Chapter 5 Chapter 5 Gabrielle
There was a turning point the next day.
The New York bureau sent a telegram early in the morning.After decoding, the original text is as follows:
get out of prison.Rupert allegedly threatened to kill Upton.Rupert, thirty-two years old, five feet eleven inches, one hundred and fifty pounds, brown hair and brown eyes, pale complexion, thin face and long nose, stooped walk, chin forward.Photos have been sent.
From this point of view, Rupert must be the man Mrs. Presley and Dali saw, and it is also possible that he killed Upton.
Olga also called: "Your black rhino Tingley was caught selling stolen jewelry at a pawn shop last night. There were no loose diamonds. We haven't forced a confession, only fingerprints. I sent someone to collect Took some loot to the Leggetts, thought it might be theirs, and they said it wasn't."
The news didn't help me.I suggested, "Try Halstead Beauchamp and tell them you think it's Leggett's. Don't tell them Leggett denies it."
The detective called me half an hour later—from the jewelry company—to tell me that Halsted had identified two items: a string of pearls and a topaz brooch Leggett had bought from them for his daughter. one's gift.
"Fine," I said, "can you do me another favor now? Go to Rhino's apartment and put pressure on his woman, Minnie Hershey. Search the place, yell at her, fuck Make her as frightened as possible. She might have an emerald ring on. If she does, or if you find it in the apartment, or other jewelry that might belong to Leggett, take it. But don't keep it It’s been too long, don’t harass her anymore. I’ve got someone to watch her. Just scare her twice and she can leave.”
"I'll scare the shit out of her," Olga promised.
Dick Foley was in the detective's office, still working on the warehouse robbery report that had consumed him all night.I kicked him out and asked him to keep an eye on the half-race girl for Mickey.
"When the cops are done, if she leaves the apartment, you both have to follow," I said, "and if she stops somewhere, you have to find a phone to let me know."
I went back to the office and lit a cigarette.On the third, Eric Collinson called to ask if I had found his Gabrielle.
"Not yet, but there is hope. If you're not busy, you can come and see with me—if there's anywhere to go."
He said he would, rather eagerly.
A few minutes later, Mitch Linehan called and said, "The brown-faced girl is out," and gave me an address on Pacific Avenue.
The handset was put down, and the phone rang again.
"I'm Walter Halstead," said a voice, "will you come and talk to me for a minute or two?"
"Not now. What's the matter?"
"It's about Edgar Leggett. It's very strange. The police came this morning with some jewelry and asked if we knew where it came from. I recognized a string of pearls and a brooch. It was Edgar Leggett. Leggett came to us last year to buy it for his daughter—the brooch for the spring and the pearls for Christmas. I called Leggett as a matter of course after the police had gone, and his reaction was rather odd indeed. After I finished speaking, he said to me: 'It's really thanks to your meddling.' And then hung up. What do you think is wrong with him?"
"God knows. Thanks. I have to go now, but I'll go if I have time."
I pulled out Owen Fitzstephan's phone, dialed it, and heard his drawn out, "Hello—"
"You'd better go borrow the book before it's too late," I said.
"Why? Is something wrong?"
"There is indeed something."
"Like?" he asked.
"It's unspeakable. Anyway, for a person who wants to spy on Leggett's secrets, now is not the time to think about the subconscious mind."
"Okay," he said, "I'm on my way."
Eric Collinson came in while I was still talking to the novelist.
"Come on," I said, leading him out to the elevator, "it might pay off this time."
"Where are we going?" he asked anxiously. "Have you found her? Is she all right?"
I responded to the question for which I knew the answer.I handed him the Pacific Avenue address Mitch had given me, and Collinson understood right away. "It's Joseph's place," he said.
There were six outsiders in the elevator we took, so I just replied, "Really?"
He had a Chrysler convertible parked around the corner.We got in the car and started rushing through traffic and traffic lights, heading straight for Pacific Avenue.
