Chapter 9 Chapter Nine The Despicable

After Janet Henry left, Ned Beaumont walked to the phone and dialed Jack Ronson's number.After finding the other party, he said: "Jack, can you come over?...Okay, goodbye." He had already changed when Jack arrived.They sat facing each other, each holding a glass of bourbon and mineral water, Ned Beaumont smoking a cigar, Jack smoking a cigarette. Ned Beaumont asked, "Did you hear that Paul broke up with me?" "I heard," said Jack, in a nonchalant tone. "Do you have any idea?" "No. I remember the last time you broke up, it ended up being a trap for Shad O'Leary."

Ned Beaumont smiled as if he had expected the answer. "Does everyone think so this time?" "Many people are like this," said the neat and handsome young man. Ned Beaumont took a sip of his cigar slowly and asked, "What if I told you that this time it was for real?" Jack didn't speak, and his expression didn't reveal any thoughts. Ned Beaumont said, "It's true." He took a sip of his drink. "How much more should I pay you?" "Miss Mazvi's matter is still thirty dollars short, and everything else has been paid." Ned Beaumont took a roll of bills from his trousers pocket, pulled out three ten-dollar bills, and handed them to Jack.

Jack said, "Thanks." Ned Beaumont said, "There's nothing left to do now." He took a puff on his cigar, and the smoke puffed out as he spoke, "I have one more job to do: I'm going to find out that Paul committed the Tyler Henry murder. He told me he did it, but I need some proof. Will you help me with this job?" Jack said, "No." "why?" The dusky boy stood up and put the empty glass on the table. "Fred's and my little private eye business here is doing fine," he said, "and in two or three years we'll be doing better. I like you, Beaumont, but not enough to dare Go mess with the man who runs the city."

Ned Beaumont said calmly: "He's almost finished. His men are ready to abandon him, Farr and Lennie and—" "Whatever they are, I don't want to join that ranks. I think when the time comes, they will make it. Maybe they will throw him a stone or two, but to really bring him down is another matter. You want more than I Knowing him, you know he's got more flair than all the rest put together." "He's got guts, and that's what's killing him. Well, if you don't want to do it, don't do it." "I don't want to do it," said Jack, and picked up his hat. "Anything else I'd be happy to do, but—" he ended the sentence with a simple gesture.

Ned Beaumont stood up, and there was no trace of resentment in his attitude and tone: "I guess you probably think so too." He smoothed his mustache with his thumb, thought, and looked at Jack, "Maybe you can tell One thing for me: Where can I find Shad?" Jack shook his head. "Ever since his place was raided for the third time—two cops were killed that time—he's been hiding from the limelight, but the police don't seem to blame him." He took the cigarette out of his mouth, "Yes 'Whiskey' Vasos?" "I know." "If you know him well enough, you might be able to ask him. He's in the city. Go to Tim Walker's in Smith Street at night and you can get him sometimes."

"Thanks, Jack. I'll try." "It's a small thing," said Jack, hesitating again. "I'm so sorry you and Mazvi broke up. I hope you—" He paused, and turned toward the door, "know what you're doing. .” Ned Beaumont went to the ADA office.This time he entered Farr's office without any prevarication. Farr sat behind his desk and didn't get up, and he didn't intend to shake his hand.He said, "How are you, Beaumont? Sit down." His voice was cold and polite, his combative face was less red than usual, and his eyes were calm and stern.

Ned Beaumont sat down, crossed his legs comfortably, and said, "I want to tell you what happened when I went to see Paul after I left here yesterday." "Oh?" Farr sounded cold and polite. "I told him how I found you—in a panic." Ned Beaumont continued, laughing as friendly as he could, in the way one talks about innocuous things, "I told him you seemed too daring to think Blaming him for Tyler Henry's murder. He believed me at first, but when I told him the only way to save himself was to hand over the real murderer, he said it was wrong. He said, he The real murderer, although according to him, it was an accident or self-defense."

Farr's face turned pale, the muscles at the corners of his lips stiffened, but he said nothing. Ned Beaumont raised his eyebrows. "It's boring listening to me, isn't it?" "Go ahead, go ahead." The prosecutor said coldly. Ned leaned back in his chair and smiled mockingly. "You think I'm joking, don't you? You think we're playing tricks on you." He shook his head and muttered, "You're such a coward, Farr." Farr said, "I'd love to hear anything you tell us, but I'm very busy, so I have to ask you—" Ned laughed and responded, "Well, I thought you'd probably want a statement or something."

