remember that it has since been proved the truth.
It seemed to me that I had merely drifted off for a few minutes but when I finally opened my eyes a bright morning sun was shining. So brilliant was it that I was momentarily blinded and confused. I started to rise from the chair but succeeded only in stumbling to the floor. My legs were numb and my head felt inflated, like some child's balloon. Before I could pick myself up from where I had fallen, I became conscious that the doorbell was ringing. It was an insistent ring, as though someone was belaboring the button in short, angry jabs.
Still half asleep, I staggered to the door and opened it. I rubbed my eyes, squinting up into the ruddy face of one of the town's constables. It was Richter.
“Sorry to get you up, Thatcher,” he greeted me with apologetic gruffness. “Say! You must have had one too many last night, eh?”
“Hello, Captain. My God, what time is it?”
“Almost ten. Young Murphy's going crazy down there at the store. Business is certainly good this morning.” He paused and fumbled in his cap for a paper. “Say, Thatcher, I've got some bad news for you. I'm afraid I'll have to bring you around to the station.”
This opened my eyes. Please believe that up until that time I had never had any encounters with the police, having always been careful not to violate any of the ordinances with the possible exception of Prohibition. “What have I done, Captain? Murdered someone?” I asked.
He laughed good-humoredly. “No. But you should have, while you were at it. It's that Mackintosh kid. His old man swore out a warrant for your arrest on a charge of assaulting his brat. I don't know if it's true or not, but by God I'd like to assault him myself sometimes.”
“But look here, Captain,” I protested. “I only...”
“I know it's a damned nuisance. But orders, you know. The judge is a pretty decent sort and he'll probably give you a medal. Better get your hat.”
I shrugged my shoulders helplessly and told the constable to make himself comfortable on the porch while I got myself ready. Since I was so late for work anyhow, a little longer would make no difference. I was positive, that when I made it clear to whomever was going to hear the case exactly why I spanked Jackie, everything would be all right.
As I turned to go inside, I felt Richter touch my sleeve. “Good Lord, Thatcher! What did you do? Cut yourself?”
“Why no,” I answered, puzzled. “What makes you say that?”
He pointed a finger at my trousers and, looking down at them, I saw that they were stained with red! I stood there dumbfounded with my mouth hanging open.
“That's blood all right,” I heard the policeman mutter. “Yes, sir. That's blood. But where in hell did it come from?”
Instantly I thought of the night just past. My mind was quick to grasp the situation and it evoked a vivid picture of Anita, standing with the carving-knife in her hand and threatening....
“Anita!” I shouted hoarsely and with my heart in my mouth I ran into the house. I could hear Richter behind me, his ponderous weight making the old floor-boards vibrate under my feet.
I saw then that the living-room was a shambles. A table was overturned, two lamps lay shattered on the carpet and everywhere were reddish smears that looked suspiciously like bloodstains. In the kitchen we found still more blood and a bloody apron of Anita's lying on the table, still set with the dirty dinner dishes. On the apron we found the carving-knife... its blade a mess of crusted blood!
In the face of all this horror, it is a wonder I didn't faint. However, even so, it is impossible for me to describe my feelings of that morning. Of course I was certain at once that Anita had committed suicide, had severed her veins or something equally terrible. But on racing through the rooms of the house, we could find no trace of her. Only some clothes and the two teeth she had tossed onto the table during dinner the night
It seemed to me that I had merely drifted off for a few minutes but when I finally opened my eyes a bright morning sun was shining. So brilliant was it that I was momentarily blinded and confused. I started to rise from the chair but succeeded only in stumbling to the floor. My legs were numb and my head felt inflated, like some child's balloon. Before I could pick myself up from where I had fallen, I became conscious that the doorbell was ringing. It was an insistent ring, as though someone was belaboring the button in short, angry jabs.
Still half asleep, I staggered to the door and opened it. I rubbed my eyes, squinting up into the ruddy face of one of the town's constables. It was Richter.
“Sorry to get you up, Thatcher,” he greeted me with apologetic gruffness. “Say! You must have had one too many last night, eh?”
“Hello, Captain. My God, what time is it?”
“Almost ten. Young Murphy's going crazy down there at the store. Business is certainly good this morning.” He paused and fumbled in his cap for a paper. “Say, Thatcher, I've got some bad news for you. I'm afraid I'll have to bring you around to the station.”
This opened my eyes. Please believe that up until that time I had never had any encounters with the police, having always been careful not to violate any of the ordinances with the possible exception of Prohibition. “What have I done, Captain? Murdered someone?” I asked.
He laughed good-humoredly. “No. But you should have, while you were at it. It's that Mackintosh kid. His old man swore out a warrant for your arrest on a charge of assaulting his brat. I don't know if it's true or not, but by God I'd like to assault him myself sometimes.”
“But look here, Captain,” I protested. “I only...”
“I know it's a damned nuisance. But orders, you know. The judge is a pretty decent sort and he'll probably give you a medal. Better get your hat.”
I shrugged my shoulders helplessly and told the constable to make himself comfortable on the porch while I got myself ready. Since I was so late for work anyhow, a little longer would make no difference. I was positive, that when I made it clear to whomever was going to hear the case exactly why I spanked Jackie, everything would be all right.
As I turned to go inside, I felt Richter touch my sleeve. “Good Lord, Thatcher! What did you do? Cut yourself?”
“Why no,” I answered, puzzled. “What makes you say that?”
He pointed a finger at my trousers and, looking down at them, I saw that they were stained with red! I stood there dumbfounded with my mouth hanging open.
“That's blood all right,” I heard the policeman mutter. “Yes, sir. That's blood. But where in hell did it come from?”
Instantly I thought of the night just past. My mind was quick to grasp the situation and it evoked a vivid picture of Anita, standing with the carving-knife in her hand and threatening....
“Anita!” I shouted hoarsely and with my heart in my mouth I ran into the house. I could hear Richter behind me, his ponderous weight making the old floor-boards vibrate under my feet.
I saw then that the living-room was a shambles. A table was overturned, two lamps lay shattered on the carpet and everywhere were reddish smears that looked suspiciously like bloodstains. In the kitchen we found still more blood and a bloody apron of Anita's lying on the table, still set with the dirty dinner dishes. On the apron we found the carving-knife... its blade a mess of crusted blood!
In the face of all this horror, it is a wonder I didn't faint. However, even so, it is impossible for me to describe my feelings of that morning. Of course I was certain at once that Anita had committed suicide, had severed her veins or something equally terrible. But on racing through the rooms of the house, we could find no trace of her. Only some clothes and the two teeth she had tossed onto the table during dinner the night
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