"Who is Joseph?" I asked.
"A esoteric group, he's the leader. He calls his place the Temple of the Holy Grail. The latest fad now. You know how these groups go about in California. I don't like Gabriel going there— If she really went there—but... I don't know...they might be all right. He's one of Mr. Leggett's queer friends. Are you sure she's there?"
"Possibly. Is she a believer?"
"She's been there a lot, yes. I've been with her."
"What's the layout like there?"
"Oh, it seems to be all right." His tone was a little forced. "It's all decent people: the wife of Payson Lawrence, and the Ralph Colemans, the wife of Livingston Roman, etc. The Haltons—that is, Joseph and his wife Eronia—seemed to be fine. But...but I just don't like Gabrielle going to that kind of place." Chrysler's right rear wheel It narrowly missed the rear end of the tram. "I think it will be bad if she is too influenced by them."
"You've been there...what kind of game are they playing?" I asked.
"It's not a trick, really," he replied, wrinkling his forehead, "I don't know much about their teachings or anything, but Gabriel and I have attended their ceremony, and the scene is very Majestic, even beautiful, on par with Anglicans and Catholics. Don't think of it as a Holy Spirit or Main Street Temple or something. It's nothing like that. Whatever it is, it's absolutely first class Yes. The Haltons are...well, more educated than I am."
"Then what's their problem?"
He shook his head gloomily. "Honestly, I don't know if it's really a problem. I just don't like it there. I don't like Gabrielle just walking off like this without saying hello. Do you think her parents know where she's gone? "
I shake my head.
"I also don't think they know," he said.
From the street, the Temple of the Grail looks exactly like it was designed to be, a six-story yellow brick apartment building.It can't be seen from the outside that it has any functional changes now.I let Collinson pass the building and round the corner, and I saw Mitch Linehan's massive body leaning against the stone wall.When the car stopped on the side of the road, he came over. "The nigga left ten minutes ago," he reported. "Dick followed. No one who came out looked like the one you listed." "You stay in the car and watch the door." I told him, "We're going in right now," I said to Collinson, "and I'll talk when it's time to talk." When we walked to the gate of the temple, I had to remind him: "Don't pant so hard, it should be fine." I ring the doorbell.Immediately a broad-shouldered, stout woman in her late fifties opened the door.I'm five foot six and she's a full three inches taller, her cheeks puffed out, but neither her eyes nor her lips show a hint of softness or relaxation.Her midriff is long and shaved.She was dressed in black, from her chin and earlobe to less than an inch from the floor, was tightly wrapped in black cloth. "We want to see Miss Leggett," I said. She pretended not to understand. "We want to see Miss Leggett," I repeated, "Miss Gabrielle Leggett." "I don't know her." Her voice was very low, "but please come in." She reluctantly ushered us into a small, dimly lit reception room off the front hall, told us to wait there, and left. "Who is this country blacksmith?" I asked Collinson. Collinson said he didn't know it.He paced the room restlessly, and I sat down.The curtains were drawn, so there wasn't much light for me to see what was in the room, but the carpet was thick and soft, and the looming furniture was generally more luxurious than solemn. There was no sound in the building save for Collinson's restless wandering footsteps.I looked at the open door and saw someone watching.A little boy of twelve or thirteen stood staring at us, his big dark eyes seeming to glow in the half-darkness. "Hello, kid." I said. Collinson jumped in surprise at my voice. The boy said nothing.He stared at us for at least half a minute, his eyes blinked, his expression dazed and bewildered.Only children can have this look.Then he turned and walked away, as quietly as he had appeared. "Who's that?" I asked Collinson. "It should be Manuel, the son of the Haltons. I haven't seen him before." Collinson paced up and down.I still sat looking towards the door.Not long after, a woman walked silently across the thick carpet to the door, and then into the reception room.She was tall and elegant, with dark eyes like the boy's, which seemed to radiate light.That was all I could see clearly at the time. I stand up. She said to Collinson, "Hello, Mr. Collinson, isn't it?" I've never heard such a pleasant