Part 15 (1/2)
Sweet winced and shook his head.
”That's the weirdest thing I've ever seen, man.”
”See? We couldn't spend it in our time without a lot of questions,” Dolliver told him, putting the wallet back. ”We could sell jewelry, though. If they've got any.”
The stockbroker moved away and Edgar came alone to stand in his place, facing out into the room.
After a moment he drew from his pocket a red leather case and opened it, staring inside.
”What did I tell you ?” Sweet nudged Dolliver. ”Jewels! You're so fast with your hands, see can you get it.”
”All right.” Dolliver drained his gla.s.s and stood. Flexing his hands theatrically, he waited until Edgar had slipped the case back into his pocket, sighing; then he slipped the case out again. Edgar remained standing there, staring through him unnervingly as he sat down again and opened the case.
”Diamonds or something,” Sweet p.r.o.nounced, leaning over to see. ”Not bad!”
”Maybe it's a Christmas present,” said Dolliver, looking up guiltily at Edgar's tense face.
”Well, Merry Christmas to you and me,” Sweet replied. ”We're both down on our luck a lot worse than these dudes will ever be. So... I guess we're splitting fifty-fifty on this?” He put out his hand and took the necklace from the box, and held it up to the firelight. It winked and threw lights on the wall.
”Sure,” Dolliver told him. ”a.s.suming we ever go back to our own time and aren't stuck here like ghosts.” He closed the empty case and slipped it back into Edgar's pocket.
”Oh. Well, we could take one of their cars, if we can find some keys,” said Sweet.
”We could,” Dolliver agreed, ”but we couldn't drive away from the past, you see? Just away from this lodge. And even if we managed to take a Packard or a Model T back with us, how would we handle the registration, once we were there?”
”Frigging DMA7,” Sweet conceded with a sigh, tucking the necklace away inside his vest. ”Well, if we never go back, this isn't too bad.” He eyed the couples who were leaving the dining room. One of the flappers cranked up the Victrola again and all the younger couples began to dance to a fox trot. One girl tugged an older man to his feet and he cut a few awkward capers. Sweet leaned over and nudged Dolliver. ”Hey, wonder if the women are like the buffet? D'you think?”
Dolliver just looked at him a minute and then said, ”You'd better be careful. How'd you like to get a dose of something when there's no penicillin yet?”
”There isn't?” Sweet was horrified. ”Jesus, what'd people do?”
”Gee, Mr. Wallace, you'd better get a monkey gland,” cried the girl gaily, as the wheezing stockbroker retreated from the dance floor.
”Suffered a lot,” said Dolliver, standing up. ”Come on, let's see what's upstairs.”
There was a single red candle burning in the window on the landing, and they took it with them, since the second story did not appear to be wired for electricity. Most of the doors were unlocked. Dolliver and Sweet prowled through the dark rooms and found trunks and suitcases alone that would fetch a nice price in antique stores, plastered as they were with steamer and hotel labels. There wasn't quite the fortune in jewels Sweet had been hoping to find, but they did manage to pilfer a nice little haul in cufflinks and one tie tack with what Dolliver was fairly sure was a diamond on it. There were a couple of art deco brooches and a couple of bracelets of indeterminate value.
”Well, this sucks,” complained Sweet as they clumped back downstairs, and the scratchy melody of ”Am I Blue” floated up to meet them. One of the younger men was yodelling drunkenly along. Sweet turned on the stairs, eyes brightening. ”But you know what? If we take one of the cars we can drive down to San Francisco, rob a bank or a jewelry store! Huh? n.o.body'd see us.”
”You've got a point there,” said Dolliver, deciding not to argue with him.
They settled on the couch again, now and then rising to revisit the buffet. The evening wore on and the young people Charlestoned and s.h.i.+mmied in the glow of the Christmas lights. The older men sat at the edges and talked interminably about the stock market, about Herbert Hoover, about the trouble brewing again among the Serbs and Croats, about surf and stream fis.h.i.+ng, about the big breakfast they'd have in the morning.
Everybody drank the Christmas wa.s.sail and, when that gave out, drank bootleg booze from flasks they'd brought with them. Dolliver was appalled at the cheerful and reckless way they mixed their liquors, to say nothing of the quant.i.ties they seemed to be able to drink without pa.s.sing out. The dancing just got a little clumsier, the laughter of the girls got louder and shriller; and when ”Stille Nacht” was played, with Madame Schumann-Heink crooning tenderly, people wept. At last in ones and twos they began to wander up the narrow staircase to their rooms.
The girl with the black pageboy bob did not drink much, or dance either. She came and sat on the couch by herself, between Dolliver and Sweet, who looked on bemused as Edgar came to crouch beside her.
”Helene, we don't have to live with them,” he said quietly.
”Who?” wondered Sweet.
”In-laws, probably,” Dolliver told him.
”You haven't got the spine to tell him no,” said Helene matter-of-factly, not taking her eves from the fire. Edgar stiffened and rose again, and left the room.
”Edgar isn't doing very well,” remarked Dolliver, yawning. Sweet chuckled, watching Helene, and patted his knee.
”You can come sit on my lap, honey, I'll give you good advice. You don't want to marry that wienie.
Marry the other guy, okay? The poor one. Billy.”
”Here he comes,” Dolliver observed, as Billy came in to build up the fire. He avoided making eve contact with Helene, but she leaned forward.
”You look nice in that jacket,” she said.
”It's a waiter's jacket,” he snapped. ”I'm n.o.body and I'm going nowhere, remember? Not back east.
Not to Europe. Not to Stanford or an office in the City.”
Helene put her head in her hands. ”All right. But you could do more for yourself, Billy. I know you could. You have the inner strength.”
”Strength doesn't matter,” Billy replied stonily. ”Money matters, Helene. You taught me that well enough.”
”Strength matters more than I'd ever imagined,” she said, with the suggestion of tears in her voice. He turned in the firelight to stare at her, and his hand opened and he seemed about to reach out; but she looked sidelong at him from under her lashes with those cold eyes, and something about the look made him draw back his hand.
”Crying?” he said. ”Or acting, Helene? It would take a lot more than a few tears for me to ever make a fool of myself again. I've got some pride, you know.”
”You tell her, bro,” said Sweet, slapping his leg.
Edgar had finally re-entered the room. Billy shut his mouth like a trap and turned away from the fire as though Helene weren't there.
”Is everything satisfactory, mister?” he inquired of Edgar, in an excessively servile tone. Edgar just nodded miserably ”Good. Wonderful,” said Billy, sounding as though he were about to cry himself. He stalked from the room.
Edgar approached the girl hesitantly ”Hey!” Sweet stood up. ”I know why there's no jewelry in the rooms. It'd be in the hotel safe.”
”You think a place like this has one?” said Dolliver, but he got to his feet too. They paced swiftly into the front lobby, as Edgar knelt beside Helene and began to murmur to her in a hesitant voice.
The desk clerk was no longer there, but a quick search behind the desk failed to turn up anything resembling a safe. Sweet got down on his hands and knees to thump the baseboard paneling. Dolliver's attention was drawn by the open ledger, and he paused to examine the list of registered guests.
”Unless maybe it's behind a painting or something, I seen that in movies too-” Sweet was saving, when he heard Dolliver mutter an exclamation. He scrambled up.
”What?” he said. Dolliver didn't answer, so he read over his shoulder. A moment later he caught his breath and pointed a trembling linger at the third entry in the column.
”s.h.i.+t! Look at that,” he croaked.
Mr. Edgar T Sweet, Palo Alto, California. The next entry was Miss Helene Thistlewhite, Santa Rosa, California.
”Same last name,” observed Dolliver.