'I was scared, though,' Ann said.
Peter said, 'I won t believe it.' He was looking into her green eyes. 'But I m sure there won t be any more armed men.' He turned to Crane. 'Like a ride to the office?'
Ann s voice was silky. 'Bill d love it. It s terribly nice of you to think of stopping for him.'
What the hell! Crane thought again. He was damned glad he was not really married. He said, 'I ll get a hat and coat.' He thought of something. 'And I ll have to kiss the little woman good-by.'
He hoped 'little woman' would make her mad. He knew the kiss would. He got his hat and a camel s-hair topcoat and bent over her. He saw Peter March watching. He determined to make as much of the kiss as possible. She had to endure it; she was posing as his wife.
'Good-by now, darling,' he said.
It wasn t quite the triumph he thought it would be. He kissed her with gusto. She bit his lip with even more gusto.
CHAPTER IV
On his fine mahogany desk the black-and-silver clock read ten past three when William Crane pushed the button for Miss Kirby. She was his secretary. She entered his office and waited in front of his desk, notebook in hand.
'Miss Kirby, I suffer from visions,' Crane said.
An alarmed expression came upon Miss Kirby s thin face. 'Yes sir,' she said dubiously. She was a pale, middle-aged spinster with horn-rimmed glasses and a large mound of hair on top of her head.
'I keep seeing refrigerators, washing machines, washing machines, refrigerators, washing machines,' Crane said. 'Thousands of them, Miss Kirby. Millions of them.'
Miss Kirby seemed about to fly from the room.
'They glisten, Miss Kirby. They will not stain or lose their luster. They dress the kitchen, make the basement look like the living room.'
Under the impression this was a flight of the advertising mind, Miss Kirby began to take notes.
'They re orange juice and ginproof, guaranteed to freeze diapers in ten seconds with the rugged Rapo-Arctic finger-tip, freewheeling action. They have the highest humidity, the lowest frigidity, the greatest rigidity, the finest-'
'Miss Kirby, where does a man in my condition go?'
Some of the alarm left Miss Kirby s face.
'Well, Mr Richard March used to go over to the Morgan House taproom about this time in the afternoon. He used to say thinking of ice boxes gave him chills.'
Crane looked at her closely. 'Did Mr Richard March come back to the office later?'
'No sir.'
Crane seized his coat and hat. 'Thank you.'
He was followed out of the office by Miss Kirby, who halted to confide to Miss Anselman, the assistant production manager s secretary, that she didn t think Mr Crane was going to do at all.
'He doesn t seem to be serious,' she said.
The Morgan House taproom was like home after a long visit with foreigners. It was cool and dim, and there was an odor of limes in the air. He sat in a red-leather upholstered armchair, leaned on a red-lacquered table.
He d no idea there was so much to manufacturing. He was really confused between the March Rapo-Arctic refrigerator, with the finger-tip blizzard control, and the foam-flinging March Acrobat washer. He had walked down scores of assembly lines, fingered bright parts, nodded wisely to technical lectures on current consumption, shelf features, soap consumption, rinsing, temperature zones, humidity controls, crispers, automatic ironing, fruit storage, clothes capacity, food capacity…
He ordered a double scotch and soda. After a time a man came in the taproom and walked up to his table.
'You probably don t remember me,' he said. 'I m Doctor Woodrin. I met you at lunch, at the City Club.'
'Sure,' Crane said. 'Sit down. Have a drink?'
The doctor ordered ale. He was a healthy man with a round, pink-and-white face and light blue eyes. His complexion was so fresh it made him look under forty, but Crane was sure he was nearer forty-five.
'After I leave the hospital I drop in for a bottle of ale,' Dr Woodrin explained. 'I usually run into somebody to gab with.'
Crane said, 'My secretary told me this was Richard March s afternoon headquarters.'
'He used to be here in the morning, too.'
'A good idea,' Crane said.
After Crane got another scotch and soda they talked. They discussed Marchton. Dr Woodrin said he d lived in the town for fifteen years. Before that he d been chief physician for the International Oil Company in Texas and Oklahoma. He was a graduate of Rush Medical, in Chicago. He was now chief of staff at Marchton City Hospital.
'It s a nice position,' he said, 'but not much money.'
Crane, after a time, worked the conversation back to Richard March. He told the physician he had the Richard March house, wanted to know how it happened to be so elaborately decorated.
'That s Alice March,' Dr Woodrin said. 'You ll understand when you see her. She dresses the same way.'
'She divorced him?'
'They were divorced. It was sort of a standoff.' He drank the remainder of his ale. 'She didn t get any alimony, but was allowed to divorce him. I think Dick s lawyer, old Judge Dornbush, was too smart for Alice s lawyer, Talmadge March.'
'Who s Talmadge March?'
'Richard s younger brother.' The doctor looked at Crane over his glass. 'Their story s like those Greek plays we used to read in college.'
Crane took his word for that. Anyway, it was a strange one. Alice had been Talmadge s girl; they were engaged to be married when the handsome Richard met her. The doctor said he supposed it was, for Richard, more the challenge of the engagement, the lure of someone s property, than love; and besides, the brothers had always hated each other.
Marchton s tongue moved a great deal over the elopement, moved less when Alice left Richard five years later, but regained vigor when Talmadge appeared as her attorney in the divorce suit. The gossip reached a climax when, five months before Richard died, the divorce was granted with no settlement, no alimony, Dr Woodrin said. The town wondered what Richard had on his wife. It must have been good; she had plenty on him. There was speculation as to whether Talmadge was involved beyond the role of counsel; it was popularly believed he was still in love with Alice.
'It was a triumph for Talmadge, then,' Crane said.
'No. Richard didn t care. He was through with her.'
Crane learned Talmadge March was not connected with the March business. He had refused to enter the company, had opened his own law office. He was moderately successful and, the doctor added, he had a large income from the interest his father had left him in the company. It was larger now that Richard was gone.
'That was a funny death,' Crane said. 'Richard s, I mean.'
'It was,' Dr Woodrin agreed. 'I ve often thought about it. You know I was there when he was found.'
'You were?'
'I ll tell you about it.' The doctor crooked a finger at the waiter. 'Two more of the same, Charley.'
Crane said, 'Let me get these.'
Dr Woodrin shook his head at Crane. 'It was one of those dry, clear nights in early February,' he began. 'It was cold, but there was a three-quarter moon. We d all decided to take a drive after the Country Club dance.'
He had come out of the club, he continued, with John March and Carmel, Peter March and Alice and Talmadge, just as the orchestra began to play 'Home, Sweet Home.' The orchestra had been bad, and they were all
