Dark of the moon - Dr. Gideon Fell 22 by John Dickson Carr
Authors: John Dickson Carr
Tags: Mystery
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a window?"
Yancey replied by addressing Madge.
"If I bust a window, honey, I'll replace it with stained glass of the kind you were talkin' about. And an image of you in the window, like the angel you never were. How's that?"
Madge said nothing. Rip, putting down catcher's mitt and mask beside Alan, drew the fielder's glove on his left hand and paced off the distance to an imaginary pitcher's box.
"There'll be no windows broken, Madge! He won't get a sniff of the ball, he won't even see it, with Old Smoke Hillboro on the mound for the Yankees. What's the good word, Stonewall? Like to cover a little side-bet?"
"I'll cover any damn bet you want to make! But I'm gettin' God-damn sick and tired of—"
"Easy, you two!" yelled the umpire. "If you've got to fight the Civil War all over again, for Pete's sake do it on your own time!"
Out from the house, opening the white-painted screen door and letting it slam, came Dr. Gideon Fell. Hatless, in his black alpaca suit and leaning on the crutch-headed stick, he lumbered down the steps and blinked his way towards them. It was unnecessary to introduce Dr. Fell; everybody knew who he was, and accepted him from the start. Yet his presence, if anything, added to a tension that already existed.
"Alan," said Camilla, "what are you doing?"
"Only taking off my coat. Forgive the suspenders."
"That's a Savile Row suit, isn't it? Don't they make English suits for belts?"
"Yes, of course, but this particular tailor won't make 'em."
"What are you doing with the coat?" "Putting it down over here, that's all. I can't—" "On that wet grass? Don't be silly! Here, give it to me and I'll hold it for you."
"Thanks."
Leaving the mask where it was, Alan pulled the big glove on his left hand and moved behind the improvised plate.
"I can't give you signals," he called to Rip, "because I don't know what you throw. Like to warm up?"
"Look, Grantham, I'm always warmed up! However! Just to show 'em this damnyankee knows his stuff, I'll give you one strike and warm the plate. Stand back for a second, Stonewall! Ready, Grantham?"
"Fire away."
There was no elaborate wind-up, as Alan had expected. Rip's motions were very easy. Weight on the left foot, ball cradled close, he flung forward and uncorked his fast one.
It was a fast one. The ball blistered across the plate and whacked into the glove six inches above waist height. Alan, who had not touched a baseball in years, almost fumbled it. But you don't forget, he was thinking, any more than you forget how to ride a bicycle. He threw back to the pitcher. Picking up the mask, he adjusted its elastic over his head and crouched behind the plate.
"All right!" proclaimed the umpire. "Now will you guys quit stalling and get with it? Play ball!"
What sun remained was well behind Maynard Hall; they had no trouble with the light. Dr. Fell withdrew to the right of the path, the two girls to the left. Yancey advanced negligently, bat waggling.
"If he does break a window—!" Madge burst out.
"He won't, Madge; didn't I tell you?"
"I hope my father doesn't see it happen! I hope—"
"Play ball!"
Down came the pitch, a whistling duplicate of the first Yancey's bat did not move. The umpire's arm did. "Str-rike one!"
"Like it, Stonewall?" carolled Rip. "Just because you were a hot-shot hitter at some parvenu school like William and Mary . . . !"
"Parvenu school, for God's sake?" echoed a hollow voice. "Parvenu school, burn my britches to a cinder! Son, they were learnin' their letters at William and Mary a hundred years before your damn place was hacked out of the wilderne ss it ought to have stayed in. I’ m tellin' you—"
"I'm not telling you, Stonewall; I'm just showing you. See?"
Down it came: very fast, but high and inside. Alan did fumble this one; the mask seemed to provide a more restricted view than he remembered, and his own throw back was so high Rip had to jump for it. The next pitch, a slow curve with a wide break outwards, was also called a
Yancey replied by addressing Madge.
"If I bust a window, honey, I'll replace it with stained glass of the kind you were talkin' about. And an image of you in the window, like the angel you never were. How's that?"
Madge said nothing. Rip, putting down catcher's mitt and mask beside Alan, drew the fielder's glove on his left hand and paced off the distance to an imaginary pitcher's box.
"There'll be no windows broken, Madge! He won't get a sniff of the ball, he won't even see it, with Old Smoke Hillboro on the mound for the Yankees. What's the good word, Stonewall? Like to cover a little side-bet?"
"I'll cover any damn bet you want to make! But I'm gettin' God-damn sick and tired of—"
"Easy, you two!" yelled the umpire. "If you've got to fight the Civil War all over again, for Pete's sake do it on your own time!"
Out from the house, opening the white-painted screen door and letting it slam, came Dr. Gideon Fell. Hatless, in his black alpaca suit and leaning on the crutch-headed stick, he lumbered down the steps and blinked his way towards them. It was unnecessary to introduce Dr. Fell; everybody knew who he was, and accepted him from the start. Yet his presence, if anything, added to a tension that already existed.
"Alan," said Camilla, "what are you doing?"
"Only taking off my coat. Forgive the suspenders."
"That's a Savile Row suit, isn't it? Don't they make English suits for belts?"
"Yes, of course, but this particular tailor won't make 'em."
"What are you doing with the coat?" "Putting it down over here, that's all. I can't—" "On that wet grass? Don't be silly! Here, give it to me and I'll hold it for you."
"Thanks."
Leaving the mask where it was, Alan pulled the big glove on his left hand and moved behind the improvised plate.
"I can't give you signals," he called to Rip, "because I don't know what you throw. Like to warm up?"
"Look, Grantham, I'm always warmed up! However! Just to show 'em this damnyankee knows his stuff, I'll give you one strike and warm the plate. Stand back for a second, Stonewall! Ready, Grantham?"
"Fire away."
There was no elaborate wind-up, as Alan had expected. Rip's motions were very easy. Weight on the left foot, ball cradled close, he flung forward and uncorked his fast one.
It was a fast one. The ball blistered across the plate and whacked into the glove six inches above waist height. Alan, who had not touched a baseball in years, almost fumbled it. But you don't forget, he was thinking, any more than you forget how to ride a bicycle. He threw back to the pitcher. Picking up the mask, he adjusted its elastic over his head and crouched behind the plate.
"All right!" proclaimed the umpire. "Now will you guys quit stalling and get with it? Play ball!"
What sun remained was well behind Maynard Hall; they had no trouble with the light. Dr. Fell withdrew to the right of the path, the two girls to the left. Yancey advanced negligently, bat waggling.
"If he does break a window—!" Madge burst out.
"He won't, Madge; didn't I tell you?"
"I hope my father doesn't see it happen! I hope—"
"Play ball!"
Down came the pitch, a whistling duplicate of the first Yancey's bat did not move. The umpire's arm did. "Str-rike one!"
"Like it, Stonewall?" carolled Rip. "Just because you were a hot-shot hitter at some parvenu school like William and Mary . . . !"
"Parvenu school, for God's sake?" echoed a hollow voice. "Parvenu school, burn my britches to a cinder! Son, they were learnin' their letters at William and Mary a hundred years before your damn place was hacked out of the wilderne ss it ought to have stayed in. I’ m tellin' you—"
"I'm not telling you, Stonewall; I'm just showing you. See?"
Down it came: very fast, but high and inside. Alan did fumble this one; the mask seemed to provide a more restricted view than he remembered, and his own throw back was so high Rip had to jump for it. The next pitch, a slow curve with a wide break outwards, was also called a
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