It was dark in the room, but the windows were wide open and the moon shone in. Mary was sitting in a straight-backed antique chair and the youth sat at her feet leaning his head against her knees. He was smoking a cigarette and in the darkness the glow shone red. In answer to her questioning he told her that his father had been head of the police in one of the smaller towns of Austria during the Dollfuss Government and he had put down with severity the various agitations which disturbed the peace during those troubled times. When Schuschnigg became head of the State after the assassination of the little peasant Chancellor, his firmness and determined attitude had maintained him in his post. He favoured the restoration of the Archduke Otto because he thought that this was the only way to prevent Austria, which he loved with ardent patriotism, from being absorbed by Germany. During the three years that followed he aroused the bitter enmity of the Austrian Nazis by the stem measures be took to curb their treason-able activities. On that fatal day when the German troops marched into the defenceless little country he shot himself through the heart. The young Karl, his boy, was then finishing his education. He had specialized in the history of art, but was going to be a schoolmaster. At the moment nothing could be done and with rage in his heart he listened among the crowd to the speech Hitler made at Linz from the balcony of the Landhaus when he entered the town in triumph. He heard the Austrians shout themselves hoarse with joy as they acclaimed their conqueror. But this enthusiasm was soon followed by disillusion, and when some of the bolder spirits gathered together to form a secret association to fight the alien rule by every means in their power they found many adherents. Karl was among them. They held meetings which they were convinced were private; they conspired in an ineffective way; they were no more than boys any of them, and they never dreamt that every move they made, every word they said, was reported at the head-quarters of the secret police. One day they were all arrested. Two were shot as a warning to the rest, and the others were sent to a concentration camp. Karl escaped after three months and by good luck was able to get over the frontier into the Italian Tyrol. He had no passport nor papers of any kind, for these had been taken from him in the concentration camp, and he lived in terror of being arrested and either put in prison as a vagabond or deported back to the Reich where a harsh punishment awaited him.
"If I'd only had enough money to buy a revolver I'd have shot myself as my father did."
He took her hand and placed it on his chest.
"There, between the fourth and fifth ribs. Just where your fingers are."
"Don't say such things," said Mary, with a shudder, snatching her hand away.
He gave a mirthless laugh.
"You don't know how often I've looked at the Arno and wondered when the time would come when nothing was left to me but to throw myself in."
Mary sighed deeply. His fate seemed so cruel that any words she might have found to console him could only have been futile. He pressed her hand.
"Don't sigh," he said tenderly. "I regret nothing any more. It's all been worth it for this wonderful night."
They ceased to speak. Mary thought of his miserable story. There was no way out. What could she do? Give him money? That would help him for a while perhaps, but that was all; he was a romantic creature, his high-flown, extravagant language was that of a boy who knew more of books than, for all his terrible experiences, of life, and it was quite possible that he would refuse to take anything from her. On a sudden a cock crew. The sound broke the silence of the night so shrilly that she was startled. She took her hand away from his.
"You must go now, my dear," she said.
"Not yet," be cried. "Not yet, my love."
"The dawn will break soon."
"Not for a long time yet." He raised himself to his knees and threw his arms round her. "I adore you."
She disengaged herself.
"No, really you must go. It's so late. Please."
She felt rather than saw the sweet smile that broke on his lips. He scrambled to his feet. He looked for his coat and shoes and she switched on a light. When he was once more dressed he took her in his arms again.
"My lovely one," he whispered. "You've made me so happy."
"I'm glad."
"You've given me something to live for. Now I have you I have everything. Let the future look after itself. Life's not so bad; something will turn up."
"You'll never forget?"
"Never."
She lifted her lips to his.
"Good-bye, then."
"Good-bye till when?" he murmured passionately.
She freed herself again.
"Good-bye for ever, my dear. I'm leaving here very soon—in three or four days, I expect." It seemed difficult to say what she had to say. "We can't see one another any more. You see, I'm not free."
"Are you married? They told me you were a widow."
It would have been easy to lie. She did not know what prevented her. She hedged.
"What did you think I meant when I said I wasn't free? I tell you it's impossible we should ever meet again. You don't want to ruin my life, do you?"
"But I must see you again. Once more, only once more. Or else I shall die."
