The Almost Perfect Murder by Hulbert Footner (ereader for comics txt) 📖
- Author: Hulbert Footner
- Performer: -
Book online «The Almost Perfect Murder by Hulbert Footner (ereader for comics txt) 📖». Author Hulbert Footner
noisy talk. Beside the door sat three girls with a depressed-looking
man who was paying very little attention to them. The girls were
evidently employees of the place, but business was poor, and they had
fastened to the man merely to keep themselves in countenance.
I could not help looking at them curiously. They started to talk
brightly among themselves when we entered, but it was a hollow
pretence. What a life! One of them, I was surprised to see, was as
fresh and pretty as a schoolgirl, a tiny little thing formed like a
fairy, with the pure oval face that painters love to depict. I noticed
that she was continually glancing in a sullen fashion at the group of
noisy young men. I supposed that she had a sweetheart amongst them,
and resented the fact that he preferred to gamble rather than talk to
her.
We seated ourselves around the table in the other far corner, that is,
next to the gamblers. Presumably our man was amongst them, but we were
careful, of course, not to betray any curiosity concerning them. We
ordered grappa, the fiery liqueur that is so popular south of
Washington Square, and busied ourselves in our own talk. Benny was
supposed to be my boy-friend, while the tall Stephens devoted himself
to “Madge,” as we called her. Joe appeared to be what he in fact was,
merely our conductor.
The waiter came and went noiselessly between us and the bar. He was an
unnaturally pale and haggard little fellow who looked as if he had
never seen the sun. Occasionally a fat Italian entered the room, very
flashily dressed and having a big watch chain with a bunch of charms
and a diamond flashing on his fat finger. He jingled his charms,
exchanged loud witticisms with the players while he gave us all the
once-over with his hard glittering eye, and went out again. This, we
learned, was the genial proprietor.
As opportunity offered I sized up the card players. Some of them had
their backs to us, but as the game progressed they shifted their places
from time to time, and in the end I was able to get a look at each one
of them. Nearly every man at the table answered in a general way to
the description furnished by Dr. Portal. Nineteen or twenty years old;
well-dressed in a somewhat flashy style, good-looking in the Italian
manner. Handsome, black eyes, and well-oiled black hair.
After eliminating the ill-favoured ones and those who were clearly more
than twenty years old, my choice finally narrowed down to a
warm-coloured young man who sat with his back against the end wall,
while his hard eyes travelled from face to face of the other players.
He was certainly the best-looking one at the table; his features had a
grace and harmony that would have earned him a good living as an
artists’ model; moreover, there was that hint of boyish roundness in
his cheeks that Dr. Portal had spoken of.
Presently I noticed that it was towards this face that the sullen eyes
of the little girl at the next table were so often directed. Was she
another victim to his infernal good looks? He paid no attention
whatever to her. Finally one of the other players addressed him as
“Chico” and he answered. Mme. Storey and I exchanged a fleeting glance.
As soon as we had spotted our man, Mme. Storey began to make play to
attract his attention. She did not immediately look at him, but
addressed herself rather to Stephens in a drawling, provocative voice
that was bound to arouse Chico’s notice. Not more than five feet
separated their chairs. Chico, hearing that siren voice, looked—and
having looked once, looked again. The tousled curls netted his fancy.
However successful he may have been with women it was not often that
one so beautiful as Mme. Storey could have come his way. He stared.
Finally she allowed their glances to cross; she sneered at him lazily.
At the implied challenge his eyes began to burn. It was a fascinating
game to watch, but so dangerous it fairly made me sick with
apprehension.
It was not long before the little girl at the other table perceived
what was going on. Her friends addressed her as Tina. She rose
quickly, and edging herself close to Chico’s chair, stood between him
and the charmer at our table. It was a childish and rather piteous
manoeuvre; the little thing’s face was tormented with jealousy. She
put her hand on Chico’s shoulder. This proprietary gesture caused the
other players at the table to grin, and their grins enraged the
conceited Chico.
“Get out of here!” he snarled; and added a coarse oath.
Tina, with a flippant parade of indifference, returned to her former
place, and began to talk animatedly to the other girls. But her eyes
were tragic. It wrenched one’s heart to see it, but of course a poor
little may-fly like that could not be allowed to interfere with Mme.
Storey’s plans. If she got hurt that was her lookout.
Mme. Storey and Chico continued to fence with their insolent glances,
each making out to scorn the other. The old, old game. Chico was
evidently an adept at it. Finally, according to pre-arrangement,
Stephens began to quarrel.
“Turn around!” he said harshly. “You can look at me, see? I didn’t
bring you here to hand out smiles to another fellow!”
“Aah, what’s the matter wit’ ya?” retorted the supposed Madge
stridently. “You don’t own me. My eyes are my own, I guess, and I can
do what I want wit’ ‘em. You ain’t so much to look at as I can see.”
