disappearance. “If you’ve been down by the river,” she said, “I wonder if you could tell me—or remember—just who left the group to walk up this way past my room?”
Reed looked from her to the door behind her and his brows lifted. “Something missing?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “Yes, while I was in that building over there taking a bath. But I don’t,” she added, “want to cause a fuss.”
“Quite right,” he said. “Very sensible. And you want to know who left the party … Have to say nearly everyone,” he said regretfully. “Let’s see … good lord, even I left. Spilled some beer on my slacks, came up to change. Steeves ran out of film—passed him coming up as I went back. McIntosh left to take a nap—still gone. Kleiber came up for a map to prove some point or other, Lisafor a sweater. Chanda went with you and didn’t return. Yes, I’d say the only two who stayed by the river were Mrs. Lovecraft and Dr. Henry. Nothing too valuable, I hope?”
“Fairly so, yes. To me.”
“Don’t like to hear that. You gave a thorough search? But of course you would.” He placed the emphasis on
you
very flatteringly.
She gave him a smile and took a few steps toward the path. “A very efficient list, Mr. Reed. Thank you.”
“No,” he said firmly.
She turned in surprise.
“
Not
Mr. Reed. Call me Cyrus.”
“Oh.” She hesitated and then nodded. “And my name’s Emily.” As she descended the hill, leaving him behind, she realized that she felt obscurely better and was even smiling. A rather fatuous smile, she guessed, but still she was smiling.
By half-past six there was a crackling fire down by the river, the sole illumination except for a lantern hung from a post. They sat in a circle around the fire, drawn closer by the darkness beyond them and by the feeling of being very small under the huge trees and beside the roaring river. They sat and talked and sipped beer. The only activity came from two people: one the grave-faced young man in a white jacket who came down the hill bearing silverware, napkins and plates, then went up again and returned with cups and saucers, more beer and glassware. The other was Mrs. Pollifax who, with a flashcube attached to her camera, knelt, hovered, stood, sat and wickedly took picture after picture.
“Why do you bother,” asked Mr. Kleiber curiously, “when you don’t have a good German camera like Mr. McIntosh or Mrs. Lovecraft?”
“Oh, but this camera is just fine for an amateur,” she said. “I snap pictures just for my children, you know. They’ll be fascinated, and then of course my grandchildren will love seeing the animals. I always try,” she told him firmly, “to create a total background, so that they can step into the adventure and experience it too.”
“And do you,” asked Cyrus Reed dryly, “show slides?”
She gave him a level glance and without batting an eyelash, for she loathed slides, said, “Of course.”
“Incredible,” he said, staring at her.
On an inspired note she added, “As a matter of fact after dinner I’ll bring down pictures of my grandchildren to show you. They’re very
lovely
grandchildren.”
“Really?” said Amy Lovecraft coldly.
The young waiter had just arrived bearing a large tray, followed by two young men carrying steaming dishes, and he chose this moment to announce that dinner was served. Mrs. Pollifax jumped up immediately and became the first to approach the food spread out on the table. She was not surprised when she returned to her chair to find herself something of a pariah after her announcement about snapshots. Mr. Kleiber chose a seat as far removed from her as possible, and Mrs. Lovecraft, who had shown no real interest in Mr. Kleiber before, eagerly took the chair next him. Lisa, assuming a more neutral corner, was joined by Steeves as usual. Tom Henry found a seat not far from Lisa, and McIntosh, still smiling enigmatically, sat beside Julian.
Only Chanda and
Reed looked from her to the door behind her and his brows lifted. “Something missing?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “Yes, while I was in that building over there taking a bath. But I don’t,” she added, “want to cause a fuss.”
“Quite right,” he said. “Very sensible. And you want to know who left the party … Have to say nearly everyone,” he said regretfully. “Let’s see … good lord, even I left. Spilled some beer on my slacks, came up to change. Steeves ran out of film—passed him coming up as I went back. McIntosh left to take a nap—still gone. Kleiber came up for a map to prove some point or other, Lisafor a sweater. Chanda went with you and didn’t return. Yes, I’d say the only two who stayed by the river were Mrs. Lovecraft and Dr. Henry. Nothing too valuable, I hope?”
“Fairly so, yes. To me.”
“Don’t like to hear that. You gave a thorough search? But of course you would.” He placed the emphasis on
you
very flatteringly.
She gave him a smile and took a few steps toward the path. “A very efficient list, Mr. Reed. Thank you.”
“No,” he said firmly.
She turned in surprise.
“
Not
Mr. Reed. Call me Cyrus.”
“Oh.” She hesitated and then nodded. “And my name’s Emily.” As she descended the hill, leaving him behind, she realized that she felt obscurely better and was even smiling. A rather fatuous smile, she guessed, but still she was smiling.
By half-past six there was a crackling fire down by the river, the sole illumination except for a lantern hung from a post. They sat in a circle around the fire, drawn closer by the darkness beyond them and by the feeling of being very small under the huge trees and beside the roaring river. They sat and talked and sipped beer. The only activity came from two people: one the grave-faced young man in a white jacket who came down the hill bearing silverware, napkins and plates, then went up again and returned with cups and saucers, more beer and glassware. The other was Mrs. Pollifax who, with a flashcube attached to her camera, knelt, hovered, stood, sat and wickedly took picture after picture.
“Why do you bother,” asked Mr. Kleiber curiously, “when you don’t have a good German camera like Mr. McIntosh or Mrs. Lovecraft?”
“Oh, but this camera is just fine for an amateur,” she said. “I snap pictures just for my children, you know. They’ll be fascinated, and then of course my grandchildren will love seeing the animals. I always try,” she told him firmly, “to create a total background, so that they can step into the adventure and experience it too.”
“And do you,” asked Cyrus Reed dryly, “show slides?”
She gave him a level glance and without batting an eyelash, for she loathed slides, said, “Of course.”
“Incredible,” he said, staring at her.
On an inspired note she added, “As a matter of fact after dinner I’ll bring down pictures of my grandchildren to show you. They’re very
lovely
grandchildren.”
“Really?” said Amy Lovecraft coldly.
The young waiter had just arrived bearing a large tray, followed by two young men carrying steaming dishes, and he chose this moment to announce that dinner was served. Mrs. Pollifax jumped up immediately and became the first to approach the food spread out on the table. She was not surprised when she returned to her chair to find herself something of a pariah after her announcement about snapshots. Mr. Kleiber chose a seat as far removed from her as possible, and Mrs. Lovecraft, who had shown no real interest in Mr. Kleiber before, eagerly took the chair next him. Lisa, assuming a more neutral corner, was joined by Steeves as usual. Tom Henry found a seat not far from Lisa, and McIntosh, still smiling enigmatically, sat beside Julian.
Only Chanda and
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