"My dear, don't be unreasonable. I tell you it's impossible. When we part now we part for ever."
"But I love you. Don't you love me?"
She hesitated a moment. She did not want to be unkind, but thought it necessary at that moment to tell the plain truth. She shook her head and smiled a little.
"No."
He stared at her as if he didn't understand. "Then why did you take me?"
"You were lonely and miserable. I wanted to give you a few moments' happiness."
"Oh, how cruel! How monstrously cruel!"
Her voice broke.
"Don't say that. I didn't mean to be cruel. My heart was full of tenderness and pity."
"I never asked for your pity. Why didn't you leave me alone? You have shown me heaven and now you want to thrust me back to earth. No. No. No."
He seemed to grow in stature as he flung the words at her. There was something tragic in his indignation. She was vaguely impressed. It had never occurred to her that he would take it like that.
"Perhaps I've been very stupid," she said. "I didn't want to hurt you."
There was no love in his eyes now, but cold, sullen anger. His white face had gone whiter still and it was like a death mask. It made her uneasy. She knew now what a fool she'd been. The servants slept far away and if she screamed they would not hear her. Idiot, idiot that she was! The only thing was to keep her head and not show him that she was frightened.
"I'm terribly sorry," she faltered. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. If there's anything I can do to make up I'll only be too glad to do it."
He frowned darkly.
"What are you doing now? Are you offering me money? I don't want your money. How much money have you got here?"
She took her bag which was on the dressing-tables and as she put her hand in felt the revolver. It gave her a start. She had never fired one in her life. Oh, it was nonsense to suppose it would come to that But thank God she had it. Dear Edgar, he hadn't been such an old donkey after all. The inconsequent thought flashed through her mind that it was not with the idea of her ever finding herself in such a situation that he had forced it on her. Even at that moment the idea amused her and she regained her self-possession.
"I've got two or three thousand lire. It would be enough to get you into Switzerland. You'd be safer there. Believe me, I shan't miss it"
"Of course you won't miss it. You're rich, aren't you? You're rich enough to pay for the pleasure of a night's fun. D'you always have to pay for your lovers? If I wanted money d'you think I'd be satisfied with a few lire? I should take the pearls you wore, and the bracelets you had on your arm."
"You can have them, too, if you want them. They mean nothing to me. They're on the dressing-table. Take them."
"You vile woman. Are you so vile that you think any man can be bought off at a price? You fool, if money had meant so much to me don't you think I could have made terms with the Nazis? I didn't need to be an outcast. I didn't need to starve."
"My God, why can't I make you understand? I meant to do you a kindness, you seem to think I've done you harm. I want to make up for the harm. If I've offended you, if I've hurt you, I ask your forgiveness. I only wanted your good."
"You lie. An idle, sensual, worthless woman. What good have .you ever done in your life. I wonder? You go about seeking excitement, new experiences, anything to cheat your boredom, and you don't care what injury you cause to others. But this time you've made a mistake. It's a risk to take strange men into one's house. I took you for a goddess and you're just a whore. It would be a good thing, maybe, if I strangled you to prevent you from hurting others as you've hurt me. I could, you know. Who would ever suspect me? Who saw me coming into this house?"
He took a step towards her. She was seized with panic. He looked sinister and menacing. His gaunt face was distorted with hatred and those dark deep-set eyes flashed. She made an effort at self-control. She was still holding the bag in her hand; she snatched the revolver and pointed it at him.
"If you don't go at once I shall fire! " she cried.
"Fire, then."
He took another step towards her.
"If you come an inch nearer I shall shoot!"
"Shoot. Do you think life means anything to me? You will be robbing me of an intolerable burden. Shoot Shoot and I'll forgive you everything. I love you!"
His face was transfigured. The sullen rage was wiped clean off it and his great black eyes shone with exaltation. He came towards her, his head thrown back, his arms outspread, offering his breast to her aim.
"You can say a thief broke into your room and you shot him dead. Quick, quick."
She let the revolver fall from her hand and throwing herself into a chair hid her face and burst into a passion of tears. He looked at her for a moment "Hadn't you the courage? Poor child. How stupid you are, how terribly stupid. You mustn't play with men as you played with me. Come."