voice as hers. Collinson muttered something, and introduced me to her as Mrs. Halton.She held out her hand to me, her palm warm and strong.Then she crossed the room and drew aside the curtains on one side to let in the afternoon sun.I blinked in the sudden bright light as she took my seat and asked us to do the same. I noticed her eyes first.Quite large, warm and almost black, surrounded by thick eyelashes of the same color.The eyes were the only thing alive, human, and real in her face. Her olive oval face contained warmth and beauty, but apart from the eyes, that warmth and beauty seemed beyond reality.Her face seemed not to be a face, but a mask that resembled her real face.Even her admirable lips didn't look like flesh, more like an over-perfect imitation, softer and redder than real lips, warmer perhaps, but not real.Over this face, or mask, black hair was combed tightly, parted in the middle, pulled back along the temples and over the ears, and tied in a knot at the nape of the neck.Her neck seemed long and powerful, and her figure was tall and plump; her dark silk was soft and close to her body. I said: "Mrs. Halton, we want to see Miss Leggett." "How did you expect her to be here?" she asked curiously. "It's not an important question, is it?" I replied quickly, before Collinson could say the wrong thing. "She's here, and we want to see her." "I'm afraid not," she said slowly. "Gabrielle is not feeling well. She came here to recuperate mainly because she wanted to avoid people for a while." "I'm sorry," I said, "but we have to see her. We wouldn't call like this if it wasn't important." "Is it important?" "right." She hesitated for a moment, said: "Okay, I'll go and have a look." Then she left. "I wouldn't mind moving here myself," I said to Collinson. He didn't listen to what I was saying, his face flushed with excitement. "Gabrielle might not like it when we come in like this," he said. "That would be too bad," I replied. Eronia Halton is back. "It's a real pity," she said, standing in the doorway, smiling politely, "but Miss Leggett doesn't want to see you." "I'm sorry too," I said, "but we must see." She straightened up, the smile gone. "Excuse me again?" she asked. "We've got to see her," I repeated, keeping my tone amiable. "As I said, it's a big deal." "Sorry," even the coldness couldn't damage the beauty of that voice, "you can't see her." I said: "As you probably know, Miss Leggett is an important witness in a robbery and murder, and we must see her. If you insist, I will be more than willing to wait half an hour for the police to take you." Authorization papers approved. We need to see her." Collinson mumbled something that sounded like an apology. Eronia Halton bowed slightly with an almost imperceptible movement. "Please," she said coldly, "I really don't want you to disturb her regardless of her wishes. If you ask my permission, I will still refuse. Of course, if you insist, I can't stop you." "Thank you. Where is she?" "Her room is on the fifth floor, to the left of the stairs." She nodded slightly again, and walked away. Collinson put his hand on my arm and murmured, "Don't know if I'm--is it right for us to do this. Gabrielle won't be happy, she'll--" "As you please!" I yelled. "I'm going up anyway. She might not like it, but I wouldn't like it if the witnesses ran out and hid while I was chasing the stolen diamonds." He frowned, bit his lip, and changed several embarrassing expressions, but he still followed me.We found an automatic elevator, went up to the fifth floor, stepped on a long purple carpeted corridor, and walked to the door on the left of the staircase. I knocked lightly on the door with the back of my hand, but no one answered.I knocked again, harder. There was a voice in the room.No movement could be heard, but it seemed to be a woman's voice.The voice was too weak, I couldn't make out what was said, and it was very vague, so I couldn't tell who it was. I nudged Collinson and ordered, "Call her." He tugged at the collar with his index finger, and shouted hoarsely, "Gabrielle, I'm Eric." no response. I knocked on the wooden door again and shouted, "Open the door!" The voice inside said something I couldn't understand.I started knocking and shouting again.A door opened in the corridor, and an old gentleman with thinning hair and a disheveled face poked his head out and asked, "What's the matter?" "Fuck, none of your business," I said, and continued pounding on the door. The voice inside the door is now loud enough to be heard complaining, but the content is still