Read Online Waltz Into Darkness by Cornell Woolrich - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cornell Woolrich
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Dicky Bird, was singing jauntily, from the room midway
between, the bedroom.
Aunt
Sarah passed through the room where he sat, an empty waterbucket in
each hand.
"She
sure a pretty little thing," she commented. "White as milk
and soft as honey. Got a fo'm like--unh-umh !"
His
face suddenly suffused with color. It took quite some time for the
heightened tide to descend again. He pretended the remark had not
been addressed to himself, took no note of it.
She
went down the stairs.
The
canary's bravura efforts rose to a triumphant, sustained, almost
earsplitting trill, then suddenly broke off short. That had been,
even he had to admit to himself, quite a considerable amount of noise
for so small a bird to emit, just then.
A
strange, almost complete silence had succeeded it.
Then
the rolling, somehow-undulating sound usually produced by total
immersion in a body of water.
After
that only an occasional watery ripple.
Aunt
Sarah returned, stopped en route to shake out and inspect a fleecy
towel, also warmed by courtesy of the kitchen stove, that she was
taking in with her. She went on into the bedroom.
"Hullo
there," he heard her say, from in there. "How my bird? How
my yallo baby ?" Suddenly her voice deepened to strident
urgency. "Mr. Lou! Mr. Lou !"
He
went in running.
"He
dead."
"He
can't be. He was singing only a minute ago."
"He
dead, I tell you! Look here, see for yourself--" She had removed
him from the cage, was holding him pillowed on the palm of her hand.
"Maybe
he needs water and seed again, like that last--" But the two
receptacles were filled; Aunt Sarah had made that her responsibility
ever since then.
"It
ain't that."
She
gave the edge of her hand a slight dip.
Something
dropped over the edge of it, hung there suspended, while the body of
the bird remained in position.
"His
neck's done been broken."
"Maybe
he fell off the perch--" Durand tried to suggest inanely, for
lack of any other explanation that came to mind.
She
scowled at him belligerently.
"They
don't fall! What they got wings for?"
He
repeated: "But he was singing only a few minutes ago--"
"What
he was a few minutes ago and what he is now is two different things!"
"--and
no one's been in here. No one but you and Miss Julia--"
In
the silence, and incredibly, Julia could be heard in the adjoining
bathroom, lightly whistling a bar or two to herself.
Then,
as though belatedly realizing how unladylike she was guilty of being,
she checked herself, and the water gave a playful little splash for
finale.
13
It
was quite by chance that he happened to go through the street in
which his former lodgings were. He had no concern with them, would
have passed them by with no more than a glance of fond recollection;
his errand and his destination lay elsewhere entirely, and it only
happened that this was the shortest way to it.
And
it was equally by chance that Madame Tellier, his erstwhile landlady,
happened to come out and stand for a moment in the entrance just as
he was in the act of walking by.
She
greeted him effusively, with shrieks of delight that could be heard
for doors away in either direction, flung her arms about him like a
second mother, asked about his health, his happiness, his enjoyment
of married life.
"Oh,
but we miss you, Louis! Your old rooms are rented again--to a pair of
cold Northerners (I charge them double)--but it's not the same."
She creased her rather large nose distastefully. Suddenly she was all
alight again, gave her fingers a crackling snap of selfreminder. "I
just remembered! I have a letter waiting for you. It's been here
several days now, and I haven't seen Tom since it came, to ask where
your new address is, or I would have forwarded it. He still comes
around now and then to work for me, you know. Wait here, I'll bring
it out to you."
She
patted him three times in rapid succession on the chest, as if
cajoling him to stand patiently as he was for a moment, turned and
whisked inside.
He
had, he only now
between, the bedroom.
Aunt
Sarah passed through the room where he sat, an empty waterbucket in
each hand.
"She
sure a pretty little thing," she commented. "White as milk
and soft as honey. Got a fo'm like--unh-umh !"
His
face suddenly suffused with color. It took quite some time for the
heightened tide to descend again. He pretended the remark had not
been addressed to himself, took no note of it.
She
went down the stairs.
The
canary's bravura efforts rose to a triumphant, sustained, almost
earsplitting trill, then suddenly broke off short. That had been,
even he had to admit to himself, quite a considerable amount of noise
for so small a bird to emit, just then.
A
strange, almost complete silence had succeeded it.
Then
the rolling, somehow-undulating sound usually produced by total
immersion in a body of water.
After
that only an occasional watery ripple.
Aunt
Sarah returned, stopped en route to shake out and inspect a fleecy
towel, also warmed by courtesy of the kitchen stove, that she was
taking in with her. She went on into the bedroom.
"Hullo
there," he heard her say, from in there. "How my bird? How
my yallo baby ?" Suddenly her voice deepened to strident
urgency. "Mr. Lou! Mr. Lou !"
He
went in running.
"He
dead."
"He
can't be. He was singing only a minute ago."
"He
dead, I tell you! Look here, see for yourself--" She had removed
him from the cage, was holding him pillowed on the palm of her hand.
"Maybe
he needs water and seed again, like that last--" But the two
receptacles were filled; Aunt Sarah had made that her responsibility
ever since then.
"It
ain't that."
She
gave the edge of her hand a slight dip.
Something
dropped over the edge of it, hung there suspended, while the body of
the bird remained in position.
"His
neck's done been broken."
"Maybe
he fell off the perch--" Durand tried to suggest inanely, for
lack of any other explanation that came to mind.
She
scowled at him belligerently.
"They
don't fall! What they got wings for?"
He
repeated: "But he was singing only a few minutes ago--"
"What
he was a few minutes ago and what he is now is two different things!"
"--and
no one's been in here. No one but you and Miss Julia--"
In
the silence, and incredibly, Julia could be heard in the adjoining
bathroom, lightly whistling a bar or two to herself.
Then,
as though belatedly realizing how unladylike she was guilty of being,
she checked herself, and the water gave a playful little splash for
finale.
13
It
was quite by chance that he happened to go through the street in
which his former lodgings were. He had no concern with them, would
have passed them by with no more than a glance of fond recollection;
his errand and his destination lay elsewhere entirely, and it only
happened that this was the shortest way to it.
And
it was equally by chance that Madame Tellier, his erstwhile landlady,
happened to come out and stand for a moment in the entrance just as
he was in the act of walking by.
She
greeted him effusively, with shrieks of delight that could be heard
for doors away in either direction, flung her arms about him like a
second mother, asked about his health, his happiness, his enjoyment
of married life.
"Oh,
but we miss you, Louis! Your old rooms are rented again--to a pair of
cold Northerners (I charge them double)--but it's not the same."
She creased her rather large nose distastefully. Suddenly she was all
alight again, gave her fingers a crackling snap of selfreminder. "I
just remembered! I have a letter waiting for you. It's been here
several days now, and I haven't seen Tom since it came, to ask where
your new address is, or I would have forwarded it. He still comes
around now and then to work for me, you know. Wait here, I'll bring
it out to you."
She
patted him three times in rapid succession on the chest, as if
cajoling him to stand patiently as he was for a moment, turned and
whisked inside.
He
had, he only now
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