He put his arms round her and tried to lift her to her feet. She did not know what he wanted and, still sobbing bitterly, clung to the chair. He hit her hand roughly, so that, crying out with the pain, she let go instinctively; with a swift gesture he picked her up, carried her across the room and roughly threw her down on the bed. He flung himself beside her, took her in his arms and covered her face with kisses. She tried to get away from him, but he would not let her go. He was strong, much stronger than he looked; and she was powerless in his firm grasp. At last she ceased to resist.
A few minutes later he got up. She was shattered. He stood at the side of the bed looking down at her.
"You asked me not to forget you. I shall forget, but you won't."
She did not stir. She glared at him with terrified eyes. He gave a little harsh laugh.
"Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."
She said nothing. Unable to withstand the anger of his cruel stare, she closed her eyes. She heard him move stealthily about the darkened room. Suddenly she heard a report and then the sound of a fall. It brought her to her feet with a shriek of dismay.
"God, what have you done?"
He was lying in front of the window, with the moonlight pouring down on him.
She flung herself down on her knees beside him and called him by his name.
"Karl, Karl, what have you done?"
She took him by the hand and when she dropped it, it fell with a lifeless thud on the floor. She put her hand on his face and on his heart. He was dead. She fell back on her heels and stared at the body with terror. Her mind went blank. She did not know what to do. Her head swam and she was afraid she was going to faint.
Suddenly she started, for she had heard a pattering in the passage, the patter of bare feet; then it stopped and she knew that there was someone outside the door, listening. She stared at it in a panic. There was a soft little knock. She was trembling violently, and it was only by a violent effort that she choked down the scream that came to her lips. She sat there, on the floor, as still as the dead man by her side. The knock was repeated. She forced herself to speak.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Are you all right, Signora?" It was Nina's voice. "I thought I heard a bang."
Mary, clenching her hands, dug her nails into her palms in order to force herself to speak naturally.
"You must have been dreaming. I heard nothing. Go to bed."
"Very well, Signora."
There was a moment's pause, and then she heard the bare feet pattering away again. As though she could follow the sound with her eyes, Mary, turning her head, followed it down the passage. She had spoken instinctively to give herself time to gather her wits together. She sighed deeply. But something had to be done. She leant over to look once more at the Austrian. She shuddered. Getting on to her feet again, she put her hands under the dead man's arms and tried to drag him out of the window. She hardly knew what she was doing; it was some blind impulse that led her to want somehow to get him out of the room. But the body was heavy. She gave a gasp of anguish; she felt as weak as a rat. Now she couldn't think what to do. Suddenly it occurred to her that it had been madness to send Nina away. How could she explain that, with that man lying dead in the room, she had said there was nothing the matter? Why had she said that she had heard no sound when he had shot himself within those four walls? A confused rush of all the terrible difficulties of her position swirled in her head like a whirlpool. And the shame. The dishonour. And what answer could she give when they asked her why he had killed himself? The only thing she could do was to tell the truth; and the truth was vile. It was awful to be alone there without anyone to help her and tell her what to do. In her distraction she felt she must see someone. Help, help, she must have help. Rowley. He was the only person she could think of. She was sure he would come if she asked him. He liked her, he said he loved her, and, bad lot as he was, he was a good sort; at all events he'd give her advice. But it was so late. How could she expect to get hold of him like that, in the middle of the night? But she couldn't wait till daybreak, nothing would be any good unless it were done at once.
There was a phone by her bed. She knew the number because Edgar had stayed at the same hotel and she had often called him. She dialled it. At first there was no reply and then an Italian voice answered. Presumably it was a night porter whom she had roused out of a stolen nap. She asked to be put through to Rowley's room. She could hear the bell ringing, but there was no answer. For a moment she was terrified, thinking that he was out; he might have gone somewhere after he left her, to gamble or, being what he was, he might have found some woman and gone home with her. She gave a sigh of relief when she heard a cross, sleepy voice.
"Yes. What is it?"
"Rowley. It's me. Mary. I'm in frightful trouble."
She suddenly felt that he was wide awake. He gave a little chuckle.
"Late to get into trouble, isn't it? What's it all about?"
"I can't tell you. It's serious. I want you to come here."
"When?"
"Now. At once. As soon as you can. For God's sake."
He heard the quaver in her voice.
"Of course I'll come. Don't worry."
