Six Golden Angels E-Book

Max Brand

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Renowned Western writer Max Brand does it again in the eminently enjoyable novel „Six Golden Angels”. Max Brand’s action-filled stories of adventure and heroism in the American West continue to entertain readers throughout the world. Brand penned over 200 full-length Westerns in his career, including „Destry Rides Again” and „Montana Rides Again”. But in this work, we see Brand in a new role. A familiar situation in the story of the murder of a millionaire which is dismissed by the police but investigated by his nephew. A varied cast of suspects – gamblers, actresses, fake socialites – lead to a tie-up with a politician and an underworld gang. A few new turns and a fast action story not to mention dialogue with a hard punch.

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER I

THE sallowness of Martin, the valet, existed not only in the stained whites of his eyes but even in his yellow fingers, which were spare in flesh and grew larger toward the flat tips. The strength which his clothes concealed appeared in his naked hand, particularly as he gripped the big, streamlined automatic.

With a sort of flat-handed pass he made the heavy gun disappear in his clothes, produced it again through his back, apparently–and all the while watched carefully the face of Gains, the butler, who attempted to preserve a wooden indifference; but his eyes were alive in spite of himself and glinted with every flash of the weapon.

“When you’re juggling,” said Gains, “you ought to keep to things that don’t have a mind of their own.”

“I won’t let this rod speak out of turn,” answered Martin.

“Why you packing it, anyway?” asked Gains, breaking down into open curiosity at last.

Martin allowed the automatic to remain in hiding beneath his coat.

“The old girl ought to have an airing now and then; that’s all,” said Martin. “And tonight may be the night for her to appear in company.”

The buzzer sounded on the pantry wall and the register indicated the library.

“J.J.’s gunna ask me is everything okay,” said Gains, rising. “Funny how he gets nervous every time he throws a party, eh?”

“He spent too many years prospecting the Canadian back-country,” said Martin. “New York will always be a pretty tight fit for him.”

Gains found John James Leggett pacing on the library rug.

“Does everything come along in good shape?” asked Leggett.

“Everything is in order, sir,” said Gains.

“Send me Cesare,” commanded Leggett.

While he waited for the chef he walked up and down the room looking at the books. Their titles meant nothing to him but the bindings made a pleasant tapestry of color along his walls and gave the room a sort of mental furniture. In this moment of great stress, he was not thinking consciously of his problem but was dimly remembering the hours he had spent in the leather room of the Zaehnsdorf bindery in London, thumbing hard-grained Morocco, or the soft Levant, or sleek vellums, or the deep neck wrinkles of brown sealskin. He had said to Zaehnsdorf’s manager: “I want a hundred and ten yards of books. Here’s the plan of the room. I don’t know a thing about books but I’d like some color on the walls.”

That was when the penthouse was rising on top of the huge loft building. Mike Ravenna said it looked too much like part of an English abbey, hoisted halfway to heaven, but that was before the landscape gardener had clothed the penthouse with time. The booming drone of a steamship’s whistle on the North River stopped Leggett in front of the mullioned window that filled the whole end of the room. A tremendous steamer was standing swiftly down the tide, making even the huge sky-scrapers seem like a city of toys. It angered Leggett a trifle whenever those monsters passed by, throwing his world out of scale; otherwise he liked the huge vibration of the whistles. He shut the passing of the great ship from his mind and looked down to his roof garden. Now that May put an end to the danger of frost, the gardeners made the whole formal design bloom with color inside the potted box-hedges. In the fountain the three bronze mermaids looked up with laughter at the spray which old Triton blew from his horn; descending, the water rained dazzling gold upon them, for the sun was turning red in the west.

The chef came in and held his tall hat at attention against his breast. The little starved man always seemed to be shrinking from a blow.

“Cesare, why don’t you eat some of the stuff you cook?” asked Leggett. “Why do I have to have a skeleton behind every feast?... Now listen to me, Cesare.”

“Yes, signore.”

“Everything must be perfect tonight. I want you to put your best touch in every dish; make music; make ’em sing. You hear?”

“Signore, everything shall be done con amore e passione.”

Leggett went down to the dining room and eyed the massed flowers with pleasure. Afterward he went up to the Venetian bedroom where the girls would leave their wraps. It was not to his taste. There was not a single chair to which a big man could trust his weight; but the women always exclaimed about the damask curtains, the carved and gilded furniture, and the grotesquerie of the little dancing figures which made a frescoed cornice around the walls.

