Рауль Уитфилд - Sinners' Paradise

Pinky laughed. “Oh, I don’t mind that,” she stated. “He’ll be interesting. I don’t often have the chance of dancing with a murderer.”

Del looked startled. Even his mask failed to hide the expression in his eyes, the thin line of his lips.

“Not necessarily a murderer, Pinky,” he returned. “That’s a bit harsh-pretty heavy. He had some reasons for shooting Denton-and he didn’t shoot to kill, you see.”

Pinky laughed again. “I’ll be careful, Del,” she returned. “I won’t accuse the dear fellow of being such a person.”

“That’s it,” her companion replied, as they neared the table at which Tiny and Louis Fenway were already seated. “Keep away from the subject, and you’ll have a good time. Haverstraw’s a good enough fellow, and he’s clever, too.”

“Greetings, demon and pirate-maid! Join us in the gulping festivities-or don’t either of you care to indulge?”

Lou smiled at them as they dropped into their chairs. A babble of voices filled the long room; it seemed hardly less silent now than when the orchestra was playing.

Clowns and athletes, porters and columbines, strikingly costumed males and females strode about the tables, crossed the dance floor. Laughter was the chief voice of the party, and some of it was becoming quite unrestrained now.

Suddenly the lights were dimmed. The long room was plunged into absolute darkness. Giggles, a few oaths of surprise and a good deal of laughter rose from those seated about the table.

A brilliantly yellow spotlight shone down upon the centre of the dance floor. A saxophone wailed. Into the spotlight rushed a feminine figure. Pinky suppressed a gasp of surprise. There were “Ohs!” and “Ahs!” from the tables.

The figure was clad only in a thin veil of scarlet material. She was very beautiful, and she commenced a dance that was thoroughly charming. The spotlight followed her; it was the only splash of colour in the room.

The music was working itself up into a whirl of passion. It raged, sent notes into the comparative silence in a perfect fury of sound. But the dancer kept pace with it. She was whirling now in the centre of the polished floor. Her hair was golden and long. It swirled out behind her, and then, as she reversed, covered her face.

But she was kept whirling-and the orchestra kept raging. Del leaned towards Pinky. Their table was almost in a corner at the far end of the room. She felt herself jerked towards him; her lips were being pressed against his before she realized what was happening.

The lights flashed on; there was a burst of applause. She twisted herself away from Delatante amid the laughter of the few who had witnessed what little the lights had shown.

She was furious, so furious that she could not speak. Del was grinning sheepishly. She raised her fingers to her mask. It had slipped down a little but had not, fortunately, exposed her face.

Finally she spoke. Tiny was slapping Lou on the back as if the whole thing was a tremendous joke.

“Don’t you dare to do that again, Del!” she warned. “If you do-I’ll walk right out of here, do you understand?”

Her sharp tone of voice sobered him. “I’m sorry, Pinky,” he said, in a low tone. “It was the music and the lights being out. It won’t happen again, dear.”

“Don’t call me ‘dear’!” she commanded. She was very angry. If Hobey should ever hear of the thing-if it should ever become known that she was the pirate-maid whom several persons had seen being kissed by a well-garbed devil-well, there would be plenty of explaining to do.

Tiny shoved a drink towards her. “Come on, Pinky,” she shrilled. “Don’t go dead on the party. Remember, this is our farewell-“

“Not so loud,” Pinky ordered. “And don’t call me Pinky if you have to yell. There are probably enough people here now who suspect who we are. We don’t want them to know it.”

“That’s right,” Del agreed. “Let’s tone down a bit. I’m not dancing the next one-I’ll go out and have a smoke. We’ve got an hour yet-it’s only a quarter of one.”

“My next dance is with Ulysses,” Tiny announced, laughing. “At least he’s wearing a lot of armour.”

Lou chuckled. “You’ll be all bruises tomorrow,” he grinned. “I have an idea that Ulysses doesn’t even know he’s away from Troy or Ithaca-or wherever he used to hang out.”

The music flared into being again, as a tall man, attired in the patched costume of a tramp, touched Pinky on the shoulder.

“Hello, Stella,” he said, rather eagerly. “Knew you the first time. My dance, eh?”

Pinky shook her head, amid the laughter of her three companions. “I’m not Stella,” she said slowly, disguising her voice by speaking in a drawl. “And the next dance is taken.”

The new arrival grinned down at her from beneath a red mask. “You win,” he replied, in a light tone. “Stella never said that little at one time in her life. Sorry, she was supposed to be Peter Pan.”

Tiny was screaming with laughter.

“She’s not Peter Pan,” she informed the tramp. “She’s a pirate bold.”

The tramp stared at Pinky and then joined in their laughter. “My mistake,” he apologised, as he moved away. “I left my glasses on the library table.”

Tiny vanished with a careless “Adios!” Her Ulysses was soberer than Lou had evidently given him credit for being.

Del had risen and was introducing Pinky to a finely attired gentleman of the French aristocracy. His powdered wig was slightly slanted on his rather large head, but it detracted little from the dignity of his whole appearance.

“A pirate bold-oh, Duke!” Del laughed, and Haverstraw led her out into the swirl of the dance floor.

“The evening is a merry one,” she stated. She found herself anxious to hear what sort of a voice the murderer of Richard Denton possessed. He had only bowed when introduced.

“The morning gives promise of being gay,” he corrected, in a rich, baritone drawl.

“It is morning,” she agreed. “And time all good little pirates were in bed.”

He swung her to the left quickly, in order to avoid collision with a college professor who was trying something too intricate in the way of dance steps with a Pandora who had evidently not lost many things besides hope.

“And time good little wives should be in bed, too,” he supplemented.

Pinky felt a quick twist of fear strike within her. Did he recognise her? But how could he? She had never met him before. She decided that he was simply trying to be clever.

“And good little husbands?” she questioned archly. “Shouldn’t they be in bed, too?”

He laughed pleasantly. It was difficult to think of him as a man who had shot down Denton. But probably, she thought, it was as Del had said. He was not, inherently, a murderer.

“Husbands,” he said quietly, “should be allowed certain privileges their wives can’t enjoy.”

“That seems to be the general opinion-of the husbands,” Pinky returned, smiling. “But the wives do not always agree.”

“So I notice,” Haverstraw returned, and the tone of his voice sent a little shiver through Helene Sickler.

There was a conversational silence for several minutes. The floor was fearfully crowded, and there was an atmosphere of freedom in the place. Haverstraw danced fairly well, but without particular fervour.

“And your husband?” he suddenly said. “Where is he tonight?”

Pinky held herself in control. “It’s hard to say,” she commented. “There are five clowns here-and three of them look very much like my clown.”

Haverstraw laughed. “Nice,” he commented, “but you should give him credit. It’s likely he knew there would be many in clown costume-and simply made it more difficult for you to keep track of him.”