What a comfort those two words were. She put down the receiver. She tried to think how long he'd be. It was more than three miles, much of it uphill, from the hotel to her villa. At that hour he wouldn't be likely to get a taxi; if he had to walk it would take him nearly an hour. In an hour it would be dawn. She could not wait in the room. It was horrible. She changed quickly from the wrap she was wearing into a dress. She turned out the light, unlocked the door, very cautiously in order not to make a sound, and slipped into the passage; she opened the front door and walked down the monumental stairway that led to the drive, then along the drive, keeping in the shade of the trees that lined it, for the moon, which before had filled her with such rapture, now, by the light it gave, terrified her, till she came to the gates. Here she stood. She was sick at heart when she thought of the interminable time she must still wait. But suddenly she heard footsteps, and panic-stricken she cowered back into the shadows. It was someone coming up the steep flight of steps which led from the bottom of the hill to the villa and which till the road had been made was its only means of access. Whoever it was, was coming to the villa and seemed to hurry. A man came out of the darkness and she saw it was Rowley. Her relief was overwhelming.
"Thank God, you've come. How did you get here so quickly?"
"The night porter was asleep, so I borrowed his bike. I've hidden it at the bottom. I thought I'd get here more quickly by the steps."
"Come."
He peered into her face.
"I say, what's the matter? You look like hell."
She shook her head. She couldn't tell him. She seized his arm and walked quickly back to the house.
"Be as quiet as you can," she whispered when they got inside. "Don't speak."
She led him to her room. She opened the door and he followed her in. She closed and locked it. For a moment she could not bring herself to turn on the light, but there was no help for it. She touched the switch. A great chandelier hung from the ceiling and at once the room was brilliantly alight. Rowley gave a violent start when his eyes fell on the body of a man lying on the floor near one of the two big windows.
"My God!" he cried. He turned and stared at her. "What does it mean?"
"He's dead."
"It looks damned well like it"
He knelt and pulled down one of the man's eyelids, then, as Mary had done, put his hand on his heart.
"He's dead all right." The revolver was still clasped in the man's hand. "He killed himself."
"Did you think I'd killed him?"
"Where are the servants? Have you sent for the police?"
"No," she gasped.
"But you must. He can't be left there. You must do something." Mechanically, without thinking what he was doing, he loosened the revolver from the man's hand.
He looked at it.
"That looks damned like the gun you showed me in the car."
"It is."
He stared at her. He couldn't understand. How could he understand? The situation was incomprehensible.
"Why did he shoot himself?"
"For God's sake don't ask me questions."
"Do you know who he is?"
"No."
She was pale and trembling. She looked as if she were going to faint.
"You'd better pull yourself together, Mary. No good getting jittery, you know. Wait a minute, I'll go along to the dining-room and get you some brandy. Where is it?"
He started to go, but with a cry she stopped him.
"Don't leave me. I'm afraid to stop here by myself."
"Come along, then," he said abruptly.
He put his arm round her shoulders to support her and led her from the room. The candles were still burning in the dining-room and the first thing he saw when he entered was what remained of the supper they had eaten, the two plates, the two glasses, the bottle of wine and the frying-pan in which Mary had cooked eggs and bacon. Rowley walked up to the table. By the side of the chair in which Karl had sat was his shabby felt hat. Rowley picked it up, looked at it and then turned to look at Mary. She could not meet his eyes.
"It wasn't true when I said I didn't know him."
"That, I must say, is almost painfully obvious."
"For God's sake don't talk like that, Rowley. I'm so terribly unhappy."
"I'm sorry," he said gently. "Who is he, then?"
"The violinist. At the restaurant. The man who came round with the plate. Don't you remember?"
"I thought his face was vaguely familiar. He was dressed like a Neapolitan fisherman, wasn't he? That's why I didn't recognize him. And of course he looks different now. How did he happen to be here?"
Mary hesitated.
"I met him just as I was coming home. He was on the terrace half-way up the road. He talked to me. He seemed so lonely. He looked terribly unhappy."
Rowley looked down at his feet. He was embarrassed. Mary was the last woman in the world he would have expected to do what he could not but suspect that she had done.
"Mary dear, you know I'd do anything in the world for you. I want to help you."
