words, you won’t cooperate?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“How simple is it?”
“Cut it out, John.”
Her face hid behind a calm mask. I rose, strode over to her. The smell of the perfume grew stronger. I put my hand out, caught her behind the neck, pulling her close to me. She resisted.
“No more of that,” she said.
She looked at her watch again and this time I looked at mine. The time was 1:40. She went to the telephone, calling the Harding house. She hung up the receiver, turning to me.
“I’m worried, John,” she said. “Claire left the house at eleven forty-five. She should have been here by now.”
She began pacing back and forth. She called the house again; Miss Harding had not returned.
I had smoked three pipes before Claire Harding finally showed up. She opened the door, standing just inside it like a little girl caught stealing something. She tried to smile, but it didn’t come off. There was an ugly bruise below her left eye and the blood had dried into cakes on her lips. She poked at her mussed hair with tender fingers and looked at me.
There was hate in her eyes, hate enough for the whole world.
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