unknown.I yanked on the doorknob and found it unlocked.I pulled again, opening the door an inch or so.The sound is clearer now.I heard soft footsteps on the floor, and a sob.I pushed open the door. Eric Collinson let out a low cry from his throat, which sounded like someone screaming from afar. Gabrielle Leggett stood by the bed, swaying slightly, one hand clutching the white rail at the end of the bed.Her face was pale as stone, her eyes were all brown, dull and absent-minded, and her narrow forehead was tightly wrinkled.She seemed to know that there was something in front of her, and she was also thinking about it in her mind.She was wearing yellow stockings on one foot, a brown velvet skirt that she had apparently worn in bed, and a yellow shirt over her bodice.A pair of brown slippers, another silk stocking, a gold and brown shirt, a brown coat, and a brown and yellow hat were scattered about the room. Everything else in the room was white: white wallpaper and white-painted ceiling; white glazed chairs, bed, table, fixtures—even the telephone—white wood upholstery; felt.None of it was hospital furniture, but the all white gave the illusion.There were two windows in the room, and there were two other doors besides the one I opened, the one on the left leading to the bathroom, and the one on the right being a small dressing room. I pushed Collinson into the room, followed him in, and closed the door.There is no key or lockhole on the door, and there is no device that can be locked.Collinson stood staring at the girl with a slack jaw and eyes as loose as hers, though even uglier than her.She leaned against the end of the bed, on that dead white and confused face, a pair of dark and empty eyes looked at nothingness. I put my arms around her, made her sit on the edge of the bed, and told Collinson, "Put her clothes away." I told him twice before he came back to himself. He handed me her clothes and I started to help her dress them.He dug his fingers into my shoulder in protest, sounding like I was looting the poor box. "No! You can't—" "What the hell is it?" I asked, pushing his hand away. "You can do it if you want." He was sweating, gulping, and stammering, "No... no! I can't... this is too—" He stopped and walked to the window. "She told me you were an idiot," I said behind his back before I realized I had put my blond brown top on her inside out.She didn't cooperate at all, she was like a wax figure, but at least she didn't struggle when I pulled her around, and she just stayed in that position obediently. By the time I helped her put on her coat and hat, Collinson had come back from the window and started muttering questions.What happened to her?Should we get a doctor?Is it safe to take her out?And as soon as I stood up, he dragged her away, put his long, strong arms around her, and muttered, "Gabrielle, I'm Eric. Don't you recognize me?" Talk to me. What's the matter, dear?" "She's fine, she's just drugged up." I said, "Don't wake her up. We'll see when we get her home. You hold her with this arm, and I'll hold the other. She should still be able to walk. If If we bump into someone, just keep going, and I'll deal with them. Let's go." I met no one on the road.We walked to the elevator, went down to the ground floor, and walked up the street through the vestibule without seeing anyone. We went downstairs to the car where I wanted Mickey to stay. "You're fine today." I told him. "Okay, see you tomorrow." He said and left. Collinson and I got into the convertible and sat between the girl and he started the car. We passed three blocks, and he asked, "Are you sure it's better for her to go home?" I said I'm sure.He drove five blocks in silence, then repeated the same question and mentioned the hospital. "How about going to the newspaper?" I teased. After another three blocks, he broke the silence again: "I know a doctor who—" "I've got business to do," I said, "and Miss Leggett is doing me a favor by staying home, the way Miss Leggett is. So she must go home." He frowned and accused me angrily: "You let her reputation be damaged, embarrassing, and her life was in danger, just to—" "Her life is as safe as yours and mine, except that the amount of drugs ingested slightly exceeds the body's load. And she asked for it, I didn't give it to her." We're talking about a girl sitting between us, alive and breathing - eyes wide open - but oblivious to what's going on, as if in a foreign country. We were supposed to turn right at the next intersection, but Collinson kept going straight and sped up to forty-five miles