The Book of the Dead by Elizabeth Daly Page B

widow, but she had already acquired the outward signs of mourning; not, of course, her black suit and hat, her black shoes, but her fine black stockings and short, black-bordered veil. A woman of perhaps forty, who was still handsome—very handsome, with a thin, unlined, unpainted face, dark hair too tightly waved, dark eyes, a thin mouth, a slightly upturned nose and a long upper lip. She had the kind of face that is closed against the world; what, he wondered, goes on behind those faces? Nothing? Or a coil of secret, pullulating thoughts?
    She was self-possessed, but there was tension in her attitude; the tension of a woman who has always been dominant in her own small world, but is unsure of herself out of it. And as she talked on, she revealed herself still further; for she was garrulous about her affairs.
    Been sheltered all her life, thought Gamadge. Knows nothing about business, has always depended on men. She’s stunned; she’s taking refuge under the nearest umbrella. Give a man a reference, and she’ll take him on trust. Or does she want us to think so?
    â€œIt would be quite a bargain,” she had gone on to say. “My husband didn’t get it at a bargain, or at least I don’t think so, but I could let you have it for less than he paid. He took it to the first of October, and they tell me that his estate is responsible. That means me; and I simply don’t understand why I should have to abide by the lease, since I didn’t even know he was renting an apartment.”
    Mr. Watt said gently: “Mr. Humbert has explained.”
    Mr. Humbert, the manager, now fluttered papers in his hand. “We’re responsible to our tenants, Mrs. Crenshaw. It’s only a sublet. They went to great expense to get it ready for summer renting.”
    â€œYes, but I don’t understand why he should have paid in advance for June and July.”
    â€œIt’s usual, Mrs. Crenshaw.” Humbert’s expression said that the present conversation showed why it was usual. “We get half the summer rent in advance, especially when there are no social references.”
    â€œSocial references! He had social references at home.” To this there could be no reply; and she went quickly on: “Why on earth did he take the apartment for June, since he wasn’t to be here at all until July? He knew he was going up to Vermont. That was why he came East—to settle that estate in Stonehill.”
    Mr. Humbert fluttered his papers again. “Mr. Crenshaw wanted a place in New York to come back to; we are rather crowded in the city just now. It isn’t easy to get an apartment at all.”
    â€œPerhaps that’s why he took such a big one. Much too big!”
    â€œHe said he liked space; and the bigger the cooler, Mrs. Crenshaw. He came in and engaged it on May twenty-eighth, and we didn’t hear from him again until the fifth of July. I have his letter here.”
    Gamadge, eyeing it, thought again of the Crenshaw coal-scuttle.
    â€œIt was written on the third,” continued Mr. Humbert. “It says that he and his man are coming on the sixth, and asks to have the apartment ready. It says that Mr. Crenshaw was delayed in Stonehill by illness. We opened the apartment; it was in perfect order, with all the linen and silver left by our tenants. Fully stocked with everything, and all of the best. We engaged a cleaning woman; but after Mr. Crenshaw arrived his man did everything for him. The place is in apple-pie condition, and I’m only sorry, Mrs. Crenshaw, that you won’t reconsider and stay on till the lease is up.”
    â€œStay on? I have my tickets for the trip back!”
    â€œYour niece—”
    â€œIf my niece stays, it won’t be in a big housekeeping apartment. I want you to do your very best to rent it for the rest of the summer.”
    â€œWe’ll let you know immediately if we do. There is a small advertising