Read Online Old Sinners Never Die by Dorothy Salisbury Davis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dorothy Salisbury Davis
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Mrs. Joyce was stopping.
“I hope she doesn’t invite him up,” Mrs. Norris said without realizing she had said aloud her moral appraisal of the situation. For Mr. James’ sake she wanted fervently to believe in Mrs. Joyce.
“So do I,” said Tom, but for quite another reason. “Oh, we’re in luck. He’s having the cab wait.”
“You’re going to follow him from here?”
“Sure, as long as we’re on his tail, he’s not fighting with the boss, is he?”
“I’d rather, to tell you the truth, be following Mr. James.”
“That wouldn’t even be decent,” Tom said. He let the car motor idle lower. “What kind of shoes do you have on in case we have to go after him on foot?”
“They’re as good as my feet,” she said. “Isn’t that him now?” The man came out of the hotel at a much faster pace than he had gone in. Truly he seemed to stride with purpose and Mrs. Norris’ heart gave a leap in spite of herself.
“Look sharp, Sophie,” Tom said. The cab shot ahead and then left a smokescreen as the driver changed speeds. “He’s in earnest now, wherever he’s going. By God, I hope the old girl doesn’t backfire! She’d give us away sure, and us the only ones on the road. Sophie, behave, dear!”
“You’ll soon have company at this speed, if there are police,” Mrs. Norris said. She could make neither head nor tail, north nor south of the Washington streets, the names of which she was no sooner finding than she was losing. It was a town put together in diamond patches, like a quilt designed from the centre.
“Where are we now?” she asked, not that she would know, being told.
“In the neighbourhood of Dupont Circle. I’ve a notion he’ll stop here. It’s an artisty kind of section.”
Tom’s hunch was right. The cab came to a sudden stop and he had to take Sophie around it. It was to be said for his boldness, he did it with a flair, giving a blast of his horn to the cabbie for not having warned him of the sudden stop.
“Baaaa,” said the cabbie, articulate as a goat.
“Sounds just like New York,” Mrs. Norris said.
“Watch where he goes in,” Tom alerted her.
“I didn’t come only for the ride,” Mrs. Norris said. “He’s already in and I’ve seen where he went.” She was grateful for the moonlight, and drew her identification of the house from a tree stump.
Tom drove around the block and parked near the corner. “I wonder if he’s come home for the artillery.”
“The what?”
“Pistols. What he wants to fight with. Come on and show me the house. We’ll walk by.”
There wasn’t a sound but their own footfalls and the burble of frogs, as they went silently toward the tree stump Mrs. Norris had chosen as marker. Then there were other sounds—music of a listening variety somewhere nearby, and laughter from somewhere else, the distant banging of a car door, a dog’s barking.
“There it is,” Mrs. Norris said, indicating a two-family stone dwelling.
“We’re all right if he lives in the one on the left,” said Tom. “The blinds are up, and there’s people you can see through to.” The other half of the house was in darkness.
“You’ve the eyes of a ferret,” she said, but yielded her hand to his when he groped for it, and allowed herself to be led off the sidewalk into the shadow of bushes near the house. “We’re trespassing, Tom.”
“Aye, and I wonder if he isn’t himself. Look there, he’s talking to some woman with a baby in her arms.”
“I can’t see a thing,” Mrs. Norris said, for the window was above a veranda.
“Well, I’m not going to lift you up,” said Tom. “You’ll have to take my word for it.”
The room to the front of the house was dark, but Mrs. Norris could see the shadows from the figures in the second room playing upon the ceiling. Suddenly the woman was trying to thrust the baby into the man’s arms, and he was backing away from it, his own arms flailing while he talked.
“The bloody villain,” said
“I hope she doesn’t invite him up,” Mrs. Norris said without realizing she had said aloud her moral appraisal of the situation. For Mr. James’ sake she wanted fervently to believe in Mrs. Joyce.
“So do I,” said Tom, but for quite another reason. “Oh, we’re in luck. He’s having the cab wait.”
“You’re going to follow him from here?”
“Sure, as long as we’re on his tail, he’s not fighting with the boss, is he?”
“I’d rather, to tell you the truth, be following Mr. James.”
“That wouldn’t even be decent,” Tom said. He let the car motor idle lower. “What kind of shoes do you have on in case we have to go after him on foot?”
“They’re as good as my feet,” she said. “Isn’t that him now?” The man came out of the hotel at a much faster pace than he had gone in. Truly he seemed to stride with purpose and Mrs. Norris’ heart gave a leap in spite of herself.
“Look sharp, Sophie,” Tom said. The cab shot ahead and then left a smokescreen as the driver changed speeds. “He’s in earnest now, wherever he’s going. By God, I hope the old girl doesn’t backfire! She’d give us away sure, and us the only ones on the road. Sophie, behave, dear!”
“You’ll soon have company at this speed, if there are police,” Mrs. Norris said. She could make neither head nor tail, north nor south of the Washington streets, the names of which she was no sooner finding than she was losing. It was a town put together in diamond patches, like a quilt designed from the centre.
“Where are we now?” she asked, not that she would know, being told.
“In the neighbourhood of Dupont Circle. I’ve a notion he’ll stop here. It’s an artisty kind of section.”
Tom’s hunch was right. The cab came to a sudden stop and he had to take Sophie around it. It was to be said for his boldness, he did it with a flair, giving a blast of his horn to the cabbie for not having warned him of the sudden stop.
“Baaaa,” said the cabbie, articulate as a goat.
“Sounds just like New York,” Mrs. Norris said.
“Watch where he goes in,” Tom alerted her.
“I didn’t come only for the ride,” Mrs. Norris said. “He’s already in and I’ve seen where he went.” She was grateful for the moonlight, and drew her identification of the house from a tree stump.
Tom drove around the block and parked near the corner. “I wonder if he’s come home for the artillery.”
“The what?”
“Pistols. What he wants to fight with. Come on and show me the house. We’ll walk by.”
There wasn’t a sound but their own footfalls and the burble of frogs, as they went silently toward the tree stump Mrs. Norris had chosen as marker. Then there were other sounds—music of a listening variety somewhere nearby, and laughter from somewhere else, the distant banging of a car door, a dog’s barking.
“There it is,” Mrs. Norris said, indicating a two-family stone dwelling.
“We’re all right if he lives in the one on the left,” said Tom. “The blinds are up, and there’s people you can see through to.” The other half of the house was in darkness.
“You’ve the eyes of a ferret,” she said, but yielded her hand to his when he groped for it, and allowed herself to be led off the sidewalk into the shadow of bushes near the house. “We’re trespassing, Tom.”
“Aye, and I wonder if he isn’t himself. Look there, he’s talking to some woman with a baby in her arms.”
“I can’t see a thing,” Mrs. Norris said, for the window was above a veranda.
“Well, I’m not going to lift you up,” said Tom. “You’ll have to take my word for it.”
The room to the front of the house was dark, but Mrs. Norris could see the shadows from the figures in the second room playing upon the ceiling. Suddenly the woman was trying to thrust the baby into the man’s arms, and he was backing away from it, his own arms flailing while he talked.
“The bloody villain,” said
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