Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1931-02-24

futile than the sort of anger that pos
seSsed Peter, but every one does yield
to 1t from time to time; the sort OF
anger in which jealousy, and resent
ment. and a sense of being, really, in
the wrong, are all component parts
together with score of other confused
emotions.
So there he stayed. turning and toss
Ing. drawing UP, perfecting, his silly
arrogant indictment Of Martha Thayer
and making UP his mind for the
dozenth time that he was through with
her for good and all He knew, OF
course, how absurd it was for him to
make any such resolution. Really. he
was just living through the night as
best he could, waiting for morning to
come. Shed call him up, probably, be-
tween 9 and 10; that was the way ii
was, usually, at times like these.
Even in his anger, even as he re-
hearsed his grievances, Peter was antic-
ipating that telephone call. He'd
know. when the bell rang. that it
was she; she always did. Then he'd
hear her throaty, husky voice in his
some particularly outrageous and I'M
forgivable thing the night before, and
all he'd really care about would be
whether she was going to have time,
that day, to see him.
She wouldn't ask to be forgiven, of
course. But he'd hear the contrition in
her voice, though there'd be deep,
chuckling laughter in 1t. too; that, and
her amused, tolerant understanding Of
the bad temper he'd been in. And the
whole structure Of his just complaints
and his offended pride would go
tumbling down. like a house Of cards
that had been built up too high.
But, of course, 1t wasn't after day.
light that she called him this time.
IT was right then, in the middle of the
night, while his helpless anger still
ruled him, that the bell beside his bed
rang out, with the sinister, terrifying
note a telephone call in the middle of
the night always does have, no matter
how sensible one is about such things.
Peter" Martha'S voice was queer.
IL wasn't shrill with fright, at all: it
was as deep and throaty and beautiful
as II always was. But he could hear
fright N 1t, Just the same, and even
horror-tust in that repetition of his
name Peter Can you come up here
right away? I've just come in. Some
thing frightful has happened. Some
Tack? Killed." Peter echoed,
stupidity.
Yes. He's been shot. Can you come
right away, Peter"
He'd switched on the light, by that
time; 1T helped to steady him.
"Of counsel" he said "But-Martha
wait a Second-what have you done?
Have you called the police?"
No. I've just called you Can you
tell them for me? And then come your
self-come quickly
That was all. He got police head
quarters on the wire right away, but il
was long time before he could stop
talking and begin getting dressed. He
was passed on from one thin,
disembodied voice TO another and all
asked him the same maddeningly
futile questions. Who was he, where
was ne? How did he. away downtown.
come 10 be reporting a murder that
had taken place miles uptown? One
man asked him, insistently, two Of three
times, how he knew 1t was murder
anyway, and not suicide; you might
have thought. IT seemed TO him, that he
was a mischievous boy who'd been
caught turning in a false alarm Of fire
II didn't. at the time, so much as &C.
cur TO him that senseless, maddenine
iteration and reiteration OF stupid
questions had any purpose or design
that it was. perhaps, part OF cal
culated routine.
Even LAul1k up AidOC o. y
work of getting into his clothes; hc
was awkward and clumsy. He was be-
ginning to realize the stark horror 0!
what Martha had told him, TO antici'
pate what he would find when M
reached the pent house where she anc
Tack lived, way over East in the
hfties. He kept seeing Tack Thayel
and trying 10 grasp the fact that h
was dead.
He'd seen Tack, very much alive, no
so very many hours ago. He'd haC
lunch at the Yale Club with Georg'
Garrison. and Tack had been at an.
other table They'd waved to one an
other; he wished, now. that he'd gon'
over and spoken TO him. Ones minC
works oddly at such times. And-too
he'd expected TO see Tack this evening
only Of course, as things had turned
out he hadn't
But he didn't really grasp the fac
that Tack was dead. II wasn't i'm
aginable that he should be, and still
less was 1t imaginable that any on
should have killed him. 1t didn't max
sense Who on earth would want u
kill Tack Thayer, and why? He WASH
the sort of man any one would dream
Of killing. No one, just for one thing
would take him seriously enough
Peter caught himself UP, sharply, q