"He was hungry. I gave him something to eat." Rowley frowned.
"And after you'd given him a snack he just went and shot himself with your revolver. Is that the idea?"
Mary began to cry.
"Here, have a drink of wine. You can cry later."
She shook her head.
"No, I'm all right. I won't cry. I know now it was madness, but it seemed different then. I suppose for a minute I was crazy. You know what I told you in the car, just before you got out."
He suddenly understood what she meant.
"I thought it was a lot of romantic tripe. I never guessed you could be mad enough to do such a damn-fool thing. Why did he kill himself?"
"I don't know. I don't know."
He reflected a minute and then began to gather the plates and glasses together and put them on the tray.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Don't you think it's just as well to leave no trace that you had a gentleman in to supper? Where's the kitchen?"
"Through that door and down a flight of stairs."
He took the tray out. When he came back Mary was sitting at the table with her head in her hands.
"It's lucky I went down; you'd left all the lights on. You're evidently not used to covering up your tracks. Your servants hadn't washed up after their dinner. I just put the things with the rest. The chances are they won't notice. Now we must send for the police."
She almost screamed.
"Rowley!"
"Listen to me, dear. You've got to keep your head. I've been thinking a lot and I'll tell you what I suggest. You must say that you were asleep and you were awakened by a man, obviously a burglar, coming into your room. You put on the light and snatched up the gun, which was on the bed table. There was a struggle and the gun went off. If you shot him or if he shot himself doesn't matter. It's probable enough that when he found himself cornered and was afraid your screams would bring along the servants he shot himself."
"Who's going to believe a story like that? It's incredible."
"Anyhow it's more credible than the truth. If you stick to it no one can prove it's a lie."
"Nina heard the shot. She came along to my room and asked if anything was the matter. I said no. She'll tell them that, when the police question her. How am I going to explain then? The story will fall to pieces. Why should I have told her nothing was the matter when a man was lying dead in my room? It's hopeless."
"You can't bring yourself to tell me the truth?"
"It's so disgraceful. And yet—at the time—I thought I was doing something rather beautiful."
She said no more and he stared at her, half understanding, but still puzzled. She gave a deep sigh.
"Oh, yes, let's send for the police and get it over with. It means ruin. Well, I suppose I've deserved it. I shall never be able to look anyone in the face again. The newspapers. And Edgar. That's the end of that." Then she said a surprising thing. "After all, he wasn't a thief. I did him harm enough without casting a slur like that on the poor boy. I'm to blame for everything and I must take what's coming to me."
Rowley looked at her intently.
"Yes, it means ruin, you're right there, and a hell of a scandal. You're in for an awful time, dear, and if it comes out nobody can help you. Are you willing to take a risk? I warn you, it's a great risk and if it doesn't come off it'll make it all the worse for you."
"I'll take any risk."
"Why can't we get the body away from here? Who could suspect then that his death had anything to do with you?"
"How can we? It's impossible."
"No, it isn't. If you'll help me we can get him into the car. You know all these hills round here. We can surely find a place to put him where he won't be found for months."
"But he'll be missed. They'll look for him."
"Why should they? Who's going to bother about an Italian fiddler? He might have just done a bolt because he couldn't pay his rent, or run away with somebody else's wife."
"He wasn't Italian. He was an Austrian refugee."
"Well, that's all the better. Then you can bet your boots no one's going to make a song and dance about him."
"It's an awful thing to have to do, Rowley. And what about you? Aren't you taking a fearful risk?"
"It's the only thing to do, my dear, and as far as I'm concerned you needn't worry about that. To tell you the truth I rather like taking chances. I'm for getting all the thrills out of life one can."
It heartened Mary to hear him speak so lightly. Her anguish seemed not quite so intolerable. There was just a hope that they might be able to do what he proposed. But once more doubt assailed her.
"It'll be light soon. The peasants will be setting out to their work as soon as it's dawn."
He glanced at his watch.
"When. does it get light? Not before five. We've got an hour. If we look sharp we can just manage lt."
She sighed deeply.
"I put myself in your hands. I'll do whatever you say."
"Come on, then. And keep a stiff upper lip for Christ's sake."
Rowley picked up the dead man's hat and they went back into the room in which he was lying.
"Catch hold of the legs," said Rowley. "I'll take him under the arms."