"Excellent." Farr pressed a pearl-coloured button on the desk.A gray-haired woman in a green dress enters. "Mr. Beaumont wants to dictate a transcript," Farr told her. She said, "Okay, sir," and sat down across Farr's desk with a silver pencil in her hand on her notebook and her brown, emotionless eyes looking inside. De Beaumont. He said: "Yesterday afternoon in his office in the Nebel Building, Paul Mazvi told me that he had gone to dinner at Senator Henry's house the night Tyler Henry was killed. He and Tyler Henry had some unpleasantness there. After he left, Tyler Henry came after him and tried to hit him with a rough, heavy brown cane. While trying to take Tyler Henry's cane away, he accidentally hit him with the cane His forehead, knocked him to the ground. Then he took the cane and burned it. He said the only reason he hid the manslaughter of Tyler Henry was because he didn't want Janet Henry to know. That's it."

Farr told the stenographer, "Go and sort it out right now." She leaves the office. Ned Beaumont said, "I thought you'd be thrilled to hear the news." He sighed, "I thought your hair would stand on end." The prosecutor looked at him firmly. Beaumont said nonchalantly, "I thought you'd at least get Paul to face this—" He waved his hand. "'Devastating revelation' is a good term." The prosecutor said in a restrained tone: "Please don't interfere with my authority." Ned Beaumont laughed again, and fell silent again until the gray-haired stenographer entered with a typescript of his dictation.Then he asked, "Should I take an oath?"

