you. It only wants that little twist that all good stories have. Just wait for that.” She laughed in my face. “Oh, it’s such a lovely little twist. You’ll be so very thrilled when you know about it.”
I went out of the room and left her there. I was sure that she was a little insane, and the thought of George getting himself involved with such a woman made me sick at heart.
The race was due to start at eleven o’clock. George and I went off early together. We left the house quietly without saying good-bye to Myra.
George said that he didn’t want to see her until the race was over. He looked very ill as he sat at the wheel of the Bugatti, and he drove at a steady twenty-five miles an hour the whole way to the aerodrome. It took us a very short while to reach the Florida course, where the race was being held. He asked me to come to the pits just before the race was to start. “I’d like to have your good wishes,” he said.
I hung about watching the bustle and activity that inevitably precedes a big race. I watched the vast crowd slowly arriving. I thought I saw Myra and her party arrive and take seats in the grandstand, but I wasn’t sure. I had made up my mind to watch the race from the pits.
Finally, a mechanic came running towards me and I went to meet him. “Mr. Hemingway is about ready now, sir,” he said.
I saw he was looking worried. And as we walked towards the pits, where I could see about two dozen cars lining up, I asked him what he thought of George’s chances.
“He’s got a load on, sir,” the mechanic said, shaking his head. “No guy can drive if he’s plastered.”
I quickened my pace. George was already sitting in his car. His reputation had brought him a stiff handicap, and he was going to be the last off the starting post.
I ran up to him. “All right, George?” I asked.
He nodded. “Sure, I’m all right. There’s nothing on four wheels that’s going to catch me today.”
His face was very white and his eyes were glassy. He had certainly been drinking, and he looked completely reckless.
“Don’t take chances,” I said, shaking his hand, “I’ll look after things for you. Good luck, old man.”
The noise of the engine made it difficult for us to hear each other. “Good-bye,” George shouted, “look after my little investors, won’t you?” and at that moment the flag fell and he roared away.
I hurried to the pits and stood near a group of mechanics. They were talking in low voices, but I overheard what they were saying. They all seemed worried about George. “Nearly a whole bottle of Scotch went down his throat,” one of them said; “he must be crazy.”
“Yeah, well, look at him now. Look at the speed he’s going.”
All eyes were on the small red car as it flashed round the course. George had already overtaken three of his competitors, and as he came into the straight he opened up and with a snarling roar the car shot forward. All the other cars had opened up, but the leading cars were slowing down for the bend. George came on, took the bend at full speed, tore up the bank, and for a moment we thought his wheels had left the track, but with a few feet to spare he was down into the straight again.
There was a terrific burst of cheering as he nosed his way into the first three.
“What do you call that?” a mechanic demanded. “Do you call that driving?”
“Do you think he’ll last?” Myra asked.
I turned abruptly and found her at my elbow. Her eyes were fixed on the red car, and I could see she was quivering with excitement.
I said rather bitterly: “Don’t you think you’ll see better if you go to the stand?”
“I want to be with you. I want to see his face if he wins,” she said. “Look, he’s coming round again. He’s getting in front. Really, isn’t he marvellous? Oh, God! Look, they’re trying to squeeze him. They’ve cornered him! Look, look, if he loses his head… he’s finished.”
The three cars flashed past us. George was in the middle. The other two were trying to crowd him, but as he didn’t fall back they were beginning to lose their nerve. There couldn’t have been more than a foot between each car.
I shouted suddenly: “He’ll beat them on the bend. You see, they’ll slow down for the bend. Come on, George, come on, for the love of Mike!”
I was right. Suddenly the red car shot clear and whizzed round the bend at a sickening speed. The others fell back and George was in the lead.
I heard Myra scream suddenly: “Blast him! He’s going to win after all.”
George was coming up for the last lap. The noise of the cars and the shouting was deafening. Round he came into the straight. It was like watching a red smudge. I don’t know how it happened; no one knew. It was not as if he were taking a corner. It looked as if he knew he had won and then suddenly thrown in his hand. The car swerved right across the track, turned over, bounced in the air like a huge ball and then burst into flames.
Myra screamed and I ran forward. It was no use. Other cars were still thundering past and no one could get across the track. When at last we did get there, it was too late. George had been strapped in, and one look at the blackened, twisted car told me it was useless to stay.
I walked away, feeling sick and too stunned to really realize what had happened.
As I climbed into my car, Myra came up to me. Her eyes were very dark, and her mouth worked rather horribly.
“Give me that paper,” she said.
Because I wanted to get away I took the paper from my wallet and looked at her. “This isn’t the time now to talk about this. I’ll come and see you later.”
“Oh no, you won’t,” she said. She seemed to be speaking through locked teeth. “I fooled George and I fooled you. Read what it says. Didn’t I promise to pay my husband one million dollars? Well, he wasn’t my husband, I can contest that. By the time the court has made a ruling, it will be too late. George’s little suckers will be down the drain.”
I said: “What do you mean? George married you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he married me, but that was all. He didn’t lie with me. Oh no! My money was good enough for him, but I wasn’t. He thought it was sufficient just to marry me—the fool.”
I stared at her. “You can’t prove that,” I said slowly. “Surely you are keeping to your agreement?”
“Prove it? It will take years not to prove it. By that time the money will not be needed. Tear up the paper, Mr. Arden. You know as well as I do that it’s useless now. The poor fool killed himself, although he won the race…. Do you know why? Because he despised himself for marrying me. No man can treat me like that. I warned you, didn’t I, about the twist in the tale.” She laughed hysterically. “Don’t you think it’s lovely?”
I engaged the gears and drove away, leaving her still laughing.
CONVERSATION PIECE
He was very tall, thin and distinguished-looking. He had a close-clipped moustache, a square jaw and the hair on each side of his head was white.
He sat on a high stool at the ‘Roney Plaza’ bar, a cigarette between his thin lips and a glass of Scotch-and- soda at his elbow. Every now and then he would glance up and catch his reflection in the bright mirror behind the bar. He would look at himself and adjust the wings of his evening dress-tie with his well-shaped fingers, and once he adjusted the set of his coat.
People kept coming up to the bar, but he ignored them. Sometimes they glanced at him curiously, especially the women, but no one spoke to him. He had been in the bar several times during the week, and the habitues began to wonder who he was.
Manuel, the barman, had tried to discover who he was without success. Not that he wasn’t talkative, but that he steered the conversation away from any personal topic.
During a lull, Manuel came down the long bar towards him. He began polishing glasses. “Not much about tonight,” he said casually.
The tall, thin man agreed. “Why do you think that is?” he asked.
Manuel shrugged. “You can’t tell these days,” he said; “there is too much entertainment going on. People get
