by Otto Penzler
“Maybe it is,” said Mel.
“Then first of all, you remember what Cy had us do after we saw the Caddie standing there that night with the door open and Alex nowhere around?”
“Yes. He had you go through the sound stage hunting for Alex, and Betty and me look around the grounds.”
“Because he wanted all three of us out of the way for the time being. He had an idea Alex had gone to see the kid and that something might have happened. So he—”
“Hold on,” Mel said. “We all agreed right there that Alex would never have the guts to face the kid.”
“That’s the track Cy put us on, but in the back of his mind he figured Alex might have one good reason for getting together with Varese. Just one. Alex was yellow right down to the bottom of the backbone, right? But he also had to do business in Rome every year, and that’s where the kid lived. Who knew when they’d bump into each other, or when the kid would get all steamed up after a few drinks and come looking for him?
“So what does a guy like Alex do about it? He goes to the kid waving a white flag and tries to buy him off. Cheap, of course, but the way things are with Varese and the sister he feels a few hundred bucks should settle the case very nicely. About three hundred bucks, in fact. Twenty thousand lire. Cy knew how much it was because when he walked into the studio there was the money all over the floor, and Alex lying there dead with his face all black, and the kid standing there not knowing what had happened. Cy says it took him five minutes just to bring him out of shock.
“Anyhow, he finally got the kid to making sense, and it turned out that Alex had walked into the studio, waving the money in his hand, a big smile on that mean little face of his, and he let the kid know that, what the hell, the girl wasn’t really hurt in any way, but if it would make her feel better to buy something nice for herself—”
“But how stupid could he be? To misjudge anyone that way!”
“Yeah, that’s about the size of it.” MacAaron nodded somberly. “Anyhow, it sure lit the kid’s fuse. He didn’t even know what happened next. All he knew was that he got his hands around that skinny throat, and when he let go it was too late.”
“Even so,” Mel said unhappily, “it was still murder.”
“It was,” agreed MacAaron. “And a long stretch in jail, and the papers full of how the little sister had gone wrong. It sure looked hopeless, all right. And you know the weirdest part of it?”
“What?”
“That the only thing on Varese’s mind was the way he’d let his folks down, his Mama and his Papa. Going to jail didn’t seem to bother him one bit as much as that he had argued his people into letting the girl go to Rome and then he had let her become a pigeon for Alex. It never struck him anything could be done about Alex being dead. As far as he was concerned, it was just a case of calling in the cops now and getting it over with.
“But, naturally, the last thing Cy wanted was for anyone to know Alex was dead, because then the picture was really washed up. And looking at that Tiberius statue which was almost finished, he got the idea that maybe something could be done. The hitch was that you and me and Betty were right there on the spot, but once he got you two off the lot and then had me hunting for Alex like a fool through all those buildings and shops, he had room to move in.
“First off, he had the kid rush through a whole new Tiberius statue. That was the thirteenth statue, the one they stuck Alex inside of, and Cy said it was all he and the kid could do to keep their dinner down while they were at it. It took almost all night, too, and when it was done they trucked it over to the sound stage and set it up there and brought the other one back to the studio.”
“But he told me he had Paolo helping you and him look for Alex most of the night. If I had asked you about it—”
“Oh, that.” The ghost of a smile showed on MacAaron’s hardbitten face. “He wasn’t taking any chance with that story, because he had the kid go by me a couple of times looking around the lot with a flashlight in his hand. If I had any doubts about him up to then, that settled them. When Inspector Conti questioned me next day I didn’t even mention the kid, I was so sure he was in the clear about Alex.”
“You didn’t have to mention him. Wanda was only waiting to.”
“Wanda?” MacAaron said with genuine surprise. “What would she know? Hell, it was Cy who told the Inspector about what happened when you took the kid home that night. But the right way, you understand, sort of letting it be dragged out of him. And sort of steered him around to the studio so he could get a good look at that statue after seeing some photos of Alex.
