A Detective Story

The telephone woke me up in the middle of the night. At first I didn't know what had happened—only that something had gone wrong. I woke up and waited for whatever it was. I was scared. It's like knowing all of a sudden that something is in the room with you. It rang again. There is something terribly loud and insistent about a telephone ringing late at night. It was three o'clock. I was certain somebody had died. Certainly nobody would do this to me without a good and tragic reason, not even a drunken friend. I didn't want any part of it, even if it was a drunken friend. I shoved Helen. Ordinarily I couldn't have gotten away with it, but she is a heavy sleeper and would be too groggy to know what she was doing. She stirred and the ringing finally got to her. Her eyes popped open and she looked at me in wild surmise, and, as I had hoped, stumbled over to the phone without waiting to question me.

"Hello?"

"Yes."

"Sally!"

"You scared me to death. What time is it, what in the world—"

"Why no, of course not."

"All right, we will."

"All right, good-bye."

I was relieved. Somebody was in trouble all right, but it wasn't me. We would be glad to help out, literally glad; we'd do anything. I felt pleasantly curious as Helen came back to the bed chewing her fingernail.

"That was Sally Pinckney." She was worried but not yet completely awake.

"I know. What's up? Is she drunk?"

"I don't know. She's coming over here to talk to us. She wouldn't say anything on the phone."

"Where was she?"

"Why, home I guess."

It had something to do with William. If he was there, she wouldn't be calling us. Unless they had had a row. But that wasn't possible. Not William. If one of them were sick they'd call a doctor.

"Do you think they could have had a falling out?" Helen asked me.

"You know William. How could they?"

William was the nicest fellow I ever knew. Everybody else thought so too. I've never seen him any other way than completely agreeable and pleasant. Ida Red, our cook, said that he was the politest man she ever saw. That was because he used to go back to the kitchen and compliment her cooking when they came over for supper.

"I can't figure out any possibility. What was her voice like? What exactly did she say?"

"She just asked if she could come over for a minute. She wanted to tell us something. She said to turn on the porch light and unlock the door."

"Well, how did she sound?"

"Nothing out of the way. She didn't sound upset at all. But she was very definite about wanting to come over and talk to us."

"It's serious," she added.

"But what could it be?" I reviewed my reasoning. "I just don't see any possibility."

"Well, it's something. I'm going to make some coffee."

I put on my robe and went into the living room.

I thought of something.

"Did she say 'I'm coming over' or 'we're coming over'?"

"It's just her."

"It's bound to be William."

I stared out into the darkness. Helen came in, turned on the lights, and lit the heater.

I recognized William's coupe when it went under the street light at the corner. I opened the door for Sally. I was always glad to see her. She's a big, good-looking girl. Fine legs. She acted mad at me tonight, just brushed on past without saying anything. I thought back quickly for any offense I might have committed to get her out of bed at this hour. Then I realized that she was just worried about something. She sat down without taking off her coat. Helen handed her a cup of coffee. There was an unmistakable feeling of misfortune in the air calling...