your one. She is mine, really mine, but you wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain. She is mine, but I’m going to give you a chance.”

  He turned.

  “Andy, will you send for your daughter? And ask her which of us—Gowanton or me—she would rather marry.”

  “No, he won’t!” cried Gowanton suddenly, spring to the door. “It’s absurd! Why, it’s absurd! Mr. Beach—”

  “Don’t let him out, Andy,” said Sackerville.

  “But it’s ridiculous, I tell you! I won’t stand for it! Why, you—”

  “Wait a minute, Mr. Gowanton.” Andrew Beach raised his voice for the first time. “You have reminded me that this is my house. I’m going to do what Sackerville asks. I’ve known him longer than you have, and I think—anyway, he’s right. Melly ought to have a chance, and I’m going to give her one. You wait—”

  He unlocked the door, poked his head out and called to a servant in the hall. Then he closed the door again and turned to the two men.

  “We haven’t much time,” he observed, glancing at his watch. “It’s twenty after eleven. We were to leave for the church at a quarter to twelve. The only thing is, if Melissa—”

  A knock sounded. A voice came:

  “Daddy!”

  The grocer opened the door, and Melissa entered. He stepped forward to take her hand, then sprang back so suddenly that he nearly lost his balance as another figure, that of his wife, advanced across the threshold.

  The mother and daughter stood, one a little in front of the other, stopped short by the appearance of three men where they had expected to find one or, at the most, two. But Mrs. Beach soon found her voice.

  “John!” she cried, looking at Gowanton in amazement. “What in the name of goodness are you doing here?”

  The bridegroom scowled. Andrew Beach proved his bravery by coming forward and opening his mouth to explain; but Sackerville, knowing that to be both useless and dangerous, put his hand on his friend’s arm and said something in a low tone, and Andrew Beach nodded and turned to his daughter.

  “Melly,” he said, “come here.”

  She obeyed wonderingly. All in white, enveloped in lace and satin, she looked so fresh and lovely that she seemed to belong to a different world from those common-looking men in their black and gray. She went to her father’s side, glancing first at Gowanton, then at Sackerville.

  “Listen, Melly,” said the grocer, patting her hand, “I want to ask you something I should have asked you a long time ago. I’ve been a bad father; but it’s not too late. Tell me the truth—remember, the truth—do you want to marry John Gowanton?”

  “Good heavens!”

  It was Mrs. Beach’s voice.

  “Are you crazy, Andrew? I knew it was something—when I saw John here—I knew it—”

  But her husband silenced her for once. You would never have supposed that authority to be concealed in the little grocer’s breast unless you had heard him in a business crisis.

  “Not another word from you!” he commanded.

  Then he turned to his daughter.

  “Do you want to marry John Gowanton?” he repeated.

  But though Melissa had had a moment to recover from her astonishment she could only stammer:

  “Why, I am—yes—that is—”

  “No, don’t be frightened,” said the grocer. “Tell me the truth; do you want to marry him?”

  Melissa looked at her father, at Sackerville, at her mother, and finally at Gowanton. She looked at him a long time, directly in his face, as if she were seeing him for the first time. And then her eyes dropped, and she saw her bridal dress with its folds of white, and her face suddenly grew pale with resolution.

  “No,” she said, in a low, distinct voice. “No, I don’t want to marry him.”

  A sharp cry came from her mother:

  “Melissa!”

  “Let her alone,” said the grocer. “You’ve done enough as it is. Thank God, it’s not too late. Mr. Gowanton—you’ve heard—I’m sorry—”

  If Gowanton’s face had been red before, it was purple now with emotion. It could be seen that he was hard put to maintain his role of gentleman. He looked very much as though he wanted to hit somebody.

  “You mean—” he stammered violently and could get no farther.

  “Yes,” said Andrew Beach. “I’m sorry.”

  Gowanton choked. He glared at Sackerville a moment, then he turned and bowed formally to Melissa; then he went to the door, wheeled and bowed to Mrs. Beach. The next moment he was gone—gone in a rush down the stairs and through the hall to where his big gray limousine waited at the curb.

  “And now,” said Mrs. Beach in tense tones of fury, “now, Andrew Beach, perhaps you’ll explain—”

  “You bet I’ll explain,” said the grocer grimly. “But first, I know you’ve been to a lot of trouble for this wedding, and there’s a church full of people down the street waiting for us. It’s been a big expense, too, and I don’t like to throw away money. Gowanton’s gone, thank God, but we’ll give Melly a chance to dig up another bridegroom.”

  He turned to Sackerville.

  “Just
ask her, Harry. Ask her yes or no. No pushing. Only, if she wants to and you want to, I’ll get a car to take you to the church and we’ll have some fun with society.”

  He looked steadily at Sackerville for a moment, patted Melissa on the shoulder, then went and took his wife by the arm and led her into the hall, closing the door behind them.

  There was silence in the room—absolute silence, save for the soft rustling of the wind in the trees, through the open window. And the breeze entered, and there was a faint movement among the folds of lace on the bridal dress. … Sackerville saw it. . . .

  Suddenly he spoke.

  “Gowanton’s gone,” he said. “So there’s no hurry now. I don’t know what I’ve done, Melissa, and I don’t care. When a man wants something as I want you he will do anything. I want you to marry me now, but I’ll wait if you say so. You must decide. They are waiting for us.”

  He took a step toward her. She looked up and met his eyes questioningly.

  “I have loved you ten years,” he said. “I have waited that long. I will love you all my life. Melissa— Will you—”

  And then, still with her eyes on his, she nodded.

  He was close to her now, and he bent his head and touched his lips to her hair, the hair that he had felt on his face one night in the wilderness.

  “I never thought—” he said, “I never dreamed—”

  But that could not have been strictly true. There was that license in his pocket!

  It Happened Last Night

  This story appeared in The Black Cat in January 1917; it was reprinted in The Canadian Magazine in 1936. John McAleer knew of the 1936 publication but not that the story had first appeared nineteen years earlier. Discussing the story in his biography of Rex Stout, McAleer describes it as a “slick romance” that “reads like apprentice work.” In this, McAleer was prescient: it was apprentice work, in the same sense that all of Stout’s early stories were. In any event, the story presents itself as a rather typical Stout romance, but closes with an unexpected twist—and not the expected sort of unexpected twist.

  I knew that she was inaccessible to me. When I first found the thought of her whirling about in my mind, the sensible thing would have been to go to the corner café for a drink and drown the fancy like a man. She belonged to another world, and anything I might do would be like a dog baying at the moon. I knew that; but I entertained the thought and caressed it, encouraged it. I was intoxicated.