Эрл Гарднер - The Adventures of Paul Pry

“I’m not.”

“Maybe you will.”

“Perhaps.”

There was silence for a moment.

“But,” said Paul Pry, his eyes lazily regarding the smoke which curled upward from his cigarette, “it must be quite a privilege to be a friend of yours.”

“It is,” she agreed. There was a dreamy, reminiscent light in her eyes, as she added softly, after a moment, “And how!”

Paul Pry grinned.

“And highly inconvenient to be an enemy of yours.”

The lips straightened.

“You said something!” she replied, and her words were as close-clipped as bullets.

“How does one get to be your friend? Would saving your life do the trick?”

She regarded him with sober, appraising eyes.

“Well—” she hesitated.

“Well what?”

“I’m not ungrateful,” she said, slowly, “but I’m just telling you, no matter what happens, a total stranger don’t stack with an old friend. You remember that, no matter what else comes up between us, and then I won’t feel like a damned hypocrite if I should have to sacrifice you for a friend.”

Paul Pry laughed lightly.

“Baby,” he said, “I like your style.”

The remark added nothing to the colour of her cheeks or to the warmth of her eyes.

“Most men do,” she agreed.

“Now,” said Paul Pry, “tell me what it was all about.”

She drew a deep breath, drained off the last of the drink in the glass, and muttered something that might have been a single explosive epithet.

“You would have to ask that,” she observed, and it was as though she had picked up a switch to punish a friendly dog for some infraction of discipline, so far as her manner and tone were concerned.

Paul Pry’s own eyes became just a trifle diamond hard but they remained appreciative.

“The man that was with me,” she said, slowly, “was my brother.”

Paul Pry nodded, and there was approval in his nod.

“I thought he would be,” he said tonelessly.

The young woman snapped him a suddenly questing look, but Paul Pry’s face was a mask.

“Yes,” she said, “an only brother.”

“What did they want him for?”

“God knows. They tried to grab him off earlier in the evening. They smashed his nose. There was a doctor where we stopped the car. He was a friend of ours. They evidently figured we’d be coming there for medical attention, and they got there first and stuck around in the shadows, waiting for us to show up.

“I rather had a hunch there might be some trouble there, which is why I got out and looked things over. I s’pose you noticed me giving you the once-over.”

Paul Pry nodded.

“And what will they do with him? Take him for a ride?”

She winced at that, kicked her feet down from the chair without answering the question. She went to the door of the kitchen.

“I’m going to have another drink.”

“Count me out,” said Paul Pry.

She stared moodily at him, regarding the hand that held the smoking cigarette between the fingers, noticing the steady wisps of smoke which went spiralling upward. There was no sign of tremor in the hand.

“You sure got nerves!” she said, and there was genuine admiration in her tone. “I wish,” she went on, “that you wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” asked Paul Pry.

“A total stranger,” she said.

“Oh, well, it’s not a permanent relationship,” he observed.

She nodded gloomily.

“I’ve just got a hunch,” she said, and stopped to regard him with pursed lips and meditative eyes. “Did you see the faces of any of those men?”

Paul Pry saw no particular reason for being truthful.

“No,” he observed. “As one total stranger to another, I can tell you that I did not. I was too excited.”

She laughed, a harsh, bitter laugh.

“You’ve been places!” she said. And then she added an afterthought. “Let’s hope you don’t have things done to you,” she observed, and went into the kitchen to mix the other drink.

There sounded a whirring of an electric door device. The girl came out of the kitchen in two swift strides. Her skin matched her fur coat in colour. Her right hand was once more beneath the folds of the garment.

“Got a gun?” she asked of Paul Pry, and her tone while taut with emotion, was as casual as when she had asked him if he had a match.

“I could find one if I had to,” said Paul Pry.

“You may have to,” she said and strode to the door.

She flung it open.

“I’ll take it standing up, whatever it is,” she said, before she had seen what was in the corridor.

A young boy came forward. He was in the uniform of a messenger service, and he held forward an addressed envelope.

“Miss Lola Beeker?” he asked.

The girl extended her left hand.

“You guessed it, sonny.”

His eyes took in her beauty with that breathless reverence which immaturity has for a beautiful woman, when eyes are just awakening to grace of form and face, and experience has not learned to tell that beauty of figure is, after all, but beauty of figure.

“Gee!” he said, and handed her the envelope, his wide eyes still on her face. “You don’t need to give me no tip, lady. It’s a pleasure!”

She ignored the breathless appreciation of her beauty with a disregard which showed she accepted such homage as a matter of course. She rewarded the boy with a smile and a pat of the hand. Paul Pry’s eyes noticed the mechanical nature of the smile, the casual carelessness of the pat. The boy noticed neither.

He was still standing, wide-eyed, when the girl gently closed the door and ripped the edge off of the envelope with a hand that trembled.

She pulled out a folded bit of paper and read a typewritten message. Her eyes were brilliant and hard. Her breast rose and fell with the strain of her heavy breathing.

She folded the letter, replaced it in the envelope. She looked at Paul Pry with eyes that seemed unseeing, and walked into the bedroom.

After a few moments, Paul Pry heard her voice.

“I’m getting on some more comfortable things. Open that door, will you? The boy’s waiting for an answer. Tell him the lady says yes.”

Paul Pry approached the door. This time he opened it with his left hand, and his right hand was hovering around the lapels of his coat.

As had been so aptly observed by the lady herself, he was a total stranger.

The boy in uniform was waiting, standing just as he had been when the door closed. His eyes showed a stab of disappointment as they focused on Paul Pry.

“The lady,” said Paul Pry, “says yes.”

The boy nodded, still stood, staring.

“Gee, mister,” he blurted, “you ain’t her husband, are you?”

“No,” said Paul Pry, “I’m a total stranger, and I’m going in just a minute or two.”

The boy grinned.

“Good night, mister.”

“Good night,” said Paul Pry, and was careful to shoot the bolt on the lock when he had closed the door.

The woman came out of the bedroom dressed in a filmy negligee.

“This,” she said, “feels more comfortable.”

“It looks like a million dollars,” said Paul Pry.

“You gave the boy the message?”

“Yes.”

She nodded.

“That was all, wasn’t it?” asked Paul Pry. “Just that the lady said yes?”

Her eyes were starry.

“Ain’t that enough?”

Paul Pry turned toward his glass.

“On second thought,” he remarked irrelevantly, “I think I’ll have another drink myself. Can I mix you one?”

And he started toward the kitchen picking up the two glasses as he went.

“No!” she snapped, and the starry gleam had gone from her eyes, leaving them as coldly observant as were the eyes of Paul Pry.