might even think he was crazy--iodine on his face--powder in his hair. And there was Bedelia.
He stepped into the gutter and thumbed. The cars swished past--on their way home from late evenings in the night clubs, from parties in homes, from pleasure and safety and an innocence of the world. Then a car stopped. A dark face leaned out and a soft voice said, "Ride, friend?"
They were colored people on their way to Coconut Grove. "Drop you anywhere, mister," the driver offered.
The women in the back seat said nothing.
He picked the closest point on their route and walked from there. Coral Gables was mostly asleep. It was late for the Gables, even on that day. He left the sidewalks of West Cortez Circle at the distance of several houses and went through back yards. They might, by now, be expecting him.
There was a light in Bedelia's home.
He stood in the shadows of their neighbor's garage and looked--not daring to hope that Bedelia was there, fearing to investigate. His feelings overcame his judgment. He was about halfway through her leafy yard when a man stepped in front of him. A man with a gun. "What do you want, bud?"
"I--I live here." The professor hated himself.
"Yeah? You Burke?"
"I'm Burke."
"Come along." The man followed the professor to the porch. He knocked. After a while Bedelia called, "Yes? What is it?"
"Guy here says he's this Burke. I got him covered."
He heard the downstairs couch creak. He heard her big, boney feet cantering in the hall. The porch light switched on. "Martin! Thank heaven!" They embraced.
She addressed the man with the gun. "Thank you, Dusty. Keep a sharp eye out for anybody else."
"Okay, Miss Ogilvy." The night ate him.
She hurried the professor into the kitchen. "What on earth have you done to yourself?"
"It's a long story," he said, grinning at her fondly. "Who's your guard?"
"That's a story, too."
He sat down at the familiar enamel-topped table. "They told me, in Cuba, that they'd caught you. Well--not exactly. That they'd gone after you."
She was staring. "Cuba!"
"I've been over the whole route," he answered. "Is the coffee hot?"
"It's been hot--pretty steadily, since early Christmas morning, Martin." Her spectacles misted up and she polished them on the hem of her kimono.
"I'm not sure we're safe--even with that guard."
"We've got three of them," she answered.
"Three! What are they? Private detectives?"
"My story will keep."
"And mine will take a long time. I need to know about the guards."
She looked at him--at his powdered hair, his face and hands, yellow-brown from the diluted iodine, and at his unfamiliar garments. She sighed.
"Just to reassure you, Martin. And I hope I did right." She poured coffee in her two largest cups. "I didn't expect you till some time in the morning. By ten o'clock, when no word came, I began to worry. You'd had time to drive back--after sunrise. It was possible, of course, that you were on to something that prevented your return or even making a phone call. But it was also possible that they'd caught you at it."
His eyes were grim--and the odd color of his face emphasized the fact. "They did."
"Oh, Martin. . . !"
"Take it easy, Bedelia. I'm right here, now."
"Well. I reasoned that if they had caught you, they might be after me. Correct, wasn't it? I closed up the house. But first I put hairs across several doors, with Scotch tape. My mother did it to jam closets. Then I went to the Duffys for Christmas dinner. I came back with them--the whole family--to show them our Tree. I felt nobody would bother two carloads of people and nobody did. But the hairs on the doors were broken, so I knew they had been here. When the Duffys left, I also went.
"I couldn't think what to do. I wanted to be at home--in case you arrived--and I was afraid to be there alone. I couldn't call the police--"
"You should have!"
Bedelia looked at him. "Then--why aren't you?"
"Go on."
"I felt I couldn't because you might
He stepped into the gutter and thumbed. The cars swished past--on their way home from late evenings in the night clubs, from parties in homes, from pleasure and safety and an innocence of the world. Then a car stopped. A dark face leaned out and a soft voice said, "Ride, friend?"
They were colored people on their way to Coconut Grove. "Drop you anywhere, mister," the driver offered.
The women in the back seat said nothing.
He picked the closest point on their route and walked from there. Coral Gables was mostly asleep. It was late for the Gables, even on that day. He left the sidewalks of West Cortez Circle at the distance of several houses and went through back yards. They might, by now, be expecting him.
There was a light in Bedelia's home.
He stood in the shadows of their neighbor's garage and looked--not daring to hope that Bedelia was there, fearing to investigate. His feelings overcame his judgment. He was about halfway through her leafy yard when a man stepped in front of him. A man with a gun. "What do you want, bud?"
"I--I live here." The professor hated himself.
"Yeah? You Burke?"
"I'm Burke."
"Come along." The man followed the professor to the porch. He knocked. After a while Bedelia called, "Yes? What is it?"
"Guy here says he's this Burke. I got him covered."
He heard the downstairs couch creak. He heard her big, boney feet cantering in the hall. The porch light switched on. "Martin! Thank heaven!" They embraced.
She addressed the man with the gun. "Thank you, Dusty. Keep a sharp eye out for anybody else."
"Okay, Miss Ogilvy." The night ate him.
She hurried the professor into the kitchen. "What on earth have you done to yourself?"
"It's a long story," he said, grinning at her fondly. "Who's your guard?"
"That's a story, too."
He sat down at the familiar enamel-topped table. "They told me, in Cuba, that they'd caught you. Well--not exactly. That they'd gone after you."
She was staring. "Cuba!"
"I've been over the whole route," he answered. "Is the coffee hot?"
"It's been hot--pretty steadily, since early Christmas morning, Martin." Her spectacles misted up and she polished them on the hem of her kimono.
"I'm not sure we're safe--even with that guard."
"We've got three of them," she answered.
"Three! What are they? Private detectives?"
"My story will keep."
"And mine will take a long time. I need to know about the guards."
She looked at him--at his powdered hair, his face and hands, yellow-brown from the diluted iodine, and at his unfamiliar garments. She sighed.
"Just to reassure you, Martin. And I hope I did right." She poured coffee in her two largest cups. "I didn't expect you till some time in the morning. By ten o'clock, when no word came, I began to worry. You'd had time to drive back--after sunrise. It was possible, of course, that you were on to something that prevented your return or even making a phone call. But it was also possible that they'd caught you at it."
His eyes were grim--and the odd color of his face emphasized the fact. "They did."
"Oh, Martin. . . !"
"Take it easy, Bedelia. I'm right here, now."
"Well. I reasoned that if they had caught you, they might be after me. Correct, wasn't it? I closed up the house. But first I put hairs across several doors, with Scotch tape. My mother did it to jam closets. Then I went to the Duffys for Christmas dinner. I came back with them--the whole family--to show them our Tree. I felt nobody would bother two carloads of people and nobody did. But the hairs on the doors were broken, so I knew they had been here. When the Duffys left, I also went.
"I couldn't think what to do. I wanted to be at home--in case you arrived--and I was afraid to be there alone. I couldn't call the police--"
"You should have!"
Bedelia looked at him. "Then--why aren't you?"
"Go on."
"I felt I couldn't because you might
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