He liked better the bathroom with its sunken tub of pale green marble and the dressing-room with the stiff yellow skirts of the table repeated endlessly in the surrounding mirrors. His own image multiplied in the same manner and it was this sight of himself that drove him away suddenly. Remembering the old prospecting days, lean and hard, it was difficult to identify himself with the swollen body on the long legs, like a crane at a stand in good fishing waters. Like the bird, all the lines of his face dropped down to a long nose and a long, fleshy chin. It was a red face, moist and shining.

Gains called him away to the telephone. A man’s voice clear and strong with youth said over the wire: “Mr. Leggett?... Hello, Uncle John! This is David.”

“That’s not David Ryder,” said Leggett. “You’re away off at sea on a steamer, David.”

“There was a handy little dirigible going across and I shifted to another fellow’s ticket,” said David Ryder. “Can I see you? I’ll be at the hotel...”

“You’ll be here!” shouted Leggett. Something stopped his voice. He controlled himself. Then he added: “Come right out. Having a dinner tonight. Rush along so you’ll have time to change.”

He sent for Martin and said: “My nephew is arriving. I don’t know when he’ll leave. He takes the guest suite.”

“Yes, sir. The suite?” repeated Martin.

“I said the suite. And until he gets a valet for himself, you’ll more or less forget me to take charge of him. Though he may not have many clothes to take care of. Not to begin with,” added Leggett.

“More or less forget you; yes, sir,” said the valet.

Leggett grinned at him.

“You’re a cruel, hard, cold sort of a devil, aren’t you, Martin?” he asked.

“As you please, sir,” said Martin, with none of the French sour going out of his face.

“When you take care of David Ryder, you damned thief,"‘said Leggett, “you’ll walk on eggs and break none of ’em!”

“Certainly, sir,” said Martin.

“Wait a minute,” commanded Leggett. “I want to say something.”

“Yes, sir,” said Martin.

“What am I going to talk to you about now?”

“Something very intimate, sir.”

“Why should I be intimate with you?”

“Because you could send me up the river for twenty years by lifting your finger, sir.”

“You know, Martin, sometimes I think I ought to have nobody about me except ex-convicts.”

“Besides me, you have Gains, sir,” said Martin.

“What! Gains, too?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Leggett.

“Yes, sir,” said Martin.

“You hired Gains for me yourself,” said Leggett.

“I wanted to share my good fortune... with a friend, sir.”

“You think you can trust Gains, eh?”

A very faint smile twisted the mouth of Martin.

“As long as I live, sir; yes.”

Leggett regarded him for a moment with a sinister pleasure.

“Why do I enjoy you so much, Martin?” he asked.

“Because you like to own your people body and soul, sir,” said Martin.

“That’s good. That’s damned good because it’s true,” said Leggett. “The point at hand, Martin, is that the arrival of my nephew unbalances my dinner table tonight. I have to have a sixth woman... Is there anything in the world that I haven’t talked to you about?”

Martin lifted his green eyes to the ceiling.

“No, sir. Nothing,” he said.

Leggett laughed a little but kept watching the face of Martin with cautious attention to overlook no shades of meaning.

“How do I seem to you just now?” he asked.

“I think you find this is a very special day, sir.”

“I expect it to be a special night,” said Leggett. “You think that this fellow Daley really knows something?”

“I am sure of it, sir.”

“About one of my guests of tonight?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I wonder which one it could be?” murmured Leggett. “Tell me the exact words that Daley used.”

“He said: ‘I’m bringing the dope in pictures and writing. What I bring is going to blow that party all to hell. After Mr. Leggett’s had a chance to look over my stuff and check it, he can pay what he thinks it’s worth.’”

“We’ll find out what he has when the time comes. Let’s get back to the last topic. Every one of the five women who are coming tonight has sold her soul to the devil; do you know that?”

“Certainly, sir,” said Martin.

“You’re a complacent sort of a scoundrel,” said Leggett. “Do you even know their names?”

“The Countess Lalo, Miss Leslie Carton, Mrs. Eric Claussen...”

“How do you know all this?”

“You sent each of the ladies flowers, sir, and the florist confused the addresses and telephoned to straighten them out.”

“I think I’ll check that with the florist,” said Leggett. “Shall I?”