an hour, staring straight ahead, his face hardened with rage. "Turn at the next intersection." I ordered. "No," he said, and didn't really turn.The speedometer now reads fifty miles an hour, and people on the sidewalk look sideways as our car roars by. "So what do you want?" I asked, pulling my hands away from the girl. "We're going to the southern peninsula," he said firmly, "she can't go home in this situation." "Really?" I growled, and quickly grabbed the steering wheel with my free hand.He slapped my hand aside, grabbing the roulette with one hand and extending the other to block me when I struck again. "Don't do it," he warned me, picking up another six miles an hour. "You know what's going to happen to us if you try again." I cursed him aloud, in a high-pitched voice, all the way and all from my heart.His face was turned towards me, righteous indignation written all over it.I think it may be because I have used the wrong words in front of a lady. And so it happened. A blue car pulled out just as we were about to reach the cross street ahead.Collinson got his eyes and attention on the drive just in time to get the convertible clear of the sedan, but it was too late to do it perfectly, missing the sedan by only a few inches.And just as we passed behind that car, the rear tires started to spin.Collinson did his best to keep the front of the car in the direction of the skid, but the curb at the intersection didn't cooperate, and it just stuck there.We rammed sideways onto the gas lamp post behind the curb.The lamppost snapped with a bang and fell to the sidewalk.The convertible flipped over and threw us all against the lamppost.At our feet, gas gushed from where the pillar had broken. Nearly half of Collinson's face had been scraped away.He crawled back on all fours and turned off the engine of the convertible.I sat up straight and pulled the girl who was lying on my chest up together.I lost feeling in my right shoulder and arm from the impact.There was a gurgling noise from the girl's chest, but apart from a shallow scar on the side of her face, I couldn't see any other wounds.I acted as her shield and helped her bear the shock.My chest, stomach, and back were so sore, and my right shoulder and arm were limp.It can be seen that I am her savior. Pedestrians helped us up.Collinson stopped with his arms around the girl, begging her to say something like she wasn't dead.The overturn knocked her out of her mind a little, but she still didn't know if there had been a car accident or what.I went over and helped Collinson get her back up—though neither of them needed help—and said earnestly to the crowd, "We've got to take her home. Can anyone—" A stocky man in golf pants offered to help.Collinson and I dragged the girl into the back of his car, and I gave the chunky man her address.He mentioned the name of a hospital, but I insisted that it was best for her to go home.Collinson was in a bad mood and kept silent.Twenty minutes later, we pulled the girl from the car to the front of the house.I kept thanking the dumpy man, but didn't give him a chance to follow us through the door.
Notes:
From the street, the Temple of the Grail looks exactly like it was designed to be, a six-story yellow brick apartment building.It can't be seen from the outside that it has any functional changes now.I let Collinson pass the building and round the corner, and I saw Mitch Linehan's massive body leaning against the stone wall.When the car stopped on the side of the road, he came over. "The nigga left ten minutes ago," he reported. "Dick followed. No one who came out looked like the one you listed." "You stay in the car and watch the door." I told him, "We're going in right now," I said to Collinson, "and I'll talk when it's time to talk." When we walked to the gate of the temple, I had to remind him: "Don't pant so hard, it should be fine." I ring the doorbell.Immediately a broad-shouldered, stout woman in her late fifties opened the door.I'm five foot six and she's a full three inches taller, her cheeks puffed out, but neither her eyes nor her lips show a hint of softness or relaxation.Her midriff is long and shaved.She was dressed in black, from her chin and earlobe to less than an inch from the floor, was tightly wrapped in black cloth. "We want to see Miss Leggett," I said. She pretended not to understand. "We want to see Miss Leggett," I repeated, "Miss Gabrielle Leggett." "I don't know her." Her voice was very low, "but please come in." She reluctantly ushered us into a small, dimly lit reception room off the front