They lifted him up and carried him into the hall and out of the front door.
With difficulty, Rowley walking backwards, they got him down the steps. Then they put the body down. It seemed fearfully heavy.
"Can you bring the car up here?" asked Rowley.
"Yes, but there's no place to turn. I shall have to back down," she answered doubtfully.
"I'll manage that."
She walked down to the end of the narrow drive and brought the car up. Meanwhile Rowley went back into the house. There was blood on the marble floor, not much fortunately, because the man had shot himself through the breast and the haemorrhage was internal.
He went into the bathroom, took a towel off the rack and soaked it in water. He mopped up the bloodstains. The floor was of a deep red marble and he was pretty sure that on a cursory glance, the sort of glance a maid would give who was sweeping, nothing would be apparent. He took the wet, bloodstained towel in his hand and once more went out. Mary was waiting by the car. She did not ask him what he had been doing.
Rowley opened the rear door and again put his arms under the dead man's. He hoisted him up and Mary, seeing he was having difficulty, lifted the feet. They did not speak. They laid the body on the floor and Rowley wrapped the towel round the dead man's middle in case the jolting caused a flow of blood. He jammed the soft hat on his head. Rowley got into the driving seat and backed down to the gates. Here there was plenty of room to turn.
"Shall I drive?"
"Yes. Turn to the right at the bottom of the hill."
"Let's get off the main road as soon as we can."
"About four or five miles along there's a road that leads up to a village on the top of a hill. I think I remember a wood on one side."
When they came to the highway Rowley put on speed.
"You're driving awfully fast," said Mary.
"We haven't got much time to waste, my sweet," he said acidly.
"I'm so terribly scared."
"That's going to do a fat lot of good."
His manner was bitter and she was silent The moon had set and it was very dark. Mary could not see the speedometer; she had a notion they must be doing hard on eighty. She sat with her hands clenched. It seemed an awful thing that they were doing, a dangerous thing, and yet it was her only chance. Her heart was beating painfully. She kept on repeating to herself:
"What a fool I've been!"
"We must have gone about five miles now. We haven't missed the turning, have we?"
"No, but we ought to be getting to it soon. Slow down a little."
They went on. Mary looked anxiously for the narrow road that led winding up to the hill town. She had been along it two or three times, tempted by the sight of it in the distance, for it looked like one of those hill towns in the background of an old Florentine picture, one of those pictures of a scene from the Gospels which the painter has set in the lovely landscape of his native Tuscany.
"There it is! " she cried suddenly.
But Rowley had already passed it; he put on his brakes, and then backed till he could turn. They slowly ascended the hill. They peered into the darkness on each side. Suddenly Mary touched Rowley's arm. She pointed to the left. He stopped. There was a coppice on that side of what looked like acacias, and the ground was thick with undergrowth. It seemed to slope sharply down. He put out the lights.
"I'll just get out and have a scout round. It looks all right."
He stepped out and plunged into the thicket. In the deathly silence that surrounded them the noise he made scrambling through the undergrowth seemed fearfully loud. In two or three minutes he appeared once more.
"I think it'll do." He talked in whispers, although there could not have been a soul within earshot "Help me to get him out. I shall have to carry him if I can. You'd never be able to get down. You'd be scratched to pieces."
"I don't care."
"It's not you I'm thinking about," he answered roughly. "How are you going to explain to your servants that your stockings are torn and your shoes in a devil of a mess? I think I can manage."
She got out of the car and they opened the rear door. They were just about to lift the body out when they saw a light above them. It was a car coming down the hill.
"Oh, my God, we're caught!" she cried. "Run. Rowley, you must keep out of this."
"Don't talk such rot."
"I won't get you into trouble," she cried desperately.
"Don't be a damned fool. We shan't get into trouble if you keep your head. We can bluff it out."
"No. Rowley, for God's sake. I'm done for."
"Stop it. You've got to keep cool. Get into the back."
"He's there."
"Shut up."
He pushed her in and scrambled in after her. The lights of the oncoming car were hidden by a turn in the road, but another turn must bring it in full view.
"Cuddle up to me. They'll take us for lovers who've come to a quiet place to have a bit of nonsense. But keep still. Don't move."