“I hope not, sir,” said Martin.

“Then you’re a confounded eavesdropper, are you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Martin.

“Let it go for the moment. Pay attention to this: My nephew has been educated for twelve years by my money and now that he’s through with the Sorbonne he ought to be in line for a good opening in international law.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“But he’s not going to do international law. He deserves something better. For twelve years I’ve given him just enough money to keep body and soul together. I haven’t even smiled on him. I haven’t seen him five times in the twelve years. Results? Why, he’s managed like a Spartan. He’s had enough for tuition and bread and water, so to speak, but he’s taken nothing but top marks and honors everywhere... Now he’s going to have his reward... He’s going to have his reward!”

“Exactly, sir.”

“I know he’s the true steel,” said Leggett, “but I want to find out if a dash of wine and a pretty face will upset him. These sheltered students–you never can tell what the world will do to ‘em, Martin.”

“Certainly not, sir.”

“So I want to ask you, of all the young women who have been guests here recently, which is the best? Understand? I want to sit her down at the table with those other five females and see if David Ryder has brains and instinct enough to pick her out of the lot. If he can do that I’ll know better how far I can trust him in the world. Because there are going to be five temptations here tonight, Martin, that would snatch Saint Anthony out of his lion’s skin. Now the point is–what girl do I know?”

Martin lifted his green eyes again to the ceiling.

“Well, say something. Make a choice,” said Leggett.

“I am trying sir,” said Martin.

“You impudent rat!” exclaimed Leggett. Then he added: “Wait a minute!... That young girl who’s studying singing. That... what’s her name?”

“Miss Eileen Durante is the young lady you mean, sir.”

“Well, tell me: isn’t she the pure quill? Even New York soot can’t settle on her.”

Martin studied the emptiness of space before he shifted his glance to Leggett and answered, solemnly: “I think you are right, sir.”

Leggett smiled at his valet’s doubt. I’ll get her if I can,” he said. “And here’s the extraordinary oddity of it: If she’ll come, there’ll be six girls with golden hair at my table!”

He went to the telephone and got Michael Ravenna.

“Ah! It is John!” said the Italian. “You interrupt me at my collar button, John. I am too fat. I shall have to get a valet like the rich Mr. Leggett to squeeze me into my clothes.”

“Mike, you know that girl who’s studying singing. Eileen Durante. Can you get her to come here tonight? Not to sing. As a guest.”

“Ah, but John! I know the other women who are coming. And Eileen is a little different.”

“Damn the difference. I mean, the difference is what I want. Will you get her for me?”

“But she lives like a poor little nun in this city, John. Perhaps she won’t want to come. She is nothing but work and starvation; and that poor, gentle, sweet. small voice that never will fill a concert hall!”

“Tell her that I want to help her,” said Leggett. “Tell her that I want to see her again because I’m thinking of helping her. As a matter of fact, tonight she may pick up the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”

“I’ll get her,” said Ravenna, “but what rainbow? What pot?”

“You’ll see one day, perhaps... Goodby.”

For just then a servant came in to murmur: “Mr. David Ryder, sir.”

He had shoulders capable of swinging an oar in a college crew and yet he was light enough to ride a middleweight hunter. He wore his gray flannels like an Englishman whose breeding is high enough to permit him to be careless. He had a large head and a face so thin in flesh that one could study the bones and the brain beneath it.

“Hurry now,” said Leggett, shaking hands. “You’ve got barely time to change. Dinner jacket in those bags?”

“Yes, or a white tie if you prefer,” answered Ryder, glancing at the tails which Leggett was wearing.

“Snatch the tails and press it,” said Leggett to Martin, when they reached the rooms and the bags were opened.

“All this space just for me?” said David Ryder, looking about him at the suite.

“Well, you have to sit, and you have to study, and bathe, and dress and sleep, and it’s better to have a special room for each,” answered Leggett. “Like this layout?”

“I like it,” said Ryder. “It looks rather Louis Quinze, but cleaner.”

“Yeah, you’ve used your eyes,” said Leggett. “Hate to see a young fool shut out the world with a book. By the way, how could you afford to come over on the airship?”

Ryder was stripping. He paused to reach into an open bag and pull out a pair of dice. He rattled them on the table. “Just a bit of luck,” he said. Leggett picked up the dice and looked at them as though he never had seen the spots before. He did not lift his head from the study.