"No," Farr said, "just sign it, and that's it." Ned Beaumont signed the paper. "Not as much fun as I thought it would be," he grumbled happily. Farr's protruding jaw tightened. "Yeah," he said with an eerie satisfaction, "I don't think it's going to be funny." "You're a coward, Farr," repeated Ned Beaumont. "Beware of taxis when crossing the street." He bowed. "See you next time." When he went out, he grimaced angrily. That night Ned Beaumont rang the doorbell of a dark three-story building on Smith Street.A short man with a small head and thick shoulders opened the door half a foot, said, "Okay," and opened the door all the way. "Hello," said Ned Beaumont, going in, walking twenty feet down the dim corridor, past two closed doors on the right.He opened a door on the left and walked up a flight of wooden steps into the basement.There was a bar underneath, and the radio played softly. Next to the bar was a frosted-glass door marked "Wash Room."The door opened, and a man stepped out, darkly complexioned, with the slope of his shoulders, the length of his arms, his flat face, and the curvature of his legs, making him look a bit like an ape—it was Jeff Gardner . His little red eyes lit up at the sight of Ned Beaumont. "Ha, God knows, isn't this Beaumont who's 'unbeaten'?" He laughed, showing his beautiful false teeth. Ned Beaumont said, "Hello, Jeff," and everyone stared at them. Jeff strode up to Ned Beaumont, put his left arm around his shoulders, and grabbed his right hand with his right hand, announcing cheerfully to the crowd, "That's the silliest guy I've ever fixed, and I'm Well done to him." He pulled Ned Beaumont up to the bar. "We'll have a drink, and then I'll show you how I fixed him. God, I'll show you !" He looked closely into Ned Beaumont's face. "What do you think, man?" Ned Beaumont looked numbly at the dark, ugly face that was a little shorter than him, and said, "Scotch." Jeff laughed heartily, and announced again to the crowd: "Look—he likes this, he's a—" He hesitated, frowning, licking his lips, "a bloody masochist, that's all. He gave Ned Beaumont a sideways look. "Do you know what masochism is?" "Know." Jeff looked disappointed. "A glass of rye," he told the bartender.When the wine was in front of them, he let go of Ned Beaumont's hand, but kept his arm around his shoulder.They drank and Jeff put down his glass and put his hand on Ned Beaumont's wrist. "I have a place upstairs where we can go one-on-one," he said, "and the room is so small you can't fall over and I can bounce you all over the walls so we don't have to waste a lot of time Wait until you get up from the floor." "I'll pay for the drinks," said Ned Beaumont. "Not a bad idea," Jeff agreed. They drank again. After Ned Beaumont paid for his drink, Jeff led him toward the stairs. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he said to the others at the bar. "We've got to go up and practice some kicks." He patted Ned Beaumont on the shoulder. "Me and my sweetheart." They climbed two flights of stairs and entered a small room with a couch, two tables, and half a dozen chairs crammed in.On one table were empty glasses and plates of leftover sandwiches. Jeff narrowed his eyes and looked at the room carefully, and then asked, "Damn it, where is she now?" He let go of Ned Beaumont's wrist, pulled back the arm around his shoulder, and asked, " There's not a single bitch here, is there?" "right." Jeff nodded dramatically up and down. "She's gone," he said, taking a step back, jabbing an electric bell by the door with his dirty fingers, then waving his hands, bowing in a weird posture, and saying, "Please take a seat." Ned Beaumont sat down at a less cluttered table. "Which damn chair you want." Jeff made a big gesture. "If you don't like that, just sit in the other one. I want you to consider yourself my guest, and if you don't like something, just sit in it." Say." "It's a nice chair," said Ned Beaumont. "That chair is rotten," Jeff said. "You can't find a chair of value in this dump. Look." He picked up a chair and removed a front foot. "You said it was a good chair Listen, Beaumont, you don't fucking understand chairs." He put the chair down and threw its legs on the sofa. "Don't kid me, I know what's going on in your head. You think I'm drunk, yes Bar?" Ned Beaumont grinned. "No, you're not drunk." "Fuck not drunk. I'm drunker than you. I'm drunker than anyone in this dump. I'm drunk, don't think I'm drunk, but—" He held up a thick, dirty index finger. A waiter stood at the door and asked, "Is there anything wrong?" Jeff turned to face him. "Where did you go? To bed? I rang for you more than an hour ago." The waiter was about to explain when Jeff interrupted him: "I brought my best friend in the whole world here for a drink, and what happened? We had to wait a goddamn hour for a shitty waiter .No wonder he is dissatisfied with me." "What do you want?" the waiter asked nonchalantly. "I want to know where the hell is that bitch who was here just now?" "Oh, her? She's gone." "Where did you go?" "have no idea." Jeff looked angry. "Okay, you find it for me, damn it, go find it! What do you mean you don't know where she went? If it's not in this rotten tavern—" A cunning flashed into his red eyes, "I'll tell you where to go Find it. Go upstairs to the women's room and see if she's there." "Not here," said the waiter, "she has left here." "That dirty bastard!" Jeff said, turning to Ned Beaumont. "What are you going to do with a bastard like that? I brought you up here so you could meet her because I thought you'd like her and she'd like you. Turns out she's so damn arrogant and won't meet me friend, and ran away by himself.” Ned Beaumont lit his cigar and said nothing. Jeff scratched his head and snarled, "Okay, then get us some drinks." Then he sat across the table from Ned Beaumont and said savagely, "I'll have whiskey rye." "Scotch," said Ned Beaumont. The waiter leaves. Jeff stared at Ned Beaumont. