tie and ordinary oxford shoes. Of course, the suit lapels were shaped a bit oddly and the tie was very wide and many different colors, and his shirt was canary-yellow, but at least he was in a suit, and so was I; I wouldn’t be entirely out of place.
(It had been difficult deciding what to wear tonight. Would I be more unobtrusive in my regular clothing, no matter how anachronistic I might look against the other guests, or should I dress myself, at least partly, out of Bill’s closet? I finally decided I would feel best appearing as myself, so that’s what I’d done.)
The Negro came and opened the door, laughing at the snow on me. “Now that’s what I call a white man,” he said.
I took my hat off and looked at it. “You mean a wet man.” I said.
He shut the door and looked keenly at me. “I probably mean Tobin, don’t I? Mitch Tobin?”
“That’s right.”
He grinned. “You see? I penetrated your disguise.”
“Very clever of you. I’m afraid you have the advantage of me; I haven’t penetrated yours yet.”
“Nobody has,” he said. Was there a touch of self-mockery in his smile for a second? He extended a hand toward me, saying, “I’m Leo Ross.” And then, in a dramatic hoarse whisper, grinning all the while, “Suspect.”
“Oh, yes,” I said, and took his hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
“And isn’t that the truth,” he said. “Do you want to grill me now, or wait and boil me later?”
“If you have an alibi for nine o’clock Monday evening,” I said, “I’d love to hear it right now and cross your name off the list.”
“Monday evening.” The smile never entirely left his face, but seemed to hang there for a moment without his volition while he thought of other things. “An alibi,” he said, “means that other people saw me where I say I was.”
“That’s right.”
“Then I don’t have one.” A helpless smile, a spreading of the hands. “I wish I could help you out.”
Why could none of these people take this thing seriously? One of their number was dead. Another was in the hospital, and well on his way to being railroaded into an asylum.
I remembered a few of the words in the astrological description of Leo Ross: “charming, clever, superficial, sexually dominating.” I didn’t know about the last, but the others seemed to apply. I said, “Where were you, that you can’t prove?”
“In church.” The smile grew wistful for a second, as though he had trouble himself believing he’d been in church, but then it disappeared entirely, and very earnestly he said, “I’ve been doing a novena to the Sacred Heart. For world peace. Nine days, eight-thirty each evening. It was over Thursday.”
“And you went alone?”
“Henry isn’t Catholic.” Then he laughed and said, “We don’t know how we’ll bring up the children.”
“You don’t know anyone else in the congregation.”
“Not a soul. And it’s a big old church, stone, very dark, and not many people come to novenas any more. We tend to scatter around the place. Someone might remember seeing me there, but I doubt it. And if they did, how could they be sure which night it was? No, I’m sorry, I’m going to be a problem for you.”
“We’ll work it out,” I assured him. “Somehow.”
“I do believe you will,” he said, peering at me. “You don’t go ha ha as much as most people.”
It was a strange description; it drew a chuckle from me, which may have been its intention. In any case, Ross promptly grew frothy and cheerful again, saying, “But the party isn’t out here, it’s inside. Come join the festivities.” He took my arm, and we went in together.
10
I T WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO get much of an idea of the apartment; it was too full of people, most of them giving the appearance of having bought their clothes at Jammer. I was more than an anachronism here, in my dark gray suit and slender figured tie, I was a fantasy from an entirely different world.
It
(It had been difficult deciding what to wear tonight. Would I be more unobtrusive in my regular clothing, no matter how anachronistic I might look against the other guests, or should I dress myself, at least partly, out of Bill’s closet? I finally decided I would feel best appearing as myself, so that’s what I’d done.)
The Negro came and opened the door, laughing at the snow on me. “Now that’s what I call a white man,” he said.
I took my hat off and looked at it. “You mean a wet man.” I said.
He shut the door and looked keenly at me. “I probably mean Tobin, don’t I? Mitch Tobin?”
“That’s right.”
He grinned. “You see? I penetrated your disguise.”
“Very clever of you. I’m afraid you have the advantage of me; I haven’t penetrated yours yet.”
“Nobody has,” he said. Was there a touch of self-mockery in his smile for a second? He extended a hand toward me, saying, “I’m Leo Ross.” And then, in a dramatic hoarse whisper, grinning all the while, “Suspect.”
“Oh, yes,” I said, and took his hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
“And isn’t that the truth,” he said. “Do you want to grill me now, or wait and boil me later?”
“If you have an alibi for nine o’clock Monday evening,” I said, “I’d love to hear it right now and cross your name off the list.”
“Monday evening.” The smile never entirely left his face, but seemed to hang there for a moment without his volition while he thought of other things. “An alibi,” he said, “means that other people saw me where I say I was.”
“That’s right.”
“Then I don’t have one.” A helpless smile, a spreading of the hands. “I wish I could help you out.”
Why could none of these people take this thing seriously? One of their number was dead. Another was in the hospital, and well on his way to being railroaded into an asylum.
I remembered a few of the words in the astrological description of Leo Ross: “charming, clever, superficial, sexually dominating.” I didn’t know about the last, but the others seemed to apply. I said, “Where were you, that you can’t prove?”
“In church.” The smile grew wistful for a second, as though he had trouble himself believing he’d been in church, but then it disappeared entirely, and very earnestly he said, “I’ve been doing a novena to the Sacred Heart. For world peace. Nine days, eight-thirty each evening. It was over Thursday.”
“And you went alone?”
“Henry isn’t Catholic.” Then he laughed and said, “We don’t know how we’ll bring up the children.”
“You don’t know anyone else in the congregation.”
“Not a soul. And it’s a big old church, stone, very dark, and not many people come to novenas any more. We tend to scatter around the place. Someone might remember seeing me there, but I doubt it. And if they did, how could they be sure which night it was? No, I’m sorry, I’m going to be a problem for you.”
“We’ll work it out,” I assured him. “Somehow.”
“I do believe you will,” he said, peering at me. “You don’t go ha ha as much as most people.”
It was a strange description; it drew a chuckle from me, which may have been its intention. In any case, Ross promptly grew frothy and cheerful again, saying, “But the party isn’t out here, it’s inside. Come join the festivities.” He took my arm, and we went in together.
10
I T WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO get much of an idea of the apartment; it was too full of people, most of them giving the appearance of having bought their clothes at Jammer. I was more than an anachronism here, in my dark gray suit and slender figured tie, I was a fantasy from an entirely different world.
It
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