“Luck, did you say?” he asked. “Handmade luck?”

The rustling of clothes stopped and the silence lasted long enough to make Leggett look up.

“Luck, I said,” remarked Ryder.

He pulled off the rest of his clothes. The muscles of a very strong man garnished the flat of his stomach and clasped his shoulders with long fingers.

“How much do you owe?” asked Leggett.

“I thought this was in the way of being a party and a homecoming and all that,” answered Ryder, scorning the idea with his own smile.

He went into the bathroom; the shower began to roar. Leggett followed him.

Ryder stepped out of the shower and began to towel himself.

“Where did you get that scar over the eye?” asked Leggett.

“Some of those French fellows are pretty tough,” answered Ryder.

“Street fight?” asked Leggett.

“No. Five-ounce gloves. Sports promoter used to put me on now and then. I wasn’t a headliner but I made quite a bit betting on myself.”

He was rubbing himself powerfully, the pink coming out through the thick of the tan. Leggett lighted a cigarette.

“Ah, well,” he said, “I was thinking you might be all Ryder, meek and mild. I forget about the Leggett blood in you... Come here, Martin!”

Martin came in with his eyes on the floor.

“Look at him,” said Leggett, “and tell me if he’s a good fellow.”

“I can see that he is your nephew, sir,” said Martin.

“I’ll be damned if that’s not a recommendation,” growled Leggett. “Listen to me, Martin. I changed my will today when Chisholm came to see me. I have about thirty millions. I left the whole kaboodle to a good, pure-minded, quiet, gentle student named David Ryder. Aside from some little bits for devoted servants like Martin, of course. Was I a fool when I did that?”

David Ryder, his heel on the edge of the bathtub, lifted his head and looked at Martin with gray-green eyes, as he dried his toes. And Martin looked back at him.

“Mr. Ryder and I hope that you will live for many years, sir,” he said.

“Don’t switch to him all at once, Martin,” said Leggett. “I may change my mind.”

They went into the dressing room and Ryder slid into the clothes that Martin held for him. Gains rapped on the door to announce that Mr. Ravenna and Mr. Porter Brant and Miss Sydney Galloway and the Countess Lalo had arrived.

“Let’s go down and meet these people,” said Leggett. “Old friends of mine. Almost too friendly, considering how young a lot of ’em are.”

As they went down the stairs a guitar started thrumming and a strong bass voice, sometimes husky, sometimes a little oily and bubbling, began an Italian song.

“That’s Mike Ravenna,” said Leggett.

They went on into the library.

Mike Ravenna, as the center of the picture with half a dozen extremely pretty women around him, leaned back in a deep chair with his legs thrust out before him, his coat off, and the guitar resting on the huge, rolling shelf of his stomach. Three other men, overshadowed by his singing, were hardly noticeable on the margin of the group.

The song ended as Leggett came in. He said: “I want everybody to know my nephew, David Ryder. David, the fat man is Ravenna. He knows all the meat in New York’s political stew. Here’s Jimmy Hickey, the famous columnist and scandal-breeder. Now, Jimmy, take hold of David and tell him all the dirt about everybody in the room. When he knows what he’s meeting, you can introduce him.”

Wrinkled and gray before his time, with a thin, ratty face, Jimmy Hickey took Ryder by the arm and led him aside. A tall, handsome girl came up to them and shook hands with Ryder. She said: “If you put your snake’s tongue on my reputation, Jimmy, I’ll smack you down. Mr. Ryder, I’m Eric Claussen’s wife. He’s the tall, dark fellow over there. You’re surprised to see him here because of his clean look. No matter what Hickey says about me, he’s talking through his hat.”

“You’d rather be talked about through a hat than a loud-speaker,” said Hickey. “Run along, Elspeth; it’s wonderful how you keep your face, win or lose.”

The girl smiled at Ryder and moved away.

“She’s quite a nice person, at that,” said Hickey. “All that keeps Elspeth from the domestic virtues is about five thousand a year–which is not enough... That’s Marene Sutherland, over there. She’s just a shady bit older than the rest of them. Your uncle can tell you more about her than I can and, as for the details of her private life, just now, that lies between J.J. Leggett and J.J. Leggett. Or do I see a question in your eye?”

“Not about her; but that very beautiful girl–who is she?” asked Ryder.

“I intended to crown the glory with her,” said Hickey, “but no one is speaking out of turn in mentioning Leslie Car-ton. I suppose you recognize her?”

