The Man Who Died Twice
Page 20
Osborne got himself in hand. “You can always take a swing at me, Mike, and find out for yourself.”
Then he started towards Fabyan, walking with deliberate slowness but never faltering. The big man wet his lips and his mustache twitched. For another second he stood his ground; then he let his hands swing down and his balance was destroyed and he turned abruptly and stepped away.
Osborne backed to the door, felt behind him to open it. In the first light of the new dawn which began to seep into the room his face was a sickly gray, but there was no indecision in the haunted gaze as he made a final inspection of the room. Then, in the next moment, he was in the hall and the door was swinging behind him.
The loudspeaker in the terminal waiting-room was announcing the flight, and the passengers began to move through the doorway into the bright sunshine, some hurrying for choice seats, others outwardly indifferent. Duncan Ward was among the last to leave, and although the sign over the door said Passengers Only, the uniformed policeman touched his hat and smiled, which was his way of saying that it would be all right if Kate and Alma wished to accompany Ward part way.
It was Tuesday, much like the day he had arrived, with the sun brilliant and only a few swiftly moving clouds to the southward to mar the sky. It was difficult, standing there watching the plane load, to realize he had come here only a week before. The things that had happened, the deaths, the funerals, were remote and unreal and safely in the past as he shook hands with Kate and smiled down at Alma.
“You’ll be in New York in three or four weeks?” he asked.
“If Kate will let me.”
“Kate will have to let you,” Kate said. “So long as you promise to come back.… That applies equally to you, young man,” she said.
Ward glanced at the plane and then at the dark loveliness of the girl beside him. Her smile was shy as her eyes inspected his face, and now the shyness came to him, upsetting his emotional equilibrium, erasing all preconceived thoughts from his mind and leaving him in a state known as tongue-tied.
“I’ll meet you,” he blurted finally.
“Yes.”
“I’ll write as soon as I get back if you’ll promise to cable when you’re coming.”
“Oh, I will.”
Somewhere in the background a flight stewardess was impatiently paging him, and with that Kate took over.
“Well,” she said with quick impatience, “why in heaven’s name don’t you kiss her?”
Ward saw his answer in the dark-blue eyes, in the smile, knowing now that this was all he’d ever want from life. When he stepped close she met him halfway and they clung together a long moment, a little fiercely, for this was no cousinly kiss. The flight stewardess was grinning with broad approval as Ward hurried toward the plane.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1951 by George Harmon Coxe
cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
This edition published in 2011 by MysteriousPress.com/Head of Zeus
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781784083823
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