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing here," he said angrily. "I didn't come here for anything," Ned Beaumont replied casually. "I wanted to see Shad. I thought I might find Whiskey Vassos here, and he would give me to Shad." "Don't you think I know where Shad is?" "You should know." "Then why didn't you ask me?" "Okay. Where is he?" Jeff slapped the table hard and shouted: "You liar, you don't care where Shad is, you are looking for me." Ned Beaumont smiled and shook his head. "You are!" said the ape-looking man. "Damn it, you know very well—" A man of early middle age, with thick red lips and round eyes, came to the door and said, "Stop it, Jeff. You're making more noise than anyone here." Jeff twisted in his chair. "It's the bastard's fault," he said to the man at the door, pointing at Ned Beaumont with a crooked thumb. "He thinks I don't know what he's up to here. I know what he's up to, he's a scumbag, No compromises. I intend to give him a good meal, no compromises." The man at the door said reasonably, "Well, then you don't need to make such a fuss." Then he winked at Ned Beaumont and left. "Tim's turned into a scumbag too," Jeff said grimly. He spat on the floor. The waiter came in with their drinks. Ned Beaumont raised his glass, said, "To you," and drank it. Jeff said, "I don't want to respect you, you're a bastard." He stared darkly at Ned Beaumont. "You're crazy." "You're lying. I'm drunk, but not so drunk that I don't know what you're doing." He drank the wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "And I think you're an asshole." Ned Beaumont smiled kindly. "Well, say what you want." Jeff's simian nose moved forward a little. "You think you're very clever, don't you?" Ned Beaumont said nothing. "Come here and knock me down so I can be handed over. You think it's a fucking good trap, don't you?" "Yes," said Ned Beaumont indifferently, "you have Francis West's murder in you, don't you?" "Damn Francis West," Jeff replied. Ned Beaumont shrugged. "I don't know him." Jeff said, "You're a scumbag." "I'll buy you a drink," Ned Beaumont said. The ape-like man nodded sullenly, and the chair tipped back to reach the bell.He put his finger on the bell and said, "But you're still a jerk." The chair fell back and wobbled, and he planted his feet on the ground to keep the chair from falling out. "Bastard!" he snarled, pulling the chair back to the table, putting his elbows on the table, and clenched his fist on his chin. "Why do I care who handed me over? You don't think they're going to get rid of me, do you?" ?” "why not?" "Why not? God! I don't even have to be charged. As long as it lasts until after the election, it's Shad's." "Maybe." "Maybe size!" The waiter came in and they ordered drinks. "Perhaps Shad will still make you a victim," said Ned Beaumont lazily when the waiter left. "There is a precedent for such a thing." "Not much chance," Jeff mocked. "I've got too much on him." Ned Beaumont exhaled cigar smoke. "What reason?" The ape-like man burst out laughing contemptuously and pounded the table with his fist. "Jesus!" he roared, "this man thinks I'm drunk enough to tell him." A calm voice came from the door, a melodious baritone with a slight Irish accent: "Go on, Jeff, tell him." Shad O'Leary stood in the doorway, his gray-blue eyes a little sad stared at Jeff. Jeff squinted happily at the man at the door and said, "How are you doing lately, Shad? Come in and sit down and have a drink. This is Mr. Beaumont, he's a despicable guy." O'Luo Rui said softly: "I told you not to show your face in public." "But, God, Shad, I'm killing myself! And this tavern is secret, isn't it? It's an illegal speakeasy." O'Leary stared at Jeff for a while, then turned to Beaumont. "Good night, Beaumont." "Hello, Sand." O'Lori smiled softly, nodded slightly to Jeff, and asked, "Have you gained much from him?" "Not much, I already know," Ned Beaumont replied. Jeff said, "I think you're a scumbag couple." The waiter was about to come in with their drinks, but O'Lori stopped him. "No need, they've had enough." The waiter took the wine away again.Shad O'Leary went into the room and closed the door, standing with his back against it.He said, "You talk too much, Jeff. I've told you that before." Ned Beaumont winked at Jeff deliberately. Jeff angrily said to him: "What the fuck did you take wrong!" Ned Beaumont laughed. "I'm talking to you, Jeff," O'Leary said. "God, you think I don't know?" O'Lori said: "If you do this again, I won't talk to you." Jeff stood up. "Don't be a jerk, Sand," he said. "What the hell, what's up?" He went around the table. "We've been buddies for years. You've always been my brother, and I've always been your brother." He stretched out his hands, staggering to hug him. "Of course, I'm very angry, but—" O'Lori stretched out a white hand against the