Stephens subsided into a sullen muttering, and Madge (it is easier
under these circumstances for me to refer to her as Madge) smiled at
Chico in open defiance. Presently Stephens broke out again, and Benny
and I made believe to be trying to soothe him. More drinks were
ordered at our table. The card players grinned at Chico. Apparently
they were quite accustomed to seeing him as the storm centre when there
were women around. Chico went on playing his cards with an air of
absolute indifference.
Stephens alternately quarrelled with Madge and ordered up fresh drinks.
It was a very pretty bit of character acting that he was giving. It
was a common sort of scene in that place and nobody paid much
attention. Once Luigi with his hard eyes and his unctuous voice gave
us a jocose warning to cut it out. Finally Stephens, making believe to
be thoroughly drunk, jumped up.
“Aah, come on home,” he snarled. “I’m not gonna stand for this.”
My heart beat like a trip-hammer as the critical moment approached. I
could scarcely fetch my breath.
“Go home yourself if you don’t like it,” retorted Madge. “I’m well
enough pleased. I’ll stay here with Benny and Belle.”
Benny and I got up. “No! No!” we said. (All this had been rehearsed
beforehand.) “Come on, Madge, let’s all go. George is gettin’ ugly
now. You know what he is. We’ll quiet him down outside.”
“No!” cried Madge obstinately. “Just because he’s turned ugly he’s not
gonna spoil my fun! You can all go home and be damned to you! I’m
stayin’!” And she sent a sidelong smile in Chico’s direction.
Stephens appeared to be infuriated by this smile. Seizing Madge by the
wrist, he jerked her roughly to her feet. “You come on!” he cried.
She tore herself free. “Lea’ me alone!” she yelled. “You ain’t got
any rights over me!”
In the background Benny and I made soothing noises. “Aw, let her
alone, George, and she’ll come…. Aw, come on, Madge, you see how he
is!” And so on.
But Stephens seized her bodily and started dragging her towards the
door. Madge fought like a wildcat. Stephens kept her in front of him
so that she could not reach his face with her nails. Benny and I made
futile attempts to separate them. Behind us play had stopped, and the
twelve players watched the struggling couple with cold, mask-like
faces. They were not the sort to interfere in what did not concern
them.
“Lemme go! Lemme go! or I’ll kill ya!” yelled Madge.
He had shoved her almost to the door when suddenly she reached down,
snatched a gun out of the top of her stocking, and wrenching herself
around, pressed the muzzle to his side. Everybody in the room saw the
act. They did not know that gun was loaded only with blanks. There
was a deafening report. Stephens released the girl and went staggering
back against a table, pressing his hand against his side.
“I’m shot!” he groaned.
Madge stood there in a daze with the smoking gun in her hand. Benny
disarmed her without resistance, and dropped the gun in his pocket. He
then turned to support the wounded man. He ordered Joe, the Italian
who had come with us, to take his other side. Stephens sagged between
them in a most realistic way, his hand still pressed over his wound,
his head hanging on his breast. I felt the same horror as if it had
all been real. The absolute stillness of everybody else in the room
was uncanny. Most of the faces bore cynical sneers. It was no
business of theirs.
The door banged open and Luigi and his waiters ran in. The fat man was
livid and moist with excitement. “Who done it?” he yelled.
“She did! She did!” cried Benny, pointing a shaking forefinger at
Madge. “She shot my pal!” And he put his arm lovingly around
Stephens’ shoulder.
“Get him out of here! Get him out of here before he drops!” yelled
Luigi. “My God! I can’t have him dyin’ on me! This will ruin me if
it gets to the police!”
“We’ll get him out if you’ll call a taxi,” growled Benny.
Luigi scampered away to do his bidding, and Benny and Joe slowly
followed him out of the room, supporting the fainting man between them.
All this happened so quickly that the bystanders had no time to wonder
why no blood appeared around the hand that Stephens was pressing to his
side. Madge made a move to accompany them, but Benny turned on her
violently.
“Get back!” he snarled. “Ain’t you done harm enough?”
Presumably they got their cab, for they did not return. Madge and I
were left behind. She dropped in a chair and, spreading her arms on
the table in front of her, hid her face upon them. I sat down beside
her, and put an arm around her shoulders.
“Oh, why did you do it? Why did you do it?” I moaned.
Play started again at the next table as if nothing had happened. At
the other table the three girls, with painful sneers in Madge’s
direction, resumed their low-voiced talk.
In a few moments Luigi came bustling back into the room. “Now, then,
girl,” he said harshly, “out with ya! Ye’re lucky to git off so easy.
Never let me catch you in my place again. I don’t care who brings ya.”
Madge raised a dry-eyed, terror-stricken face. “I dassent … I
dassent go out in the street,” she said hoarsely. “Benny’ll be layin’
for me. He took me gun off me. He’ll git me for this.”
“That’s nothin’ to me,” said Luigi. “Out wit’ ya!”
“Oh, I dassent! I dassent!” whispered Madge, glancing around
desperately for help.
Chico gave over his hand to the man who was standing next him, and
arose with a swagger. “That’s all right, Luigi,” he
Comments (0)