Part 42 (1/2)

The other duo now had become a quartette. The voices of Gilda and Rigoletto were fusing with those of the figlia and the duke.

The musician appeared to be listening. His sunken eyes were lifted.

Slowly he turned them on Jones.

”You didn't see anything, did you?”

”Last night? I did not see Lennox, if that is what you mean, or Paliser--except for a moment, during the crypt scene.”

Chokingly the musician drew breath. In the effort he gasped. ”Then you know.”

”Yes, I know.”

The rug rose and fell. It was as though there were a wave beneath it.

With an air of detachment, Jones added: ”Paliser turned to see who was there. A sword-cane told him.”

The musician's lips twitched, his face had contracted, his hand now was on his breast. ”I wish Ca.s.sy would hurry. She's gone for amyl.”

”Is it far?”

”The corner. Are you going to do anything?”

Jones shook his head. ”I don't need to.”

The sunken eyes were upon him. ”Why do you say that?”

”You are an honest man.”

The sunken eyes wavered. ”At least I never supposed they would arrest Lennox. How could I?”

”No one could have supposed it. Besides, in your own conscience you were justified, were you not?”

”You know about that, too?”

”Yes, I know about that.”

The Rigoletto disc now had been replaced by another, one from which a voice brayed, a voice nasal, jocular, felonious.

”That beast ought to be shot,” Jones added.

The musician raised himself a little. ”You don't misjudge her, do you?”

Jones, annoyed at the swill tossed about, had turned from him. He turned back. ”Believe me, Mr. Cara, there is no one for whom I have a higher respect.”

A spasm seized the musician. For a moment, save for the effort at breath, he was silent. Then feebly he said: ”I wish she would hurry.”

”Can I do anything?”

”Yes, tell me. Do you condemn me?”