monkey-like man's chest, pushing him back. "Sit down." He didn't raise his voice. Jeff's left fist slammed into O'Leary's face. O'Luo Rui flicked his head to the right, and his fist only brushed against his cheek.O'Lori's long, delicate, sculptural face is serious and calm, and his right hand is stretched behind his hip. Ned Beaumont jumped up from his chair, threw himself on O'Leary's right hand, grabbed it with both hands, and fell to his knees. Jeff, who was knocked against the wall by the momentum after the left fist, now put his hands around Shad O'Rory's throat.The simian face was yellow, distorted, and ugly, and there was no trace of drunkenness on it. "Got that revolver?" Jeff gasped. "Got it." Ned Beaumont stood up, aiming at O'Leary with the gun in his hand, and stepped back steadily. O'Lori's eyeballs protruded, his eyes were dull, and his face was swollen with spots of blood.He didn't resist the man who strangled him. Jeff turned his head and smiled at Ned Beaumont over O'Leary's shoulder.There was stupid cruelty in that big, sincere smile.His little red eyes twinkled with joy, and he said hoarsely and sincerely, "Now you see what we have to do, we have to get him." "I don't want to have anything to do with it," said Ned Beaumont, his voice even and his nostrils moving. "No?" Jeff glanced at him. "I guess you thought Shad would forget what we did." He licked his lips with his tongue. "He will, I can handle him." Ned Beaumont smiled, his mouth almost reaching his ear.Jeff began to breathe deeply and slowly, not looking at the face of the man he was holding by the throat.His coat was wrinkled at the shoulders, back and arms, and beads of sweat appeared on his dark, ugly face. Ned Beaumont was pale and panting heavily, and his temples were slightly damp with sweat.He studied Jeff's hulking shoulders and O'Leary's face. O'Lori's face turned liver-colored, his eyes were wide apart, his eyes were blank, and a blue tongue stuck out between his blue lips.His slender body twisted, and one hand began to mechanically hit the wall behind him, without strength. Jeff grinned amusedly at Ned Beaumont, not looking at the man whose throat he was holding, his legs slightly apart and his back arched.O'Lori's hands stopped hitting the wall, and he grunted twice in his throat, and then almost immediately there was another sharper sound.Then O'Leary stopped struggling, and he collapsed in Jeff's hands. Jeff laughed out of his throat. "It's done," he said.He kicked a chair out of the way and threw O'Leary's body onto the couch.O'Leary lay face down, one arm and one foot hanging to the floor.Jeff wiped his hands on his hips and faced Ned Beaumont. "I'm just a good-natured jerk," he said. "Anyone can play me any way they want, and I never fight back." Ned Beaumont said, "You used to be afraid of him." Jeff laughed. "I wish I could tell you that's true. He's a fear in everyone's heart, but I don't think you are?" He smiled again, looked around the room, and said, "Let's sneak out before someone breaks in." He Holding out a hand, "Give me the revolver, I have to throw it away." Ned Beaumont said, "No." He threw his arm across and pointed his pistol at Jeff's stomach. "We killed in self-defense, so to speak. I'll help you. That's what we say at the interrogation." "God, what a clever idea!" exclaimed Jeff. "And I've got that guy West's murder hanging around my neck!" He switches between the guns in his hand. Ned Beaumont moved his thin pale lips into a smile. "I thought of that too," he said softly. "Don't be stupid," Jeff yelled, taking a step forward, "you—" Ned Beaumont stepped back around a table. "I don't mind giving you a shot, Jeff," he said. "I owe you something, I remember." Jeff stopped, scratching the back of his head. "What the hell are you bastards?" he asked, confused. "It's for your own good." Ned Beaumont pointed his pistol forward suddenly. "Sit down." Jeff stared and hesitated for a moment, then sat down. Ned Beaumont rang the bell with his left hand. Jeff stood up. "Sit down," said Ned Beaumont. Jeff sat down. Ned Beaumont added: "Hands on the table." Jeff shook his head mockingly sad. "What a scumbag who pretends to be smart," he said. "You don't think they'll let you take me away, do you?" Ned Beaumont walked around the table and sat facing Jeff in a chair in view of the door. Jeff said, "The best thing you can do is give me the gun and hope I'll forget about your mistake. God, Ned, this is one of my places! There's no way you'll ever get out. " "Keep your hands off the rim of the ketchup bottle," said Ned Beaumont. The waiter opened the door and stared at the two of them with wide eyes. "Call Tim up," Ned Beaumont said, and to Jeff, who was about to speak, "Shut up." The waiter closed the door and hurried away. Jeff said, "Don't be silly, Ned, you're just getting a life. What's the use of you handing me over to the police? Nothing." He licked his lips with his tongue. "I know you last time We beat him up a bit, but—damn it! It wasn't my fault. I was just doing what Shad told me to do, and now I'm killing him for you?" Ned Beaumont said, "I'll punch a hole in your hand if you don't keep it away from that ketchup bottle." "You're a jerk," Jeff said. The middle-aged man with thick lips and round eyes opened the door, walked in quickly, and closed the door behind him. Ned Beaumont said, "Jeff killed O'Leary. Call the cops, you've