hall, told us to wait there, and left. "Who is this country blacksmith?" I asked Collinson. Collinson said he didn't know it.He paced the room restlessly, and I sat down.The curtains were drawn, so there wasn't much light for me to see what was in the room, but the carpet was thick and soft, and the looming furniture was generally more luxurious than solemn. There was no sound in the building save for Collinson's restless wandering footsteps.I looked at the open door and saw someone watching.A little boy of twelve or thirteen stood staring at us, his big dark eyes seeming to glow in the half-darkness. "Hello, kid." I said. Collinson jumped in surprise at my voice. The boy said nothing.He stared at us for at least half a minute, his eyes blinked, his expression dazed and bewildered.Only children can have this look.Then he turned and walked away, as quietly as he had appeared. "Who's that?" I asked Collinson. "It should be Manuel, the son of the Haltons. I haven't seen him before." Collinson paced up and down.I still sat looking towards the door.Not long after, a woman walked silently across the thick carpet to the door, and then into the reception room.She was tall and elegant, with dark eyes like the boy's, which seemed to radiate light.That was all I could see clearly at the time. I stand up. She said to Collinson, "Hello, Mr. Collinson, isn't it?" I've never heard such a pleasant voice as hers. Collinson muttered something, and introduced me to her as Mrs. Halton.She held out her hand to me, her palm warm and strong.Then she crossed the room and drew aside the curtains on one side to let in the afternoon sun.I blinked in the sudden bright light as she took my seat and asked us to do the same. I noticed her eyes first.Quite large, warm and almost black, surrounded by thick eyelashes of the same color.The eyes were the only thing alive, human, and real in her face. Her olive oval face contained warmth and beauty, but apart from the eyes, that warmth and beauty seemed beyond reality.Her face seemed not to be a face, but a mask that resembled her real face.Even her admirable lips didn't look like flesh, more like an over-perfect imitation, softer and redder than real lips, warmer perhaps, but not real.Over this face, or mask, black hair was combed tightly, parted in the middle, pulled back along the temples and over the ears, and tied in a knot at the nape of the neck.Her neck seemed long and powerful, and her figure was tall and plump; her dark silk was soft and close to her body. I said: "Mrs. Halton, we want to see Miss Leggett." "How did you expect her to be here?" she asked curiously. "It's not an important question, is it?" I replied quickly, before Collinson could say the wrong thing. "She's here, and we want to see her." "I'm afraid not," she said slowly. "Gabrielle is not feeling well. She came here to recuperate mainly because she wanted to avoid people for a while." "I'm sorry," I said, "but we have to see her. We wouldn't call like this if it wasn't important." "Is it important?" "right." She hesitated for a moment, said: "Okay, I'll go and have a look." Then she left. "I wouldn't mind moving here myself," I said to Collinson. He didn't listen to what I was saying, his face flushed with excitement. "Gabrielle might not like it when we come in like this," he said. "That would be too bad," I replied. Eronia Halton is back. "It's a real pity," she said, standing in the doorway, smiling politely, "but Miss Leggett doesn't want to see you." "I'm sorry too," I said, "but we must see." She straightened up, the smile gone. "Excuse me again?" she asked. "We've got to see her," I repeated, keeping my tone amiable. "As I said, it's a big deal." "Sorry," even the coldness couldn't damage the beauty of that voice, "you can't see her." I said: "As you probably know, Miss Leggett is an important witness in a robbery and murder, and we must see her. If you insist, I will be more than willing to wait half an hour for the police to take you." Authorization papers approved. We need to see her." Collinson mumbled something that sounded like an apology. Eronia Halton bowed slightly with an almost imperceptible movement. "Please," she said coldly, "I really don't want you to disturb her regardless of her wishes. If you ask my permission, I will still refuse. Of course, if you insist, I can't stop you." "Thank you. Where is she?" "Her room is on the fifth floor, to the left of the stairs." She nodded slightly again, and walked away. Collinson put his hand on my arm and murmured, "Don't know if I'm--is it right for us to