The car came on. In two or three minutes it would be upon them and the road was so narrow that it would have to slow down to pass them. It could just scrape by. Rowley flung his arms round her and drew her closely to him. Under their feet was the huddled body of the dead man.
"I'm going to kiss you. Kiss me as if you mean it."
The car was nearer now and it seemed to be swaying from side to side of the road. Then they heard the occupants singing at the tops of their voices.
"By God, I believe they're drunk. I hope to God they see us. Christ, it would be bad luck if they hit us. Quick, now, kiss me."
She put her lips to his and they appeared to kiss as though so absorbed in one another they were unconscious of the approaching car. It seemed to be full of people and they were shouting loud enough to wake the dead. Perhaps there had been a wedding at the village on the top of the hill and these were wedding guests who had been making merry till this late hour and now, much the worse for liquor, were returning to their own home in some other village. They appeared to be coming down the middle of the road and it looked as though they must infallibly crash into the other car. There was nothing to do. Suddenly there was a yell. The headlights had disclosed the stationary car. There was a great screeching of brakes and the oncoming car slackened down. It might be that the recognition of the danger he had just escaped somewhat sobered the driver, for he now drove at a snail's pace. Then someone noticed that there were people in the darkened car and when they all saw that it was a couple linked together in a passionate embrace a great laugh arose; one man shouted out a ribald joke and two or three others made rude noises. Rowley held Mary tight in his arms; you would have thought that in an ecstasy of love they were unconscious of all else. One bright spirit conceived an idea: in a rich baritone he broke out into Verdi's song from Rigoletto, "La Donna e mobile", whereupon the rest, not knowing the words apparently, but anxious to join in, bellowed the tune after him. They passed the car very slowly; there was but an inch to spare.
"Throw your arms round my neck," whispered Rowley, and as the other car came abreast of them, his lips still against Mary's, he gaily waved his hand at the drunkards.
"Bravo! Bravo!" they shouted. "Buon divertimento." And then, as they went by, the baritone began once more to chant: "La Donna e mobile" . . . They staggered dangerously down the hill, still lustily singing, and when they were lost to view their shouting could still be heard in the, distance.
Rowley released his hold on Mary and she sank back, exhausted, into the corner of the car.
"It's a good thing for us all the world loves a lover," said Rowley. "Now we'd better get on with the job."
"Is it safe? If he were found just here . . ."
"If he's found anywhere on this road they might think our being in the neighbourhood was fishy. But we might go a long way and not find a better place and we haven't time to scour the country. They were drunk. There are hundreds of Fiats like this and what is there to connect us? Anyway. it would be obvious the man committed suicide. Get out of the car."
"I'm not sure if I can stand.'
"Well, you'll damned well have to help me out with him. After that you can sit around."
He got out and pulled her after him. Suddenly, flopping down on the running board, she burst into a passion of hysterical tears. He swung his arm and gave her a sharp, stinging slap on the face; she was so startled that she sprang to her feet with a gasp and stopped crying as quickly as she had begun. She did not even cry out.
"Now help me."
Without a word more they set about what they had to do and together got the body out Rowley picked it up under the arms.
"Now put the legs over my other arm. He's as heavy as hell. Try to pull those bushes aside so that I can get in without breaking them down."
She did as he told her and he plunged heavily into the undergrowth. To her terrified ears the noise he made was so great that you would have thought it could be heard for miles. It seemed an interminable time that he was away. At last she saw him walking up the road.
"I thought I'd better not come out the same way as I went in."
"Is it all right?" she asked anxiously.
"I think so. By God, I'm all in. I could do with a drink." He gave her a look in which was the flicker of a smile. "Now you can cry if you want to."
She did not answer and they got back into the car. He drove on.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I can't turn here. Besides, it's just as well to drive on a bit so that there shouldn't be any trace of a car having stopped and turned here. Do you know if there's a road further on that will get us back on the main road?"
"I'm sure there isn't. The road just leads up to the village."
"All right. We'll go on a bit and turn where we can." They drove for a while in silence.
"The towel is still in the car."
"I'll take that. I'll chuck it away somewhere."
"It's got the Leonards' initials on it."
"Don't bother about that. I'll manage. If I can do nothing else I'll tie it round a stone and chuck it into the Arno on my way home."