got time to clear the place before they come. Better get a doctor too, maybe he's still alive." Jeff sneered disdainfully: "He's not dead, so I'm still the Pope." He suppressed his smile, and said to the thick-mouthed man nonchalantly: "This guy thinks you'll let him get away, what do you think? Tell him , what chance does he have of getting out unscathed, Tim." Tim stared at the body on the couch. He looked at Jeff, then at Beaumont.His round eyes were very calm, and he said slowly to Ned Beaumont: "This situation is not good for our shop. Shall we drag him into the street and let him be found there?" " Ned Beaumont shook his head. "You'll be fine if you clear the scene before the police arrive. I'll try my best to help you." Tim was hesitating when Jeff said, "Listen, Tim, you know me, you know—" "For God's sake, be quiet," Tim said dryly. Ned Beaumont laughed. "Now that Sand is dead, Jeff, no one knows you." "Really?" The monkey-like man leaned back comfortably in the chair with a calm expression on his face. "Okay, hand me over to the police. Now that I know what you sons of bitches are, I admit it and won't fucking beg you for mercy." Tim ignored Jeff and asked, "Does this have to be done?" Ned Beaumont nodded. "I guess I'm fine with that," Tim said, and put his hand on the doorknob. "Could you check if Jeff has a gun for me?" Ned Beaumont demanded. Tim shook his head. "Things happen here, but it's none of my business, and I don't intend to interfere." He went out after finishing speaking. Jeff lolled back and sat comfortably in his chair, his hands empty on the table in front of him.He was talking to Ned Beaumont until the police came in.He went on and on, calling Ned Beaumont a lot of obscenities and pure insults, and accusing him of various crimes. Ned Beaumont listened with polite interest. The first policeman to enter was a skinny white-haired man in a captain's uniform, followed by several police detectives. "Hello, Brett. I think he has a gun," said Ned Beaumont. "What's going on here?" Brett asked, looking at the corpse on the sofa.Two detectives pushed past him and grabbed Jeff Gardner. Ned Beaumont told Brett what had happened.He told the truth, except that he hinted that O'Luo Rui was killed in the fierce fight between the two, rather than being disarmed. While Ned Beaumont was speaking, a doctor came in, straightened O'Leary's body on the couch, examined it a little, and stood up.The captain looked at him. "Dead." The doctor said, walking out of the crowded small room. Jeff gleefully cursed the two detectives who were holding him.Each time he cursed, one of the detectives punched him in the face.Jeff laughed, still cursing.His dentures had been knocked out and his mouth was dripping with blood. Ned Beaumont handed Brett the dead man's revolver and stood up. "Do you need me to go to the headquarters together? Or tomorrow?" "Better go now," Brett replied. It was past midnight when Ned Beaumont left police headquarters.He said goodnight to the two reporters who followed him and got into a taxi.The address he gave the driver was the home of Paul Mazvi. The first floor of Mazvi's house was brightly lit.No sooner had Ned Beaumont climbed the front steps than Mrs. Mazvey opened the door from the inside.She was dressed in black with a shawl around her shoulders. He said, "Oh, mother. Why are you up so late?" "I thought it was Paul coming back," she said, but she didn't look disappointed when she saw him. "He hasn't come home yet? I'm looking for him." He stared at her sharply. "What's wrong?" The old woman pulled the door and stepped back. "Come in, Ned." He went in. "Opal wanted to kill himself," she said, closing the door. He lowered his eyes and murmured, "What? What do you mean?" "She cut her wrist when the nurse wasn't paying attention, but she didn't bleed too much. As long as you don't try again, you'll be fine." Her demeanor and voice were a little fragile. Ned Beaumont's voice was unsteady. "Where are the Pauls?" "I don't know. We couldn't find him. He should have gone home. I don't know where he went." Her bony hand gripped Ned Beaumont's upper arm, her voice shaking slightly. "Are you...you and Paul?" She paused, squeezing Ned's arm tightly. He shook his head. "That's better." "Oh, Ned, boy, is there any way you can make it up? You and him—" She stopped again. He looked up at her with moist eyes, and said softly, "No, Mom, it's better for us to go our separate ways. Has he talked to you about it?" "He only mentioned one thing to me. I told him at the time that I called you when the people from the District Attorney's Office were here, and he told me not to do it again, saying that you—you are no longer His friend." Ned Beaumont cleared his throat. "Listen, Ma, tell him I came to see him. Said I'd be at home waiting for him all night." He coughed dryly again, and added weakly, "Just tell him so." Mrs. Mazve put her thin hands on his shoulders. "You're a good boy, Ned. I don't want you and Paul to quarrel. Whatever your quarrel, you're his best friend. What's your quarrel about? Is that Janet—" "Ask Paul," he said bitterly, shaking his head impatiently, "I'm leaving, Mom, unless you and Opal need my help, is there?" "No, but would you like to go and see Opal? She's still up. It might help to talk to her. She always listens to you." He shook his head. "No," he said, "and she—" he swallowed, "wouldn't want to see me."