'It wasn't Jeanie,' said the artist. He had cocked his head as if to see Mrs. Pyne upside down. Mr. Gibson suffered an enlargement. He, too, saw the old lady's face, the sweetness around the eyes, the firmness of her dainty chin. Mrs. Pyne was not only more beautiful, she was even prettier than Jeanie.
'Then who? Then who?' Rosemary implored.
'I have great confidence in the police department,' said Mrs. Boatright decisively, and took a throne. Rosemary stared at her and ran for the telephone.
Paul came out of his trance or prayer or whatever it was. 'How did you know so much about what was going on?' he asked his mother-in-law adoringly.
'I knew it was bad, of course,' the old lady said soberly, 'when I heard Rosemary call. When Jean turned on the
radio, I knew at once who had left the bottle on the bus. I had just seen such trouble in his face, you know. Although there was nothing I- could do.'
'Mrs. Pyne,' said Mr. Gibson impulsively, 'what you said made it impossible. I don't think I would have done it. But, of course, by then the trouble was different. I had already lost the poison.'
'And haven't found it,' she said sadly.
'No.' He met her eyes. He accepted his gmlt and her mercy.
'We must all pray,' said Mrs. Pyne.
'Trouble?' said the bus driver. His eyes slewed around to Virginia. 'Trouble and logic . . . how do they jibe? I don't think we got to the bot—'
Virginia seemed to shush him.
Rosemary wailed on the phone, 'Nothing? Nothing at all?' She hung it up. She walked back toward them. 'Nothing. No news of it at all,' she said and twisted her hands.
'No news is good news,' said Paul.
But they all looked around at each other.
'A dead end, hey?' said the bus driver. 'Ring around a rosy and no place to go from here.' Fumes of energy boiled out of him and curled back with no place to go.
'Think!' said Virginia fiercely, 'rm trying to think. Think, Mrs. Boatright.' The little nurse shut her eyes.
Mrs. Boatright shut her eyes but her lips moved. Mr. Gibson realized that Mrs. Walter Boatright was importuning a superior in heaven, on his account.
But they-had come to an end. There was no place else to go.
He had rocked to his own feet now. It was time he took over. He said vigorously, 'You have all done so much. You have done wonders. You must all go about your business, now, with my grat—my love,' he said loudly. 'It's on Gk)d's knees ... I guess, after all.' (Was this the same as doom, he wondered?) 'Rosemary and I must go across to Ethel.' This was his duty.
'Yes,' Rosemary agreed somberly.
'Ethel's hard by here?' said Theo Marsh with a wicked gleam in his eye.
'Theo,' said Mrs. Boatirght warningly.
Paul Townsend was himself again, and host in this
house. 'How about a drink first?' he said cordially. 'I think we need one. Don't worry, Gibson . . .' He stopped himself cold.
'Wurra, wurra,' said the bus driver. 'Each for his own. That's what makes the mare go.' He took a gloomy bite of his thumbnail.
Paul said, 'I guess I dragged you all here for nothing.' He looked boyishly penitent.
'A little drink won't do me any harm,' said Lee. 'Virginia would like one, too.'
Theo Marsh perched like a restless bird on the edge of a table. 'Thirsty as the desert in August, myself,' he admitted. 'What's to do now?' He cracked a knuckle.
Mrs. Boatright said, 'We don't seem to have any clear course of procedure.' She assembled her will. 'I will call home and have a car sent, to take any of you wherever you wish. But first I would enjoy a rather weak drink, Paul. Thank you. Meantime, we may think of something.' Mrs. Boatright was not accustomed to being beaten by circumstance.
Jeanie said, 'I'll help you tend bar. Dad.' And the bus driver began to tell Mrs. Pyne the saga of their search.
It was curiously like a party, and a party of loosened tongues, at that, well past the polite preliminaries. Mr. .1 Gibson sat beside Rosenlary on a sofa and tried to remem- ; ber that he was a criminal. Somebody, somewhere, could be dead, or now dying, by his hand.
Young Jeanie seemed to have caught on to the wide-open atmosphere. Holding the tray, she said to the Gibsons, 'I'm sorry I got so mad, but Dad should have trusted me. My goodness, most of the time he leans on me too much.'
'He's so fond of you, dear,' said Rosemary, 'and of your grandmother, too.'
'He's absolutely tied to Grandma's apron strings,' said , Jeanie impatiently. 'I wish Re'd get married.' |
'Z)o you?' said Rosemary sharply.
'Of course, we both do. Don't we, Grandma?'
