"Then it won't be possible for the doctor to see you today. He's very
busy in the study and left word that he was not to be disturbed. Why
don't you telephone him tomorrow morning and make an appointment?" The
maid was young and smiled pleasantly.
"But I'm a personal friend of the doctor's. I've.... I've just come in
from out of town and...."
"Oh, I see. Well, in that case, if you'll give me your name, I'll take
it in to...." She interrupted herself suddenly and bowed to someone
over my shoulder. I turned and saw a woman entering the front door.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Carpenter. The man called about the rugs. I told
him to call later."
The woman was veiled so that as she brushed past me, I could not see
her face. "Thank you, Lily. Is the doctor in the study?"
"Yes, he is, Mrs. Carpenter. Mr. Miller just left."
The woman opened the door at the far end of the living-room and went
inside. As in a trance, I moved after her. In my ears I could hear
Lily's voice call sharply: "You can't go in there!" but I did not stop.
The floor of the living-room was waxed and slippery and one of the
smaller scatter rugs shot out under my feet. I recovered my balance
and, as I was opening the door of the study, I felt the maid's arm
touch my sleeve. I shook it off and entered the room.
Doctor Carpenter was seated at a large desk near a French door that
led out into a sort of garden or yard. He had his arm about the waist
of the woman who stood beside his chair. For a moment, as the sunlight
glared in my eyes, I could not make out anything more than the two
silhouettes. Then ... I knew.
Both of them looked up as the door clicked shut behind me. They had
been talking; now they fell silent. The doctor slowly rose to his feet
and Anita--for I was sure it was she--started back and stifled a little
cry of fear.
"Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter," I said.
Just then the maid opened the door and looked toward the doctor for
instructions. I saw him hesitate. I knew, of course, that he did not
wish to be left with me and he opened his mouth to say something. Then
he closed it and his shoulders sagged perceptibly. In this attitude, he
looked old and I noticed that his hair was iron-gray.
"It's all right, Lily. We don't want to be disturbed." The doctor's
voice sounded hollow and dry. He seemed to be choking, almost.
"But the man about the rugs. What will I tell him when he calls?"
"Tell him ... tell him anything. And if anyone comes, have them wait
outside."
"Yes, doctor."
As the maid closed the door behind her, I looked over at Anita. Somehow
I couldn't get used to the idea that she was really there. It was
like seeing a ghost in broad daylight. But it was the spectre who was
afraid. Through her veil I could see wide, terror-stricken eyes.
* * * * *
I suppose that this story I am telling is disappointing because I am
incapable of detailing or classifying my emotions. I do not think that
this is my fault so much as it is the fault of the emotions. During the
tense portions of my life they were never clearly defined and often
I experienced many freakish feelings: combinations of two or three
emotions at once. So far, I have given you only bare facts and left
you to imagine the gamut I have run. Sorrow, fear, love and morbidity
have all played important parts in my life. But--whether you choose to
accept this statement or not--although I have often been very angry, I
can't remember ever having hated anyone. And as I stood there in the
study, looking across the room at the two by the desk, I did not nurse
any hatred.
Of course I know that it sounds a bit thick. I certainly had every
reason to hate them both, and the much-publicized fact that my pocket
contained a loaded revolver seems to indicate that I went to the
doctor's home prepared to commit a murder. Truthfully, I did not. The
revolver, as I have already explained, was intended only for myself.
Well, if the doctor and Anita looked frightened and ashamed, I must
have looked bewildered. Try to picture it for yourselves. Here was my
wife ... alive! For the past eighteen years I had been mourning her
loss. I had over-taxed my mind in attempting to pierce the heavy cloak
of mystery which had surrounded her death.
I didn't know what to think. Such a climax could not happen in real
life! We were not characters in a book or in the movies! But, after
the first shock of hearing her voice, I felt a great load lifted from
my shoulders. The knowledge that I had not killed her was evidently
the panacea for all my suffering. Soon, however, I began to recover my
stunned faculties; I began to wonder....
She had been called, "Mrs. Carpenter" by the maid. Since she wasn't
dead, where had she been? Why hadn't she come forward at the time I was
arrested?
I was totally confused as I faced the two of them on that afternoon
of September 9th. So stupefied was I, it was not until Anita began
to plead with me and to pour out a tearful confession that I fully
realized what a contemptible trick had been played upon me. I stood
there stiffly as she tugged at my coat lapels and the picture became
clearer gradually. I could see her sitting in the garden that evening
many years ago. She was furious because she wanted me to sell the
store and move to New York--which wish I had refused....
"Oh, don't you understand, Peter? I've always been in love with Leo! I
married you, yes. I know I shouldn't have done it. But you caught me at
a time when I was too angry at him to think! I liked you, Peter. Please
believe that! Yes, I did like you a lot. But was it my fault that I
never loved you?"
I glanced quickly at the doctor. He was slumped over his desk with his
face buried in his hands. I could see the cords of his neck, thick and
tight, disappearing into his wilted shirt collar. Sheets of typewritten
manuscript had slipped to the floor unnoticed. I felt jealous of him;
then, suddenly, a wave of pity for him drove off the first. He, too,
must have suffered. He, too, must have been tortured mentally all those
years I wasted away in prison. It occurred to me that it had not been
his doing. _He_ had not wanted me to pay for a crime I never committed.
What he had been heard saying at the trial was proof of that. But
Anita....
"Peter, you must let me explain! You've always been fair and I know
you'll understand how I felt! I married you but I loved him." She
pointed to Carpenter's lowered head. "I just couldn't stand being away
from him. You know how that feels. You've been in love, haven't you?"
"I loved you," I reminded her tonelessly.
Yes, I had been in love with her, it was true. But she had died a
long time ago. Besides, she was not the same. Time and the knowledge
of her evil deed had aged her. There were gray threads mingling with
the blonde that the hair dye had missed; there were little crow's
feet at the corners of her eyes; she looked sallow, unhealthy, a lean
caricature of her former self. The only familiar part of her was her
voice. And that wasn't pretty either. How often had I heard her sob
before!
"Now I can understand why you wanted to live in New York," I heard
myself say quietly. My ears were ringing and my voice had the curious
quality of seeming to come from a great distance.
"No, no! You mustn't believe that! I swear to you that there was never
anything between Leo and me until after ... after...."
"Until after I was convicted of killing you?"
She dropped her eyes. "Please, Peter. Don't think that I planned that.
I never intended that you should.... Do you remember the sleeping
powder? Well, I meant to take it and I put it in my beer. But then I
felt like swimming--you know how I used to swim off my grouches--so I
drank what was in the other glass and I forgot to empty my own. I guess
you drank the beer with the powder in it."