After they had gone another couple of miles they came to a place where there was a bit of flat ground by the side of the road and here Rowley made up his mind to turn.
"Christ!" he cried, as he was about to do so. "The revolver."
"What? It's in my room."
"I forgot all about it till now. If the man's found and they don't find the gun he killed himself with, it'll start them guessing. We ought to have left it by his side."
"What's to be done?"
"Nothing. Trust to luck. It's been with us so far. If the body's found and no gun, the police will probably think that some boy had come upon the body by chance, sneaked the revolver and said nothing to anybody."
They drove back as quickly as they had come. Now and then Rowley gave an anxious glance at the sky. It was night still. but the darkness had no longer quite the intensity it had had when they set out. It was not yet day, but you had a sensation that day was at hand. The Italian peasant goes to work early and Rowley wanted to get Mary back to the villa before anyone was stirring. At length they reached the bottom of the hill on which the villa stood and he stopped. Dawn was about to break.
"You'd better drive up by yourself. This is where I left my bike."
He could just see the wan smile she gave him. He saw that she tried to speak.
He patted her shoulder.
"That's all right. Don't bother. And look here, take a couple of sleeping tablets; it's no good lying awake and grousing. You'll feel better after a good sleep."
"I feel as if I'd never sleep again."
"I know. That's why I say take something to make sure you do. I'll come round sometime tomorrow."
"I shall be in all day."
"I thought you were lunching with the Atkinsons. I was asked to meet you."
"I shall call up and say I'm not well enough."
"No. You mustn't do that. You must go, and you must act as though you hadn't a care in the world. That's only common prudence. Supposing by a remote chance suspicion fell on you, there must have been nothing in your behaviour to indicate a guilty conscience. See?"
"Yes."
Mary got into the driver's seat and waited a moment to see Rowley get his bicycle from where he had hidden it and ride away. Then she made her way up the hill. She left the car in the garage, which was just within the gates, and then walked along the drive. She crept noiselessly into the house. She went up to her room and at the door hesitated. She hated to go in and for a moment was seized with a superstitious fear that when she opened the door she would see Karl in his shabby black coat standing there before her. She was distraught with woe, but she couldn't give way to it; she pulled herself together, but it was with a trembling hand that she turned the handle. She switched on the light quickly and gave a gasp of relief when she saw the room was empty. It looked exactly as it always did. She glanced at her bedside clock. It was not five. What fearful things had happened in so short a while! She would have given everything she had in the world to put time back and be once more the carefree woman she had been so few hours ago. Tears began to trickle down her face. She was terrify tired, her head was throbbing and confusedly she recollected, in one rush of memory as it were, everything happening simultaneously, all the incidents of that unhappy night. She undressed slowly. She didn't want to get into that bed again and yet there was no help for it. She would have to stay in the villa at least a few days more; Rowley would tell her when it would be safe to go: if she announced her engagement to Edgar it would seem very reasonable that she should leave Florence a few weeks sooner than she had planned. She forgot if he had said when he would have to sail for India. It must be quickly. Once there she would be safe; once there she could forget.
But as she was getting into bed she remembered the supper things that Rowley had taken into the kitchen. Notwithstanding what he had said she was uneasy and felt she must see for herself that everything was in order. She slipped on her dressing-gown and went down into the dining room and so to the kitchen. If by any chance one of the servants heard her she could -say that she had awakened hungry and had gone down to see if she could find something to eat. The house seemed fearfully empty and the kitchen a great gloomy cavern. She found the bacon on the table and put it back in the larder. She threw the broken eggshells into a pail under the sink, washed the two glasses and the plates she and Karl had used, and put them in their proper places. She put the frying-pan on its hook. There was nothing now to excite suspicions and she crept back to the bedroom. She took a sleeping draught and turned out the light. She hoped the tablets would not take long to act, but she was utterly exhausted, and while she was saying to herself that if she didn't sleep soon she would go mad, she fell asleep.
+-mymaughamcollection.blogspot.com-+ | | | | \|/ | | \~|~/ | | ,#####\/ | ,\/§§§§ | | # #\./#__|_§_\./ | | # \./ # _|_§ \./ | | # #/ # | § \ | | # # # | `~§§§§§ | +--------mmccl.blogspot.com--------+