“Recognize her? No.”

“You have been away from the States,” said Hickey. “Just now she’s better known from the tips of her toes to the shine of her hair than anything this side of Hollywood. One of the smart magazines printed a picture of her that’s been copied in every rag in the country. Haven’t you really seen it? Look here!”

He drew out his cigarette case. His thumb held, behind the platinum, a picture of a girl in a bathing suit.

“Walking the waters,” said Hickey, chuckling.

In fact, the girl seemed to be springing over the face of the sea and the speed of her running pressed back her hair as with two hands.

“She’s more dressed in light than in clothes,” said Jimmy Hickey. “The silk of a swimming suit doesn’t matter, once it’s drenched. You see, she was aquaplaning and the plane jumped sidewise from under her feet; at that lucky instant when her foot touched the water, the camera got her.”

“And the person who took the picture sold it to a magazine?” asked Ryder coldly.

“Art for art’s sake, and a few dollars added,” said Hickey. “But a light like Leslie’s shouldn’t be hidden under a bushel. A year ago she had never seen New York; now most of New York has seen her. She has a liberal nature; at least I don’t know of anyone who has had to pay for her so far.”

“You don’t mean that, I think,” said Ryder, with disgust.

“Oh, I’ve only been giving you the headlines, but if you want facts, I can give you a lot of news, also.”

“I’d better take that for granted,” said Ryder.

“The fellow with the magnificent forehead is Porter Brant, the great producer and fathead. He wouldn’t be here; he wouldn’t be anywhere except for Sydney Galloway. She’s that perfect profile, over there. The dark, sleek fellow who’s trying to make love to her is Eric Claussen, but his wife pointed him out before. He knows enough about horses to make money at the races; some people say that that’s too much knowledge for an honest man to have, but I’ve cashed in on some of his tips so I still speak to him. There, just sitting down on the arm of Ravenna’s chair is Millicent, the Countess Lalo. She’s every man’s little girl and she’ll ask your advice before the evening’s over. She’s one of those clinging vines that cost you your skin before you can tear the tendrils loose. And I guess that’s everybody except the little singer, over there, Eileen Durante. The quiet girl. Studying singing. Has a sweet voice about as big as a minute. A sweet nature, too. I don’t know why Leggett should bring her in among all these roisterers except that he’s so crazy about old gold. Notice that? All six of them have golden hair... Now, do you remember anything I’ve told you?”

“I forget easily,” said Ryder.

“Good fellow!” answered Jimmy Hickey. “I knew I wasn’t wasting my time on you! Come along while I introduce you... bring your drink.”

He took Ryder to Leslie Carton last of all and said: “He picked you right out of the whole ruck, Leslie, just on your face. Be kind to him. He’s a swift and bitter fellow; the type that loves once and loves forever.”

“Don’t let Jimmy Hickey bother you,” said Leslie Carton. “The difference between Jimmy and a rattlesnake is that he doesn’t give any warning before he strikes.”

He looked after the departing figure of Hickey, who walked with a sort of sidelong aggressiveness, as though he were thrusting through a crowd.

“The little rat was showing me that picture of you,” said Ryder.

“I knew he was doing that,” she answered, and though her eyes had seemed bright enough before, a shadow withdrew from them now and seemed to give him a deeper entrance.

“There’s this advantage,” she said. “After Jimmy has talked, you know the worst.”

Claussen joined them to say: “What’s happened to John Leggett tonight? There’s more fire in the eye than I’ve seen in him since Dorrie disappeared.”

“I didn’t know you all in Dorrie’s time,” said Leslie Carton, “but John looks to me like a small boy with a secret.”

Ravenna said in his great, booming, gonglike voice, as he got into his coat and picked up a glass: “All my friends–before we go into dinner, let’s drink to the other girl. Someone has just spoken her name. God be kind to her wherever she is... To Dorrie!”

They all drank.

“Who is Dorrie?” asked Ryder.

“A girl who disappeared a year ago,” said Leslie Carton. She had stopped smiling and looked down studiously at her cocktail. “Simply dropped out of sight. I never saw her but they all adored her.”

They were going into the dining room now.

“Her name is the only thing in the world that can sadden them,” said Leslie. “She must have been quite a darling. I’ve seen tears in the eyes of Jimmy Hickey, even, because of Dorrie. It’s the only reputation in the world that he doesn’t poison.”