do this. Gabrielle won't be happy, she'll--" "As you please!" I yelled. "I'm going up anyway. She might not like it, but I wouldn't like it if the witnesses ran out and hid while I was chasing the stolen diamonds." He frowned, bit his lip, and changed several embarrassing expressions, but he still followed me.We found an automatic elevator, went up to the fifth floor, stepped on a long purple carpeted corridor, and walked to the door on the left of the staircase. I knocked lightly on the door with the back of my hand, but no one answered.I knocked again, harder. There was a voice in the room.No movement could be heard, but it seemed to be a woman's voice.The voice was too weak, I couldn't make out what was said, and it was very vague, so I couldn't tell who it was. I nudged Collinson and ordered, "Call her." He tugged at the collar with his index finger, and shouted hoarsely, "Gabrielle, I'm Eric." no response. I knocked on the wooden door again and shouted, "Open the door!" The voice inside said something I couldn't understand.I started knocking and shouting again.A door opened in the corridor, and an old gentleman with thinning hair and a disheveled face poked his head out and asked, "What's the matter?" "Fuck, none of your business," I said, and continued pounding on the door. The voice inside the door is now loud enough to be heard complaining, but the content is still unknown.I yanked on the doorknob and found it unlocked.I pulled again, opening the door an inch or so.The sound is clearer now.I heard soft footsteps on the floor, and a sob.I pushed open the door. Eric Collinson let out a low cry from his throat, which sounded like someone screaming from afar. Gabrielle Leggett stood by the bed, swaying slightly, one hand clutching the white rail at the end of the bed.Her face was pale as stone, her eyes were all brown, dull and absent-minded, and her narrow forehead was tightly wrinkled.She seemed to know that there was something in front of her, and she was also thinking about it in her mind.She was wearing yellow stockings on one foot, a brown velvet skirt that she had apparently worn in bed, and a yellow shirt over her bodice.A pair of brown slippers, another silk stocking, a gold and brown shirt, a brown coat, and a brown and yellow hat were scattered about the room. Everything else in the room was white: white wallpaper and white-painted ceiling; white glazed chairs, bed, table, fixtures—even the telephone—white wood upholstery; felt.None of it was hospital furniture, but the all white gave the illusion.There were two windows in the room, and there were two other doors besides the one I opened, the one on the left leading to the bathroom, and the one on the right being a small dressing room. I pushed Collinson into the room, followed him in, and closed the door.There is no key or lockhole on the door, and there is no device that can be locked.Collinson stood staring at the girl with a slack jaw and eyes as loose as hers, though even uglier than her.She leaned against the end of the bed, on that dead white and confused face, a pair of dark and empty eyes looked at nothingness. I put my arms around her, made her sit on the edge of the bed, and told Collinson, "Put her clothes away." I told him twice before he came back to himself. He handed me her clothes and I started to help her dress them.He dug his fingers into my shoulder in protest, sounding like I was looting the poor box. "No! You can't—" "What the hell is it?" I asked, pushing his hand away. "You can do it if you want." He was sweating, gulping, and stammering, "No... no! I can't... this is too—" He stopped and walked to the window. "She told me you were an idiot," I said behind his back before I realized I had put my blond brown top on her inside out.She didn't cooperate at all, she was like a wax figure, but at least she didn't struggle when I pulled her around, and she just stayed in that position obediently. By the time I helped her put on her coat and hat, Collinson had come back from the window and started muttering questions.What happened to her?Should we get a doctor?Is it safe to take her out?And as soon as I stood up, he dragged her away, put his long, strong arms around her, and muttered, "Gabrielle, I'm Eric. Don't you recognize me?" Talk to me. What's the matter, dear?" "She's fine, she's just drugged up." I said, "Don't wake her up. We'll see when we get her home. You hold her with this arm, and I'll hold the other. She should still be able to walk. If If we bump into someone, just keep going, and I'll deal with them. Let's