She curled down in the bed, pulling the pillow off the bolster. “Don’t you think I look snug?” she said, her eyes getting flirtatious again.
“Those comic things I found in Thayler’s cabin. Did he use them on you?” Fenner said gently.
“I don’t know. I didn’t know him very well.” She had hitched up the sheet so that he couldn’t see her face.
Fenner said, “Where’s your sister, Marian?”
She didn’t jump more than an inch, but it looked like a couple of yards. Fenner leaned over her and pulled her round. Her eyes were startled. “Where’s your sister?” he repeated.
She said, “What do you know about her?
Fenner sat down close to her. “You’re as like as two peas,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” He put his hand inside his pocket and took out the letter he had found in Marian’s bag. “Look at that,” he said.
She read it through blankly and then shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Who’s Pio? Who’s Noolen?”
Fenner went over to the table, picked up a pad of notepaper and a pencil and came back to the bed. “Write that letter out for me,” he said.
As she struggled up, he said hastily, “Wait.” He went to the cupboard and got his pajama jacket and threw it over to her. Then he went into the bathroom and waited a few seconds. When he came out she had put the coat on and was rolling back the long sleeves.
She said, “Why do you want me to do this?”
“Do it.” He spoke very curtly.
She scribbled on the pad and then gave it to him. He compared the two handwritings. There was nothing similar about them. He tossed the pad on the table again, and began to walk up and down the room slowly. She watched him nervously.
“You’ve got a sister, haven’t you?” he said at last.
She hesitated, then she said, “Yes; but we haven’t seen each other for a very long time.”
“How long? Why haven’t you?”
“Four or five years, I forget exactly. Marian and I didn’t get on so well. She’d got ideas about how I should live. We didn’t quarrel, but she kept having ideas. So we split when Father died.”
Fenner said gently, “You’re lying. If you hadn’t seen each other for that length of time, why did she come to me all fussed because you were missing?
Two little patches of red burnt in Glorie’s cheeks. “I didn’t know she came to you. Who are you, anyway?”
“Never mind who I am. When did you last see Marian?”
Glorie looked sulky. “I was in New York with Harry. We ran into each other. It was about a couple of weeks ago. I was up there on a trip. Marian wanted me to come to her hotel. I said I would, because she was so insistent. I had Harry with me. It was awkward. Marian wouldn’t stand for Harry, so I gave her the slip and came back to Florida.”
Fenner came over and sat on the bed. “Either you’re telling a lot of lies, or else there’s somethin’ I’ve missed in all this,” he said.
Glorie shook her head from side to side. “I’m not lying,” she said. “Why should I?”
“Listen, did you say anything to your sister about twelve Chinamen?”
“Twelve Chinamen? Why should I?”
“Don’t keep sayin’ ‘Why should I?’” Fenner said savagely. “It confuses me.”
As far as he could see he was no further now he’d met this girl, than he was before. He thought, and then said, “Why Leadler? Why not Daley?” “Leadler’s my married name,” Glorie said. “I was divorced a year ago.”
Fenner grunted. “Where’s your husband?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Why?”
Fenner didn’t answer. Instead he said, “Your sister was murdered last week in a house in Brooklyn.”
There was a long silence. Glorie said, “I don’t believe it.” Her eyes crawled up and down Fenner’s face.
Fenner shrugged. “You don’t have to,” he said; “but she was murdered all right. I liked that girl. She came to me for help. I didn’t like the way she met her finish, an’ I’m promising myself to fix the guy who killed her.”
Glorie took his coat in her hand. She twisted the coat and shook him. “Marian dead?” she said. “You sit there like that and say that to me? You haven’t any pity for me? Marian—Marian—”
Fenner put his hand on her wrist and jerked her hand away. “Cut it out,” he said. “You can’t act. You don’t give a hoot what happened to Marian.”
Glorie looked at him and then giggled. She put her hand over her mouth and her eyes looked shocked. “I shouldn’t’ve done that,” she said. “Fancy Marian getting murdered.” She rolled over in the bed and buried her face in the pillows. She began to shake with laughter.
Fenner had a sudden idea. He put his hand on her head, shoved her down into the pillow, and pulled down the sheet with his other hand. Still holding her, he jerked the pajama jacket over her shoulders and looked carefully at her back. Her shoulders and back were bruised, but they had none of the deep weals that Marian had had. He pulled the jacket down and pulled up the sheet, then he stepped back.
Glorie twisted round, her eyes bright. “Why—why did you do that?” she said.
“Did you know your sister had weals all over her back too?” Fenner said.
“You know everything, don’t you? We can’t help it; that’s the way we’re both made,” and she began to cry. When Fenner saw the tears running from her eyes, he walked away to the window. He began to feel horribly tired. He said abruptly: “I’ll see more of you tomorrow,” and walked to the door. The sound of her sobbing followed him downstairs. He thought, “I’ll go crazy if somethin’ doesn’t happen soon,” and he went to the night clerk to arrange for another room.
The bright sunlight came through the slatted shutters and lay like prison bars across Fenner’s bed.
He stirred restlessly as the clock downstairs faintly chimed ten. At the eighth chime he opened his eyes and grunted. His body still felt tired, and his head ached a little. He was dimly conscious of the sunlight, and he closed his eyes again. Then, as his mind struggled out of sleep, he was aware of a weight at the foot of his bed and scent on the air. As he groaned, Glorie giggled. He looked at her through half-closed eyes, and his half awakened senses said she looked very nice. She was curled up, with her back resting on the end of the bedstead, her long legs up to her chin, and her fingers laced round her knees. She rested her chin in the little hollow between her knees and regarded Fenner with bright eyes.
“When you’re asleep, you look kind and beautiful,” she said. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
Fenner struggled up in bed. He ran his fingers through his hair. He felt terrible.
“Would you mind goin’ away?” he said patiently. “When I want to see you, I’ll tell you. I dislike women in my bedroom on principle. I’m old-fashioned and I’m easily shocked.”
Glorie giggled. “You’re cute,” she said simply.
Fenner groaned. Now he was sitting up, his head ached sharply. “Run away,” he said. “Beat it! Scram!”
Glorie threw her arms wide. Her incredibly blue eyes sparkled. “Look at me,” she said. “I’m defenseless. You could do what you liked with me.”
Fenner said unpleasantly, “Will you run away?”
Glorie slid off the bed. She looked pretty funny in Fenner’s pajamas. They hung on her like a sack.
Fenner said rashly, “Anyway, you look like something the cat dragged in. Why not go away and get dressed, then maybe we’ll have breakfast and another talk.
Glorie clapped her hands. “Of course,” she said, and unbuttoned the coat. She took it off and threw it across the room.
Fenner said, “Hi! Stop it!” Her body had the splendor of clean-cut marble, and the luster of a pearl.
Fenner said, “Very, very nice. Some other time, perhaps. Right now, I want some coffee, very black and strong. The early mornin’ ain’t the time.”
Glorie giggled and began dancing round the room. Fenner thought she was the most beautiful bit of corruption he’d ever seen.
She laughed at him. “Like me?” she said.
Fenner sat up, leaning on his elbow. He said, “Put your nice pajamas on and go away. We can’t go on with this.”
