Margaret Millar - Fire Will Freeze

The rest looked at each other blankly. Finally Chad glanced dryly at Dubois and said, “She’s fainted, I believe? You carried her upstairs?”

“That is correct,” Dubois said blandly. “She was much affected by the excitement. She will be better after a time.”

Gracie stared at him. “Yeah? She’s not the fainting type and she wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

Dubois said, “I am sorry I have no time to convince you. You are welcome to go upstairs and find out for yourself.”

“I’ll do that,” Gracie said. “And don’t try to leave this house until I find out if she’s all right!”

Crawford straightened up and glared at her. “Who in hell are you talking about? Christ, I can’t move in these things! Look at me.”

“They’re not for walking on floors,” Dubois said, and turned back to Gracie. “I am waiting for you to reassure yourself about Miss Seton. I have no time to waste. Please hurry.”

With a defiant toss of her head Gracie ran up the steps. Dubois called after her, “I placed her in the first bedroom on the left.”

She found Isobel lying on the bed. She was breathing quickly and her face was pale, but she appeared to be all right.

Gracie said, “Isobel, you’re okay? Hey, Isobel?”

Isobel did not stir. That’s some faint, Gracie thought uneasily, but what else could be wrong?

When she came down again Crawford was still cursing about his snowshoes and Dubois was opening the front door. The sun streamed in, jeweled with snow. Dubois’ breath came out of his mouth like smoke as he leaned over to fasten his ski straps. When he saw Gracie he said, “You are satisfied? Miss Seton is perfectly all right?”

Gracie muttered, “Y-yes.”

Mrs. Vista was bustling around Crawford, making hysterical little noises. “Be sure and come back — so upset — so grateful if you would rescue us.”

Crawford tightened the scarf over his ears and stepped out on the veranda. “How grateful?” he said. “And in what language?”

Mrs. Vista’s hysteria disappeared, as always, at the mention of money.

“You shall be paid,” she said, rather stiffly, “and paid well.”

Dubois was already out in the snow, flexing his knees and jabbing the ski poles into the snow. It was hard and crusty, with a layer of soft fine snow on top.

If I were alone, he thought, I could make speed on this... If I were alone...

Crawford stumbled down the steps after him, but he didn’t curse, he was hardly aware of the snowshoes any longer because he was wondering how much money Mrs. Vista would pay him.

If I were alone, he thought, I could work this both ways. I could disappear by myself and go back to Mrs. Vista later for the money when everything had blown over. She’d be fool enough to give it to me...

“Hurry up there,” Dubois said.

“Sure,” Crawford said. He could feel the gun swinging against his thigh as he moved. Every time it bumped him he felt the excitement rising in his throat like bubbles.

This is swell, he thought, this is a wonderful feeling. I can do anything, anything, anything...

It was always other people who bungled things. After this he’d go on his own. He’d be alone, free. He wouldn’t have to plan anything.

His eyes glittered as if they were bright with tears.

Dubois said quietly, “Not planning anything, are you?”

Crawford’s teeth showed in a smile. “Not a thing. Are you?”

“I shall be watching you,” Dubois said. “Your eyes give you away.”

He gripped his poles and skied off across the snow. Crawford began to walk.

“Good luck!” Paula called from the veranda. “Good luck!”

Crawford waved, and turned, following in Dubois’ tracks. He moved slowly at first and Dubois was forced to lean on his poles and wait for him.

“Glide!” he shouted. “Don’t lift your feet far off the snow!”

Crawford moved on, faster now, in a smooth walk almost like a dance. The snowshoes kept him on top of the crusted snow.

“Get going!” he said to Dubois. “I can keep up with you! I can keep up!”

The gun swung and bumped against his thigh, and an exultant laugh pushed up from his stomach and rang out in the still clear air. I can keep up. I can do anything, anything. Jesus, Jesus, this is swell.

The people watching from the veranda were suddenly quiet. Crawford’s laughter struck their ears and cut into their memories.

“Look at him!” Maudie shrieked suddenly. “Look at his face! He’s not going to come back! He’s running away! He’s not coming back.”

Crawford turned and the sun caught the gleam of his teeth and the air echoed with his sharp shrill laughing.

“Come back!” Chad shouted. “Back! Come back!”

Dubois did not even turn his head and Crawford was gliding ahead again, his head thrust high as if to meet the challenge of the cold and the sun and the brilliant air he breathed.

Chad leaped off the veranda and began to plod through the snow after them, but he could barely move in it. It was as thick and soft and treacherous to the feet as quicksand. He kept shouting and waving and calling Dubois’ name. Then with a faint cry he toppled into the snow and disappeared from view.

When he stood up again he brushed the snow from his eyes and mouth, and with a weary gesture of his shoulders he made his way back to the veranda.

“It’s no use,” he said.

For a moment there was a hushed despairing silence in the group.

“But I offered to pay him,” Mrs. Vista said at last. “I’m sure he’ll come back.”

Joyce was watching the two figures move across the snow, her face expressionless.

“Of course,” she said slowly. “Of course he’s not coming back. You know who he is now.”

“That laugh,” Maudie said. “It sounded like her .”

“Of course,” Joyce said. “He’s Harry Rudd. He’s her brother.”

“Her brother,” Gracie said huskily. “Then she was right. She wasn’t as crazy as you all thought she was.” Her voice rose. “I knew she wasn’t! Don’t let him get away! He’s a murderer!”

Paula said, “There’s nothing we can do. We’d better go back in the house and wait.”

“Wait for what?” Mrs. Vista said bitterly.

“Mr. Dubois will send someone to rescue us,” Paula said. “I’m sure he will.”

But no one moved from the veranda. It was as if they had to keep Crawford and Dubois in sight as long as they could, they had to preserve this contact with the outside world. They squinted against the sun and watched the two figures become smaller until they were like ants on a sheet of paper stretching to the horizon, its whiteness broken only by scattered etchings of black winter trees.

Crawford began to breathe heavily and there was a sharp pain in his lungs when he drew in the cold air. He stopped a minute to put his hand to his heart.

Across from him Dubois instantly braked his skis. “Don’t,” he said. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Look who’s talking,” Crawford said. “Very suspicious, aren’t you?”

“That is correct.”

“Maybe you’d like me to keep my hands in the air?”

“Very much, but I shall not ask you to. You have been useful, Rudd. I hope you have sufficient sense to keep on being useful. Shall we start again?” He did not move until Rudd did, and this time he shortened the distance between them so that they went along side by side about two yards apart.

Rudd was tiring, he could see that. He’d have to be allowed to rest frequently. If they both had skis they could be at Chapelle in two hours. As it was they’d have to take a chance and make for Gauthier’s farm. Gauthier was a fervent member of the French Canada for Frenchmen organization and he’d better be willing to prove his fervency. Perhaps they could both stay at Gauthier’s for a time, or perhaps Rudd had better be left there alone.