touch her, she could tell that he wanted to, and not so much with love as with pity. "Good night, dear," said Francis. He sounded sad. They were not fighting words. The words were lonely.
Mathilda still stood there when he had gone. She couldn't understand. Couldn't understand. The only thing that explained him was the lie he told. If he really were in love— But he was not! He was a stranger.
"Grandy."
Grandy was all huddled in his chair. He looked shrunken up, his hand shaded his eyes.
She knelt down swiftly. "Grandy, what is it?"
"This house," he said. "Tyl, is it talking? Do you feel . . . something wrong?"
Her throat tightened. She cast a quick look behind her.
"I don't like it." Grandy rocked his shoulders. "Oh, no, I don't like it."
Tyl said, "Grandy, there's nothing. But there's something I've got to tell you."
He pulled himself up and smiled then. His hand came to cover hers warmly. "Darling, I know. I must lock the doors. Run up, sweet. I'll come. I'll tuck you in, eh?"
She nodded. She went upstairs slowly, grasping the banister too tightly. She could hear Grandy below, moving briskly, locking the doors. Whatever the mood had been, he'd thrown it off. And this was her home. Surely it was safe here. There could be nothing here to fear.
She went into the gray room and found the switch, but she didn't press it. She crossed quickly to the window in the dark. Was that a sound?
Outside, the night was not too deep for her to see a figure in the garden. Was it only this morning, she wondered, that she had first seen that figure, that man's shape? Only today?
The sounds were faint. She knelt and hid her head behind the curtain. She could see another figure, climbing down the trellis from the roof of the kitchen porch. Only she could see it, only from this room. Climbing down! Out of Rosaleen's old room to the porch roof, of course. That Jane! Her blond head caught a little light from the sky. The two figures met and shimmered in the dark and seemed to dissolve into shadows.
Tyl sat back on her heels. "My noblehearted lover!" she said. "My suffering bridegroom! Oh, brave good lonely soul!"
Chapter Fifteen
"Jane." Francis held her by the shoulders. He spoke in a low tone that wouldn't carry. His face was just a blur. "You've got to go to New York tomorrow." He shook her with his impatience. "Make it your day off. Disappear and leave a note. It doesn't matter if he
doesn't like it Get away early."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I've got it!" he croaked triumphantly. "I finally got Althea to talk about it Listen, see if you don't get the point. We know the clock stopped at twenty after ten." He let go of her shoulders.
"Fran, I've got to tell you—"
"Not now. Wait. So the fuse blew at twenty after ten that morning. Now Althea says that Grandy came out of the study and was closing the door of it behind him at the very minute when the Phantom Chef fellow was on the air—the one who gives out recipes,
you know, Jane. She remembers something he said. Jane, it gives us the time! Don't you see?"
"I see. I think I do."
"The fellow said 'Burn tenderly.' Remember that. Two words. Write them down. They take records of those programs. They must have taken a record of this one. Pray they have. You've got to go to the radio station and find out. Maybe they took a record there. Or if they didn't, sometimes the client does. Find out who pays for that program. See if they took a recording. Try the advertising agency. Try everywhere. Find that record, Jane. And then make them let you listen. Make up a yarn, anything. Don't you see? If you can
listen, and time the thing, and spot the very minute when he said, 'Burn tenderly' —“
"Un-huh," said Jane. "Uh-huh."
"That'll be the proof we're looking for. Proof! If the time is different from what I expect, then we're all wrong, and we'll know it. Jane, we can't be wrong. And if
Mathilda still stood there when he had gone. She couldn't understand. Couldn't understand. The only thing that explained him was the lie he told. If he really were in love— But he was not! He was a stranger.
"Grandy."
Grandy was all huddled in his chair. He looked shrunken up, his hand shaded his eyes.
She knelt down swiftly. "Grandy, what is it?"
"This house," he said. "Tyl, is it talking? Do you feel . . . something wrong?"
Her throat tightened. She cast a quick look behind her.
"I don't like it." Grandy rocked his shoulders. "Oh, no, I don't like it."
Tyl said, "Grandy, there's nothing. But there's something I've got to tell you."
He pulled himself up and smiled then. His hand came to cover hers warmly. "Darling, I know. I must lock the doors. Run up, sweet. I'll come. I'll tuck you in, eh?"
She nodded. She went upstairs slowly, grasping the banister too tightly. She could hear Grandy below, moving briskly, locking the doors. Whatever the mood had been, he'd thrown it off. And this was her home. Surely it was safe here. There could be nothing here to fear.
She went into the gray room and found the switch, but she didn't press it. She crossed quickly to the window in the dark. Was that a sound?
Outside, the night was not too deep for her to see a figure in the garden. Was it only this morning, she wondered, that she had first seen that figure, that man's shape? Only today?
The sounds were faint. She knelt and hid her head behind the curtain. She could see another figure, climbing down the trellis from the roof of the kitchen porch. Only she could see it, only from this room. Climbing down! Out of Rosaleen's old room to the porch roof, of course. That Jane! Her blond head caught a little light from the sky. The two figures met and shimmered in the dark and seemed to dissolve into shadows.
Tyl sat back on her heels. "My noblehearted lover!" she said. "My suffering bridegroom! Oh, brave good lonely soul!"
Chapter Fifteen
"Jane." Francis held her by the shoulders. He spoke in a low tone that wouldn't carry. His face was just a blur. "You've got to go to New York tomorrow." He shook her with his impatience. "Make it your day off. Disappear and leave a note. It doesn't matter if he
doesn't like it Get away early."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I've got it!" he croaked triumphantly. "I finally got Althea to talk about it Listen, see if you don't get the point. We know the clock stopped at twenty after ten." He let go of her shoulders.
"Fran, I've got to tell you—"
"Not now. Wait. So the fuse blew at twenty after ten that morning. Now Althea says that Grandy came out of the study and was closing the door of it behind him at the very minute when the Phantom Chef fellow was on the air—the one who gives out recipes,
you know, Jane. She remembers something he said. Jane, it gives us the time! Don't you see?"
"I see. I think I do."
"The fellow said 'Burn tenderly.' Remember that. Two words. Write them down. They take records of those programs. They must have taken a record of this one. Pray they have. You've got to go to the radio station and find out. Maybe they took a record there. Or if they didn't, sometimes the client does. Find out who pays for that program. See if they took a recording. Try the advertising agency. Try everywhere. Find that record, Jane. And then make them let you listen. Make up a yarn, anything. Don't you see? If you can
listen, and time the thing, and spot the very minute when he said, 'Burn tenderly' —“
"Un-huh," said Jane. "Uh-huh."
"That'll be the proof we're looking for. Proof! If the time is different from what I expect, then we're all wrong, and we'll know it. Jane, we can't be wrong. And if
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