“Why do you have him about, then?” asked Ryder.

“Because it’s fun to play with fire,” laughed Leslie Carton, but her laughter broke on an uncertain note. He had an impression that she alone of the entire group was profoundly ill at ease.

When people found their places, Ryder was sitting with Eileen Durante on his right and Leslie Carton on his left.

“Look! Look!” cried the hearty voice of Mrs. Eric Claussen. “Everybody see my favor!”

“We all have the same thing!” exclaimed Sydney Galloway, and all six of them held up little golden angels an inch and a half tall, carved with grave Egyptian faces and inlaid wings rising stiffly above their heads.

“Are they really favors? Do we really take them?” asked Elspeth Claussen.

“You really do,” said Leggett. “Because this is an evening I want you to remember.”

“But why is everything so perfect?” boomed the resonant voice of Mike Ravenna. “All this polish hurts our eyes, John.”

“I wanted this dinner to be perfect,” said Leggett, “because it’s the last time that I’ll see you all together.”

“The last?” chorused many voices.

“The last time that we’ll all be together,” said Leggett. “There’s going to be an absentee the next time. I have a messenger on the way now, bringing me the proof in pictures and in writing that one of you good friends of mine has stabbed me in the back. Don’t let me upset the rest of you. The guilty one will do the suffering. After dinner, I hope that I’ll be able to give you the name along with the cognac.”

There was a quick, whispering intake of breath all around the table. A tremor of light on the glass which Leslie Carton was fingering made Ryder glance at her. Every other face was grave but she still forced her lips to smile.

That brutal announcement by Leggett would have ruined almost any party and probably the good humor in this one could not have survived except for Mike Ravenna exclaiming: “Perhaps John is thinking of my sins. I’ve got enough of ’em. But my heart is floating right among the terrapin. Leslie, say something to cheer us up.”

“Maybe nobody’s head will go off except Jimmy’s,” said Leslie Carton.

The people laughed at this, except John Leggett, who kept looking straight before him at his nephew and seeing nobody. Eileen Durante lifted her big eyes at Ryder and said: “It’s all just a joke, isn’t it? Nothing will really happen, will there?”

“Of course it’s just a joke,” answered Ryder, but he felt a gathering suspense.

There was plenty of wine, particularly a priceless Romanée with a bright jewel in the heart of it. Most of the people drank a good deal and presently Ryder managed to make out the insidious voice of Jimmy Hickey saying to Marene Sutherland: “After all there ought to be a good party when the fatted calf comes home.”

“Don’t be nasty about him,” said Marene Sutherland. “David seems nice.”

“That’s one of your pleasant maternal attributes, Marene,” murmured Hickey, “you’re so devoted to the young.”

Ryder caught the rather apprehensive eye of Leslie Carton and smiled at her.

“My time to burn a bit in the fire,” he nodded. “Or should I trample it out?”

“That doesn’t seem to do any good,” she answered. “Men have hammered him to pulp before this.”

“Why does everybody seem guilty?” Ryder asked her.

“Because we haven’t paid our way with John, for one thing,” she answered.

“You mean that he’s a great entertainer?” suggested Ryder.

“Yes,” she answered.

“And so people pretend to like him a little more than they really do?”

“He wants real human beings,” said the girl. She looked at Ryder and flushed, so that he suddenly realized that in this century only tennis and cocktails make girls blush. “He wants to have real people around him, but he only has a lot of bright chatter and pretty girls.”

“But that big, hearty fellow, Ravenna...” suggested Ryder.

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “Perhaps he’s different, or perhaps we’re all wrong. Do I seem guilty, too?”

“I don’t care whether you’re guilty or not,” said Ryder.

Her eyes took note of him but she said nothing more. He had to turn to Eileen Durante. In contrast with the warmth of Leslie Carton, she had the impersonal quality of a lovely child. Whenever she spoke she smiled and whenever she smiled she opened her eyes a little so that she kept shining and dimming and shining again as she talked.

“I’ve heard about your singing,” he said.

“I sing a little,” she answered. “I’d like to sing a lot but–you know, there’s not a lot of me, is there? It’s only a small sort of a voice but voices sometimes grow like the rest of us, don’t you think so? I sing duets with Mike Ravenna and that’s very nice except when he forgets and goes booming.”

She laughed and shook her head.