you’re trying to prove.”
“I’m trying to get some idea of your relationship with Grimes.”
“There wasn’t any.”
“Good or bad, I mean. This afternoon you practically accused him of faking the Biemeyers’ painting. Tonight you invite him to your party.”
“The invitations went out early last week.”
“You admit that you sent him one.”
“I may have. I probably did. What I said to you this afternoon about Paul wasn’t intended for the record. I confess he gets on my nerves.”
“He won’t any more.”
“I know that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry he’s been killed.” She hung her pretty gray head. “And I did send him that invitation. I was hoping for a reconciliation. We hadn’t been friends for some time. I thought he might respond to a show of warmth on my part.”
She looked at me from under the wings of her hair. Her eyes were cold and watchful. I didn’t believe what she was telling me, and it must have showed.
She said with renewed insistence, “I hate to lose friends, particularly friends of my husband’s. There are fewer and fewer survivors of the Arizona days, and Paul was one of them. He was with us when Richard made his first great breakthrough. Paul really made it possible, you know. But he never succeeded in making his own breakthrough.”
“Were there hard feelings between them?”
“Between my husband and Paul? Certainly not. Paul was one of Richard’s teachers. He took great pride in Richard’s accomplishment.”
“How did your husband feel about Paul?”
“He was grateful to him. They were always good friends, as long as Richard was with us.” She gave me a long and doubting look. “I don’t know where this is leading.”
“Neither do I, Mrs. Chantry.”
“Then what’s the purpose of it? You’re wasting my time and your own.”
“I don’t think so. Tell me, is your husband still alive?”
She shook her head. “I can’t answer that. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”
“How long is it since you’ve seen him?”
“He left in the summer of 1950. I haven’t seen him since then.”
“Were there indications that something had happened to him?”
“On the contrary. He wrote me a wonderful letter. If you’d like to see it—”
“I’ve seen it. As far as you know, then, he’s still alive.”
“I hope and pray he is. I believe he is.”
“Have you heard from him since he took off?”
“Never.”
“Do you expect to?”
“I don’t know.” She turned her head to one side, the cords of her white neck taut. “This is painful for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“I’m trying to find out if there’s any possibility that your husband killed Paul Grimes.”
“That’s an absurd idea. Absurd and obscene.”
“Grimes didn’t seem to think so. He spoke Chantry’s name before he died.”
She didn’t quite faint, but she seemed to come close to it. She turned white under her makeup, and might have fallen. I held her by the upper arms. Her flesh was as smooth as marble, and almost as cold.
Rico opened the door and shouldered his way in. I realized how big he was. The small room hardly contained him.
“What goes on?”
“Nothing,” the woman said. “Please go away, Rico.”
“Is he bothering you?”
“No, he’s not. But I want both of you to go away. Please.”
“You heard her,” Rico said to me.
“So did you. Mrs. Chantry and I have something to discuss.” I turned to her. “Don’t you want to know what Grimes said?”
“I suppose I have to. Rico, do you mind leaving us alone now? It’s perfectly all right.”
It wasn’t all right with Rico. He gave me a black scowl that at the same time managed to look hurt, like the scowl of a little boy who has been told to stand in the corner. He was a big good-looking man, if you liked the dark florid type. I couldn’t help wondering if Mrs. Chantry did.
“Please, Rico.” She sounded like the mistress of a barely controllable
“I’m trying to get some idea of your relationship with Grimes.”
“There wasn’t any.”
“Good or bad, I mean. This afternoon you practically accused him of faking the Biemeyers’ painting. Tonight you invite him to your party.”
“The invitations went out early last week.”
“You admit that you sent him one.”
“I may have. I probably did. What I said to you this afternoon about Paul wasn’t intended for the record. I confess he gets on my nerves.”
“He won’t any more.”
“I know that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry he’s been killed.” She hung her pretty gray head. “And I did send him that invitation. I was hoping for a reconciliation. We hadn’t been friends for some time. I thought he might respond to a show of warmth on my part.”
She looked at me from under the wings of her hair. Her eyes were cold and watchful. I didn’t believe what she was telling me, and it must have showed.
She said with renewed insistence, “I hate to lose friends, particularly friends of my husband’s. There are fewer and fewer survivors of the Arizona days, and Paul was one of them. He was with us when Richard made his first great breakthrough. Paul really made it possible, you know. But he never succeeded in making his own breakthrough.”
“Were there hard feelings between them?”
“Between my husband and Paul? Certainly not. Paul was one of Richard’s teachers. He took great pride in Richard’s accomplishment.”
“How did your husband feel about Paul?”
“He was grateful to him. They were always good friends, as long as Richard was with us.” She gave me a long and doubting look. “I don’t know where this is leading.”
“Neither do I, Mrs. Chantry.”
“Then what’s the purpose of it? You’re wasting my time and your own.”
“I don’t think so. Tell me, is your husband still alive?”
She shook her head. “I can’t answer that. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”
“How long is it since you’ve seen him?”
“He left in the summer of 1950. I haven’t seen him since then.”
“Were there indications that something had happened to him?”
“On the contrary. He wrote me a wonderful letter. If you’d like to see it—”
“I’ve seen it. As far as you know, then, he’s still alive.”
“I hope and pray he is. I believe he is.”
“Have you heard from him since he took off?”
“Never.”
“Do you expect to?”
“I don’t know.” She turned her head to one side, the cords of her white neck taut. “This is painful for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“I’m trying to find out if there’s any possibility that your husband killed Paul Grimes.”
“That’s an absurd idea. Absurd and obscene.”
“Grimes didn’t seem to think so. He spoke Chantry’s name before he died.”
She didn’t quite faint, but she seemed to come close to it. She turned white under her makeup, and might have fallen. I held her by the upper arms. Her flesh was as smooth as marble, and almost as cold.
Rico opened the door and shouldered his way in. I realized how big he was. The small room hardly contained him.
“What goes on?”
“Nothing,” the woman said. “Please go away, Rico.”
“Is he bothering you?”
“No, he’s not. But I want both of you to go away. Please.”
“You heard her,” Rico said to me.
“So did you. Mrs. Chantry and I have something to discuss.” I turned to her. “Don’t you want to know what Grimes said?”
“I suppose I have to. Rico, do you mind leaving us alone now? It’s perfectly all right.”
It wasn’t all right with Rico. He gave me a black scowl that at the same time managed to look hurt, like the scowl of a little boy who has been told to stand in the corner. He was a big good-looking man, if you liked the dark florid type. I couldn’t help wondering if Mrs. Chantry did.
“Please, Rico.” She sounded like the mistress of a barely controllable
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