mean... Galen. I---" He was visibly impressed by the name
of Reich.
Tension, apprehension, and dissension...
"That damned song," Reich muttered. "Heard it for the first time the other day.
Can't get it out of my mind. Maria knows you're a phoney, Chervil."
"Oh no!"
Reich nodded. Tension, apprehension...
"Should I start running?"
"Without the picture?"
"You know about that too? There must be a peeper in the house."
"Two of them. Her social secretaries. People like you are their job."
"What about that picture, Mr. Reich? I've got fifty credits riding on the line.
You ought to know what a bet means. You're a gamb---I mean, financier."
"Glad I'm not a peeper, eh? Never mind. I'm not insulted. See that arch? Go
straight through and turn right. You'll find a study. The walls are lined with
Maria's portraits, all in synthetic stones. Help yourself. She'll never miss
one."
The boy leaped up, scattering food. "Thanks, Mr. Reich. Some day I'll do you a
favor."
"Such as?"
"You'd be surprised. I happen to be a---" He caught himself and blushed. "You'll
find out, sir. Thanks again." He began weaving his way across the floor toward
the study.
Four, sir; three, sir; two, sir; one!
Reich returned to his hostess.
"Naughty lover," she said. "Who've you been feeding? I'll tear her eyes out."
"The Chervil boy," Reich answered. "He asked me where you keep your pictures."
"Ben! You didn't tell him!"
"Sure did," Reich grinned. "He's on his way to get one now. Then he'll take off.
You know I'm jealous."
She leaped from the couch and sailed toward the study.
"Bam," said Reich.
By eleven o'clock, the ritual of dining had aroused the company to a point of
intensity that required solitude and darkness for release. Maria Beaumont had
never failed her guests, and Reich hoped she would not fail tonight. She had to
play the Sardine game. He knew it when Tate returned from the study with concise
directions for locating the hidden D'Courtney.
"I don't know how you got away with it," Tate whispered. "You're broadcasting
bloodlust on every wavelength of the TP band. He's here. Alone. No servants.
Only two bodyguards provided by Maria. @kins was right. He's dangerously
sick..."
"To hell with that. I'll cure him. Where is he?"
"Go through the west arch. Turn right. Up stairs. Through overpass. Turn right.
Picture Gallery. Door between paintings of the Rape of Lucrece and the Rape of
the Sabine Women..."
"Sounds typical."
"Open the door. Up a flight of steps to an anteroom. Two guards in the anteroom.
D'Courtney's inside. It's the old wedding suite her grandfather built."
"By God! I'll use that suite again. I'll marry him to murder. And I'll get away
with it, little Gus. Don't think I won't."
The Gilt Corpse began to clamor for attention. Flushed and shining with
perspiration, standing in the glare of a pink light on the dais between the two
fountains, Maria clapped her hands for silence. Her moist palms beat together,
and the echoes roared in Reich's ears: Death. Death. Death.
"Darlings! Darlings! Darlings!" she cried. "We're going to have so much fun
tonight. We're going to provide our own entertainment." A subdued groan went up
from the guests and a drunken voice shouted: "I'm just one of the tourists."
Through the laughter, Maria said: "Naughty lovers, don't be disappointed. We're
going to play a wonderful old game; and we're going to play it in the dark."
The company cheered up as the overhead lights began to dim and disappear. The
dais still blazed, and in the light, Maria produced a tattered volume. Reich's
gift.
Tension...
Maria turned the pages slowly, blinking at the unaccustomed print.
Apprehension...
"It's a game," Maria cried, "called `Sardine.' Isn't that too adorable?"
She took the bait. She's on the hook. In three minutes I'll be invisible. Reich
felt his pockets. The gun. The Rhodopsin. Tension, apprehension, and dissension
have begun.
"One player," Maria read, "is selected to be
of Reich.
Tension, apprehension, and dissension...
"That damned song," Reich muttered. "Heard it for the first time the other day.
Can't get it out of my mind. Maria knows you're a phoney, Chervil."
"Oh no!"
Reich nodded. Tension, apprehension...
"Should I start running?"
"Without the picture?"
"You know about that too? There must be a peeper in the house."
"Two of them. Her social secretaries. People like you are their job."
"What about that picture, Mr. Reich? I've got fifty credits riding on the line.
You ought to know what a bet means. You're a gamb---I mean, financier."
"Glad I'm not a peeper, eh? Never mind. I'm not insulted. See that arch? Go
straight through and turn right. You'll find a study. The walls are lined with
Maria's portraits, all in synthetic stones. Help yourself. She'll never miss
one."
The boy leaped up, scattering food. "Thanks, Mr. Reich. Some day I'll do you a
favor."
"Such as?"
"You'd be surprised. I happen to be a---" He caught himself and blushed. "You'll
find out, sir. Thanks again." He began weaving his way across the floor toward
the study.
Four, sir; three, sir; two, sir; one!
Reich returned to his hostess.
"Naughty lover," she said. "Who've you been feeding? I'll tear her eyes out."
"The Chervil boy," Reich answered. "He asked me where you keep your pictures."
"Ben! You didn't tell him!"
"Sure did," Reich grinned. "He's on his way to get one now. Then he'll take off.
You know I'm jealous."
She leaped from the couch and sailed toward the study.
"Bam," said Reich.
By eleven o'clock, the ritual of dining had aroused the company to a point of
intensity that required solitude and darkness for release. Maria Beaumont had
never failed her guests, and Reich hoped she would not fail tonight. She had to
play the Sardine game. He knew it when Tate returned from the study with concise
directions for locating the hidden D'Courtney.
"I don't know how you got away with it," Tate whispered. "You're broadcasting
bloodlust on every wavelength of the TP band. He's here. Alone. No servants.
Only two bodyguards provided by Maria. @kins was right. He's dangerously
sick..."
"To hell with that. I'll cure him. Where is he?"
"Go through the west arch. Turn right. Up stairs. Through overpass. Turn right.
Picture Gallery. Door between paintings of the Rape of Lucrece and the Rape of
the Sabine Women..."
"Sounds typical."
"Open the door. Up a flight of steps to an anteroom. Two guards in the anteroom.
D'Courtney's inside. It's the old wedding suite her grandfather built."
"By God! I'll use that suite again. I'll marry him to murder. And I'll get away
with it, little Gus. Don't think I won't."
The Gilt Corpse began to clamor for attention. Flushed and shining with
perspiration, standing in the glare of a pink light on the dais between the two
fountains, Maria clapped her hands for silence. Her moist palms beat together,
and the echoes roared in Reich's ears: Death. Death. Death.
"Darlings! Darlings! Darlings!" she cried. "We're going to have so much fun
tonight. We're going to provide our own entertainment." A subdued groan went up
from the guests and a drunken voice shouted: "I'm just one of the tourists."
Through the laughter, Maria said: "Naughty lovers, don't be disappointed. We're
going to play a wonderful old game; and we're going to play it in the dark."
The company cheered up as the overhead lights began to dim and disappear. The
dais still blazed, and in the light, Maria produced a tattered volume. Reich's
gift.
Tension...
Maria turned the pages slowly, blinking at the unaccustomed print.
Apprehension...
"It's a game," Maria cried, "called `Sardine.' Isn't that too adorable?"
She took the bait. She's on the hook. In three minutes I'll be invisible. Reich
felt his pockets. The gun. The Rhodopsin. Tension, apprehension, and dissension
have begun.
"One player," Maria read, "is selected to be
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