Read Online Waltz Into Darkness by Cornell Woolrich - Free Book Online
Authors: Cornell Woolrich
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of it in
indication.
She
was suddenly looking, with an almost taut scrutiny, at one of the
dresses, holding it upraised before her. As closely, as arrestedly,
as if she were nearsighted or were seeking to find some microscopic
flaw in its texture.
"Oh
no," she said. "Nothing. Only rags."
"How
is it I've never seen you open it? You never have, have you?"
She
continued to peer at this thing in her hands. "No," she
said. "I never have."
"I
should imagine you would unpack. You intend to stay, don't you?"
He was trying to be humorous, nothing more.
She
didn't answer this time. She blinked her eyes, at the second of the
two phrases, but it might have had nothing to do with that; it might
simply have occurred simultaneously to it.
"Why
not?" he persisted. "Why haven't you?" But with no
intent whatever, simply to have an answer.
This
time she took note of the question. "I--I can't," she said,
somewhat unsurely.
She
seemed to intend no further explanation, at least unsolicited, so he
asked her: "Why?"
She
waited a moment. "It's the--key. It's--ah, missing. I haven't
got it. I lost it on the boat."
She
had come over to the trunk while she was speaking, and was rather
hastily trying to rearrange the slip cover over it, almost as if
nettled because it had been disarrayed. Though this might have been
an illusion due simply to the nervous quickness of her hands.
"Why
didn't you tell me ?" he protested heartily, thinking merely he
was doing her a service. "I'll have a locksmith come in and make
you a new one. It won't take any time at all. Wait a minute, let me
look at it--"
He
drew the slip cover partly back again, while she almost seemed to be
trying to hold it in place in opposition. Again the vivid "J.R."
peered forth, but only momentarily.
He
thumbed the pear-shaped brass plaque. "That should be easy
enough. It's a fairly simple type of lock."
The
slip cover, in her hands, swept across it like a curtain a moment
later, blotting out lock and initials alike.
"I'll
go out and fetch one in right now," he offered, and started
forthwith for the door. "He can take the impression, and have
the job done by the time we return from our--"
"You
can't," she called after him with unexpected harshness of voice,
that might simply have been due to the fact of her having to raise it
slightly to reach him.
"Why
not ?" he asked, and stopped where he was.
She
let her breath out audibly. "It's Sunday."
He
turned in the doorway and came slowly back again, frustrated. "That's
true," he admitted. "I forgot."
"I
did too, for a moment," she said. And again exhaled deeply. In a
way that, though it was probably no more than an expression of
annoyance at the delay, might almost have been mistaken for
unutterable relief, so misleadingly like it did it sound.
12
The
rite of the bath was in progress, or at least in preparation,
somewhere in the background. He could tell by the sounds reaching
him, though he was removed from any actual view of what was going on,
being two rooms away, in the sitting room attached to their bedroom,
engrossed in his newspaper. He could hear buckets of hot water,
brought up in relays from the top of the kitchen stove downstairs by
Aunt Sarah, being emptied into the tub with a hollow drumlike sound.
Then a great stirring-up, so that it would blend properly with the
cold water allowed to flow into it in its natural state from the tap.
Then the testing, which was done with one carefully pointed foot, and
usually followed by abrupt withdrawals and squeals of "Too
cold!" or "Too hot!" as well as loud contradictions on
the part of the assistant, Aunt Sarah: "No it ain't! Don't be
such a baby ! Leave it in a minute, how you going to tell, you snatch
it back like that? Your husban's sitting right out there; ain't you
ashamed to have him know what a scairdy-cat you is ?"
"Well,
he doesn't have to get in it, I do," came the plaintive answer.
Over
and above this watery commotion, and cued by its semimusical tone,
the canary,
indication.
She
was suddenly looking, with an almost taut scrutiny, at one of the
dresses, holding it upraised before her. As closely, as arrestedly,
as if she were nearsighted or were seeking to find some microscopic
flaw in its texture.
"Oh
no," she said. "Nothing. Only rags."
"How
is it I've never seen you open it? You never have, have you?"
She
continued to peer at this thing in her hands. "No," she
said. "I never have."
"I
should imagine you would unpack. You intend to stay, don't you?"
He was trying to be humorous, nothing more.
She
didn't answer this time. She blinked her eyes, at the second of the
two phrases, but it might have had nothing to do with that; it might
simply have occurred simultaneously to it.
"Why
not?" he persisted. "Why haven't you?" But with no
intent whatever, simply to have an answer.
This
time she took note of the question. "I--I can't," she said,
somewhat unsurely.
She
seemed to intend no further explanation, at least unsolicited, so he
asked her: "Why?"
She
waited a moment. "It's the--key. It's--ah, missing. I haven't
got it. I lost it on the boat."
She
had come over to the trunk while she was speaking, and was rather
hastily trying to rearrange the slip cover over it, almost as if
nettled because it had been disarrayed. Though this might have been
an illusion due simply to the nervous quickness of her hands.
"Why
didn't you tell me ?" he protested heartily, thinking merely he
was doing her a service. "I'll have a locksmith come in and make
you a new one. It won't take any time at all. Wait a minute, let me
look at it--"
He
drew the slip cover partly back again, while she almost seemed to be
trying to hold it in place in opposition. Again the vivid "J.R."
peered forth, but only momentarily.
He
thumbed the pear-shaped brass plaque. "That should be easy
enough. It's a fairly simple type of lock."
The
slip cover, in her hands, swept across it like a curtain a moment
later, blotting out lock and initials alike.
"I'll
go out and fetch one in right now," he offered, and started
forthwith for the door. "He can take the impression, and have
the job done by the time we return from our--"
"You
can't," she called after him with unexpected harshness of voice,
that might simply have been due to the fact of her having to raise it
slightly to reach him.
"Why
not ?" he asked, and stopped where he was.
She
let her breath out audibly. "It's Sunday."
He
turned in the doorway and came slowly back again, frustrated. "That's
true," he admitted. "I forgot."
"I
did too, for a moment," she said. And again exhaled deeply. In a
way that, though it was probably no more than an expression of
annoyance at the delay, might almost have been mistaken for
unutterable relief, so misleadingly like it did it sound.
12
The
rite of the bath was in progress, or at least in preparation,
somewhere in the background. He could tell by the sounds reaching
him, though he was removed from any actual view of what was going on,
being two rooms away, in the sitting room attached to their bedroom,
engrossed in his newspaper. He could hear buckets of hot water,
brought up in relays from the top of the kitchen stove downstairs by
Aunt Sarah, being emptied into the tub with a hollow drumlike sound.
Then a great stirring-up, so that it would blend properly with the
cold water allowed to flow into it in its natural state from the tap.
Then the testing, which was done with one carefully pointed foot, and
usually followed by abrupt withdrawals and squeals of "Too
cold!" or "Too hot!" as well as loud contradictions on
the part of the assistant, Aunt Sarah: "No it ain't! Don't be
such a baby ! Leave it in a minute, how you going to tell, you snatch
it back like that? Your husban's sitting right out there; ain't you
ashamed to have him know what a scairdy-cat you is ?"
"Well,
he doesn't have to get in it, I do," came the plaintive answer.
Over
and above this watery commotion, and cued by its semimusical tone,
the canary,
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