She said, “I thought it was Paul,” though she looked at him without disappointment.
“Isn’t he home? I wanted to see him.” He looked sharply at her. “What’s the matter?”
The old woman stepped back, pulling the door back with her. “Come in, Ned.”
He went in.
She shut the door and said: “Opal tried to commit suicide.”
He lowered his eyes and mumbled: “What? What do you mean?”
“She had cut one of her wrists before the nurse could stop her. She didn’t lose much blood, though, and she’s all right if she doesn’t try it again.” There was as little of weakness in her voice as in her mien.
Ned Beaumont’s voice was not steady. “Where’s Paul?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t been able to find him. He ought to be home before this. I don’t know where he is.” She put a bony hand on Ned Beaumont’s upper arm and now her voice shook a little. “Are you–are you and Paul–?” She stopped, squeezing his arm.
He shook his head. “That’s done for good.”
“Oh, Ned, boy, isn’t there anything you can do to patch it up? You and he–” Again she broke off.
He raised his head and looked at her. His eyes were wet. He said gently: “No, Mom, that’s done for good. Did he tell you about it?”
“He only told me, when I said I’d phoned you about that man from the District Attorney’s office being here, that I wasn’t ever to do anything like that again, that you–that you were not friends now.”
Ned Beaumont cleared his throat. “Listen, Mom, tell him I came to see him. Tell him I’m going home and will wait there for him, will be waiting all night.” He cleared his throat again and added lamely: “Tell him that.”
Mrs. Madvig put her bony hands on his shoulders. “You’re a good boy, Ned. I don’t want you and Paul to quarrel. You’re the best friend he ever had, no matter what’s come between you. What is it? Is it that Janet–?”
“Ask Paul,” he said in a low bitter voice. He moved his head impatiently. “I’m going to run along, Mom, unless there’s something I can do for you or Opal. Is there?”
“Not unless you’d go up to see her. She’s not sleeping yet and maybe it would do some good to talk to her. She used to listen to you.”
He shook his head. “No,” he said, “she wouldn’t want to see me”–he swallowed–“either.”
X.
The Shattered Key
1
Ned Beaumont went home. He drank coffee, smoked, read a newspaper, a magazine, and half a book. Now and then he stopped reading to walk, fidgeting, around his rooms. His door-bell did not ring. His telephone-bell did not ring.
At eight o’clock in the morning he bathed, shaved, and put on fresh clothes. Then he had breakfast sent in and ate it.
At nine o’clock he went to the telephone, called Janet Henry’s number, asked for her, and said: “Good morning. . . . Yes, fine, thanks. . . . Well, we’re ready for the fireworks. . . . Yes. . . . If your father’s there suppose we let him in on the whole thing first. . . . Fine, but not a word till I get there. . . . As soon as I can make it. I’m leaving now. . . . Right. See you in minutes.”
He got up from the telephone staring into space, clapped his hands together noisily, and rubbed their palms together. His mouth was a sullen line under his mustache, his eyes hot brown points. He went to the closet and briskly put on his overcoat and hat. He left his room whistling Little Lost Lady between his teeth and took long steps through the streets.
“Miss Henry’s expecting me,” he said to the maid who opened the Henrys’ door.
She said, “Yes, sir,” and guided him to a sunny bright-papered room where the Senator and his daughter were at breakfast.
Janet Henry jumped up immediately and came to him with both hands out, crying excitedly: “Good morning!”
The Senator rose in more leisurely manner, looking with polite surprise at his daughter, then holding his hand out to Ned Beaumont, saying: “Good morning, Mr. Beaumont. I’m very glad to see you. Won’t you–?”