go." I met no one on the road.We walked to the elevator, went down to the ground floor, and walked up the street through the vestibule without seeing anyone. We went downstairs to the car where I wanted Mickey to stay. "You're fine today." I told him. "Okay, see you tomorrow." He said and left. Collinson and I got into the convertible and sat between the girl and he started the car. We passed three blocks, and he asked, "Are you sure it's better for her to go home?" I said I'm sure.He drove five blocks in silence, then repeated the same question and mentioned the hospital. "How about going to the newspaper?" I teased. After another three blocks, he broke the silence again: "I know a doctor who—" "I've got business to do," I said, "and Miss Leggett is doing me a favor by staying home, the way Miss Leggett is. So she must go home." He frowned and accused me angrily: "You let her reputation be damaged, embarrassing, and her life was in danger, just to—" "Her life is as safe as yours and mine, except that the amount of drugs ingested slightly exceeds the body's load. And she asked for it, I didn't give it to her." We're talking about a girl sitting between us, alive and breathing - eyes wide open - but oblivious to what's going on, as if in a foreign country. We were supposed to turn right at the next intersection, but Collinson kept going straight and sped up to forty-five miles an hour, staring straight ahead, his face hardened with rage. "Turn at the next intersection." I ordered. "No," he said, and didn't really turn.The speedometer now reads fifty miles an hour, and people on the sidewalk look sideways as our car roars by. "So what do you want?" I asked, pulling my hands away from the girl. "We're going to the southern peninsula," he said firmly, "she can't go home in this situation." "Really?" I growled, and quickly grabbed the steering wheel with my free hand.He slapped my hand aside, grabbing the roulette with one hand and extending the other to block me when I struck again. "Don't do it," he warned me, picking up another six miles an hour. "You know what's going to happen to us if you try again." I cursed him aloud, in a high-pitched voice, all the way and all from my heart.His face was turned towards me, righteous indignation written all over it.I think it may be because I have used the wrong words in front of a lady. And so it happened. A blue car pulled out just as we were about to reach the cross street ahead.Collinson got his eyes and attention on the drive just in time to get the convertible clear of the sedan, but it was too late to do it perfectly, missing the sedan by only a few inches.And just as we passed behind that car, the rear tires started to spin.Collinson did his best to keep the front of the car in the direction of the skid, but the curb at the intersection didn't cooperate, and it just stuck there.We rammed sideways onto the gas lamp post behind the curb.The lamppost snapped with a bang and fell to the sidewalk.The convertible flipped over and threw us all against the lamppost.At our feet, gas gushed from where the pillar had broken. Nearly half of Collinson's face had been scraped away.He crawled back on all fours and turned off the engine of the convertible.I sat up straight and pulled the girl who was lying on my chest up together.I lost feeling in my right shoulder and arm from the impact.There was a gurgling noise from the girl's chest, but apart from a shallow scar on the side of her face, I couldn't see any other wounds.I acted as her shield and helped her bear the shock.My chest, stomach, and back were so sore, and my right shoulder and arm were limp.It can be seen that I am her savior. Pedestrians helped us up.Collinson stopped with his arms around the girl, begging her to say something like she wasn't dead.The overturn knocked her out of her mind a little, but she still didn't know if there had been a car accident or what.I went over and helped Collinson get her back up—though neither of them needed help—and said earnestly to the crowd, "We've got to take her home. Can anyone—" A stocky man in golf pants offered to help.Collinson and I dragged the girl into the back of his car, and I gave the chunky man her address.He mentioned the name of a hospital, but I insisted that it was best for her to go home.Collinson was in a bad mood and kept silent.Twenty minutes later, we pulled the girl from the car to the front of the house.I kept thanking the dumpy man, but didn't give him a chance to follow us through the door.
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