“I’ll take her—” I saw Winchester’s face, wine-flushed, angry rather
than concerned. “Come, Thalia.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll be all right—now.” But she moved ahead of me so
swiftly that I couldn’t touch her. I thought she tried to close her door
against me, but I was too quick for that. The silver candelabra still
burned above the mirrors. “Mary!” Her voice was low again as she spoke a
telephone number. “Tell him _at once_.” She stood away from me, her face
a white mask with spots of scarlet, her peacock dress ashimmer. I did as
I was bid and when I had said, “Mrs. Corson wishes you at once,” there
was an emptiness where a man’s voice had come which suggested a sudden
leap out of a room somewhere.
“I can never get in again!” Her fingers curled under the chiffon scarf.
“Never! The black agony of fighting back—If he—” She bent her head,
listening. “Go down to the door and let him in,” she said.
I crept down the stairs. Voices from the drawing-room. Winchester was
seeing the party through. Almost as I reached the door and opened it I
found him there: the little doctor with the pointed beard. He brushed
past me up the stairs. He knew the way, then! I was scarcely surprised
to find Thalia’s door fast shut when I reached it. Behind it came not a
sound. Fletcher, like an unhappy sleepwalker, his eyes heavy, slipped
down beside me, clinging to my hand. I heard farewells, churring of
taxis and cars. Then Winchester came up the stairs.
“She’s shut you out?” He raised his fist and pounded on the door. “I’m
going to stop this nonsense!”
“I sent for a doctor,” I said. “He’s in there.”
“Is it—” his face was puffy and gray—“that same fool?”
Then the door opened, and the man confronted us.
“It is over,” he said.
“What have you done to her?” Winchester lunged toward the door, but the
little man’s lifted hand had dignity enough somehow to stop him.
“She won’t come back again.” He spoke slowly. “You may look if you care
to.”
“She’s dead?”
“She died—months ago. There on the bridge. But you called to her, and
she thought you wanted—_her_.”
Winchester thrust him aside and strode into the room. I dared one glance
and saw only pale hair shining on the pillow. Then Fletcher flung
himself against me, sobbing, and I knelt to hold him close against the
fear we both felt.
What Winchester saw I never knew. He hurled himself past us, down the
stairs. And Thalia was buried with the coffin lid fast closed under the
flowers.