Part 13 (1/2)
Tip was not for that: she wanted them to stay at least until she had a chance to discover what had happened. She urged Dorothy to lie down awhile, offered to get something-whatever she meant by that-for Quinn, who was having trouble standing up now.
Nora and I took them out. Larry offered to go along, but we decided that was not necessary. Quinn slept in a corner of the taxicab during the ride to his apartment, and Dorothy sat stiff and silent in the other corner, with Nora between them. I clung to a folding seat and thought that anyway we had not stayed long at the Edges'. Nora and Dorothy remained in the taxicab while I took Quinn upstairs. He was pretty limp.
Alice opened the door when I rang. She had on green pyjamas and held a hairbrush in one hand. She looked wearily at Quinn and spoke wearily: ”Bring it in.”
I took it in and spread it on a bed. It mumbled something I could not make out and moved one hand feebly back and forth, but its eyes stayed shut. ”I'll tuck him in,” I said and loosened his tie.
Alice leaned on the foot of the bed. ”If you want to. I've given up doing it.” I took off his coat, vest, and s.h.i.+rt.
”Where'd he pa.s.s out this time?” she asked with not much interest. She was still standing at the foot of the bed, brus.h.i.+ng her hair now.
”The Edges'.” I unb.u.t.toned his pants.
”With that little Wynant b.i.t.c.h?” The question was casual.
”There were a lot of people there.”
”Yes,” she said. ”He wouldn't pick a secluded spot.” She brushed her hair a couple of times. ”So you don't think it's clubby to tell me anything.”
Her husband stirred a little and mumbled: ”Dorry.” I took off his shoes.
Alice sighed. ”I can remember when he had muscles.” She stared at her husband until I took off the last of his clothes and rolled him under the covers. Then she sighed again and said: ”I'll get you a drink.”
”You'll have to make it short: Nora's waiting in the cab.”
She opened her mouth as if to speak, shut it, opened it again to say: ”Righto.” I went into the kitchen with her.
Presently she said: ”It's none of my business, Nick, but what do people think of me?”
”You're like everybody else: some people like you, some people don't, and some have no feeling about it one way or the other.”
She frowned. ”That's not exactly what I meant. What do people think about my staying with Harrison with him chasing everything that's hot and hollow?”
”I don't know, Alice.”
”What do you think?”
”I think you probably know what you're doing and whatever you do is your own business.”
She looked at me with dissatisfaction. ”You'll never talk yourself into any trouble, will you?” She smiled bitterly. ”You know I'm only staying with him for his money, don't you? It may not be a lot to you, but it is to me-the way I was raised.”
”There's always divorce and alimony. You ought to have-”
”Drink your drink and get to h.e.l.l out of here,” she said wearily.
21.
Nora made a place for me between her and Dorothy in the taxicab. ”I want some coffee,” she said. ”Reuben's?”
I said, ”All right,” and gave the driver the address.
Dorothy asked timidly: ”Did his wife say anything?”
”She sent her love to you.”
Nora said: ”Stop being nasty.”
Dorothy said: ”I don't really like him, Nick. I won't ever see him again-honestly.” She seemed pretty sober now. ”It was-well, I was lonesome and he was somebody to run around with.” I started to say something, but stopped when Nora poked me in the side.
Nora said: ”Don't worry about it. Harrison's always been a simpleton.”
”I don't want to stir things up,” I said, ”but I think he's really in love with the girl.” Nora poked me in the side again.
Dorothy peered at my face in the dim light. ”You're-you're not-You're not making fun of me, Nick?”
”I ought to be.”
”I heard a new story about the gnome tonight,” Nora said in the manner of one who did not mean to be interrupted, and explained to Dorothy, ”That's Mrs. Edge. Levi says ...” The story was funny enough if you knew Tip. Nora went on talking about her until we got out of the taxicab at Reuben's.
Herbert Macaulay was in the restaurant, sitting at a table with a plump dark-haired girl in red. I waved at him and, after we had ordered some food, went over to speak to him. ”Nick Charles, Louise Jacobs,” he said. ”Sit down. What's news?”
”Jorgensen's Rosewater,” I told him.
”The h.e.l.l he is!”
I nodded. ”And he seems to have a wife in Boston.”
”I'd like to see him,” he said slowly. ”I knew Rosewater. I'd like to make sure.”
”The police seem sure enough. I don't know whether they've found him yet. Think he killed Julia?”
Macaulay shook his head with emphasis. ”I can't see Rosewater killing anybody-not as I knew him-in spite of those threats he made. You remember I didn't take them very seriously at the time. What else has happened?” When I hesitated, he said: ”Louise is all right. You can talk.”
”It's not that. I've got to go back to my folks and food. I came over to ask you if you'd got an answer to your ad in this morning's Times.” Times.”
”Not yet. Sit down, Nick, there's a lot I want to ask you. You told the police about Wynant's letter, didn't-”
”Come up to lunch tomorrow and we'll bat it around. I've got to get back to my folks.”
”Who is the little blonde girl?” Louise Jacobs asked. ”I've seen her places with Harrison Quinn.”
”Dorothy Wynant.”
”You know Quinn?” Macaulay asked me.