rather than concussion.'
Crane said, 'You d better look after Carmel s cuts.'
Ann found some alcohol, and the doctor bathed the scratches.
Alice moaned and sat up. She looked at them with incurious eyes. 'I don t feel well,' she said.
Dr Woodrin helped her to her feet, held her with an arm around her waist when she swayed unsteadily. 'You d better lie down for five or ten minutes,' he said. 'I ll give you some ammonia.'
'There are some cots by the showers,' Carmel said.
The surgeon led Alice to the back of the locker room. Ann looked at Crane curiously. 'How come you re not scarred up?'
'It was a private fight.'
Carmel said, 'Not private enough, though.' She turned her great eyes upon him. 'You re not going to pay any attention…?'
'She was tight,' Crane said.
'Thanks,' Carmel said.
Fairly sober again, Crane watched her admiringly. She had been accused of murder, adultery and a few other more or less destructive qualities; had finished a really first-class drag-out fight, yet her composure was perfect. That wasn t all that was perfect about her, either. It was too bad, he thought, that Alice hadn t lasted a little longer. She might have stripped Carmel naked.
Dr Woodrin came back. 'She ll be all right now.' He looked at the door. 'Hello! Who s this?'
It was Williams. His button-bright black eyes were excited. 'Mr Crane,' he said.
'What is it?'
'Something outside I d like to show you.'
'What?'
'You better come. The doc, too.'
Something in his tone brought them all on his heels. Crane walked beside Ann along the corridor leading to the service entrance.
She said, 'Didn t I hear you say you weren t going to drink?'
'I didn t drink very much.' He had an idea. 'Anyway, it was business.'
She didn t consider that a very good excuse. 'I thought we were going to be nice to each other, too,' she added.
'We are.' He tried to take her arm, but she pulled away.
'Do you think leaving me alone for an hour to drink around with Carmel is being nice?'
'It was Alice.'
'Do you have to call them by their first names?'
'You call Peter, Peter.'
'That s different,' she said angrily.
Outside, bitter air stung their nostrils, made their heads ache. The moon was nearly full: its light silver on the dew-coated grass. In the distance, clear in the tranquil air, violins mourned over a tango, 'La Cumparsita.'
'This way,' Williams said.
They passed along a dark passageway formed by parked cars, walking now on cinders. Their shoes made a crunching noise. The faces of the two women were like jasmine blossoms in the moonlight. Crane pulled his dinner jacket over his chest. It was cold.
'Here,' Williams said.
They halted a few feet from a black sedan. For a moment Crane was conscious of something very odd about the sedan, but he didn t know what it was. Then three things came to his attention: the motor was running; a gray mist, almost like steam, was floating from the right rear window; a man was huddled against the right front door, asleep in the seat next to the driver s.
He knew the man was not asleep.
He could not tell, afterward, how long they stood there, watching the wispy mist above the rear window. It was the color of pine smoke. It was like air from the lungs on a cold day. It diminished and expanded; it was like very sheer gray silk; it was like cigarette smoke rolling from an open mouth.
'I heard the motor,' Williams said.
Crane jerked open the front door, helped Dr Woodrin lift out the body. He held his breath while his head was within the car. He stepped aside after they had placed the body on the cinders, allowed the doctor to kneel by the head.
Carmel s voice was out of tune. 'Talmadge March!' she cried. Her voice made shivers run up and down Crane s back.
Even in the moonlight Crane could see Talmadge s face was discolored. It looked purple, but he supposed in daylight it would be crimson. That was the usual color of carbon monoxide victims.
Dr Woodrin stood up. 'We d better send for the coroner.' His voice was matter of fact.
Carmel said, 'It s Talmadge s car-why isn t he in the driver s seat?'
'I don t know,' Crane said.
With a last sigh of violins, 'La Cumparsita' came to an end. The clubhouse filled with a hollow sound of handclapping. Carmel March s breath Wheezed in her throat. Crane went over to the sedan, put his head inside, turned the ignition key. He sniffed cautiously.
Heavy, sweet, cloying, an odor of gardenias clogged his nostrils, made his heart pound with excitement.
CHAPTER XV
Outside, at five o clock, it was soot dark. The alarm clock was making a noise like a long-distance ring on the telephone, and William Crane hastily turned it off. He put on brown corduroy trousers and a gray flannel shirt, conscious of a frosty wind nipping his ankles.
Downstairs, he found Williams frying eggs in the kitchen.
'Where s Ann?' Crane asked.
Williams handed him a note.
Bill,
I ll be back before noon.
Have an idea.
Ann
'When d she go?' Crane demanded. 'I heard her leave about half an hour ago. It woke me up.'
'I hope she doesn t get in a jam,' Crane said.
The breakfast Williams cooked was swell. They ate five eggs apiece, using bread to sop up the yolk on the plates, and finished the entire pot of coffee.
Crane sighed contentedly, said, 'Maybe they won t come with Talmadge dead.'
Williams wiped his mouth with a checkered red-and-white dishcloth. 'A thing like another death in the family isn t going to keep the Marchs from something important… such as duck shooting.'
'They re still pretending the deaths are accidents,' Crane said. 'I don t understand it.'
'Maybe they re scared not to.'
Crane led the way into the front room. 'I better look at Talmadge s exhaust pipe, make sure a hose was on it. I didn t want to appear too interested last night before everybody.'
'I ll do it,' Williams said.
'And see if you can get any dope at the Country Club. Find out where Doctor Woodrin was just before you found Talmadge.'
'You think he s the guy?'
'I don t know. A doctor might think of something like gas.'
'But what s his motive?' Williams wanted to know. 'The only connection he s got with the Marchs is the Duck Club, which ain t worth anything and which he don t own, anyway.'