“It was Cy all the way. Once he made sure the Inspector and the Commissioner knew those other statues in the prop room and on the sound stage had absolutely been there before Alex disappeared, Cy wanted that showdown in the studio. He wanted everything pinned on the kid and then cleared up once and for all. The only question was whether the kid could hold up under pressure in the big scene, and you saw for yourself how he did.
“Now do you get the whole setup? Make the lot look like it was sealed up airtight, make it look like the kid was the only possible suspect, and then clear him completely. If I could swear on the Bible that the kid was helping us hunt for Alex that night, and if Alex isn’t in that statue—what’s left?”
“A statue with a body in it,” Mel said. “A murder.”
“Yeah, I understand,” MacAaron said sympathetically. “Now you’re sorry you know the whole thing. But I’m not, Mel. And I don’t mean because it’s been so hard keeping it to myself. What’s been eating me is that up to now nobody else in the world knew how Cy proved the kind of man he was.”
“Proved what?” Mel said harshly. “It wasn’t hard for him to be that kind of man, feeling the way he did about the picture and knowing he had only a little while to live. How much was he really risking under those conditions? If things went wrong, he’d be dead before they could bring him to trial, and the kid would take the whole rap.”
“You still don’t get it. You don’t get it at all. How could you if you weren’t even there at the finish? Well, I was.”
To Mel’s horror, MacAaron, the imperturbable, the stoic, looked as if he were fighting back tears, his face wrinkling monkeylike in his effort to restrain them. “Mel, it went on forever in that hospital. Week after week, and every day of it the pain got worse. It was like knives being run into him. But all that time he would never let them give him a needle to kill the pain. They wanted to, but he wouldn’t let them. He told them it was all right, he wouldn’t make any fuss about how it hurt, and he didn’t. Just lay there twisting around in that bed, chewing on a handkerchief he kept stuffed in his mouth, and sweat, the size of marbles, dripping down his face. But no needles. Not until right near the end after he didn’t know what was going on anymore.”
“So what? If he was afraid of a lousy needle—”
“But don’t you see why?” MacAaron said despairingly. “Don’t you get it? He was scared that if he had any dope in him he might talk about Alex and the kid without even knowing it. He might give the whole thing away and send the kid to jail after all. That was the one big thing on his mind. That was the kind of man he was. So however you want to fault him—”
He stared at Mel, searching for a response, and was evidently satisfied with what he saw.
“It’ll be tough keeping this to ourselves,” he said. “I know that, Mel. But we have to. If we didn’t, it would mean wasting everything Cy went through.”
“And how long do you think we’ll get away with it? There’s still the statue with Alex rotting away inside of it, wherever it is. Sooner or later—”
“Not sooner,” MacAaron said. “Maybe a long time later. A couple of lifetimes later.” He got up stiffly, walked over to the mausoleum and inserted a key into the lock of the bronze door. “Take a look,” he said. “This is the only key, so now’s your chance.”
An unseen force lifted Mel to his feet and propelled him toward that open door. He knew he
didn’t want to go, didn’t want to see what was to be seen, but there was no resisting that force.
Sunlight through the doorway flooded the chill depths of the granite chamber and spilled over an immense casket on a shelf against its far wall. And standing at its foot, facing it with features twisted into an eternal, impotent fury, was the statue of Tiberius mad.
ALL AT ONCE, NO ALICE
A SAD AND LONELY MAN who desperately dedicated books to his typewriter and to his hotel room, Cornell George Hopley-Woolrich (1903–1968) was born in New York City, grew up in Latin America and New York, and was educated at Columbia University, to which he left his literary estate. Almost certainly a closeted homosexual (his marriage was terminated almost immediately) and an alcoholic, Woolrich was so antisocial and reclusive that he refused to leave his hotel room when his leg became infected, ultimately resulting in its amputation. Perhaps not surprisingly, then, the majority of his work has an overwhelming darkness, and few of his characters, whether good or evil, have much hope for happiness—or even justice. Whether writing as Cornell Woolrich, William Irish, or George Hopley, no twentieth-century author equaled his ability to create suspense, and Hollywood producers recognized it early on; few writers have had as many films based on their work as Woolrich, beginning with Convicted (1938), starring Rita Hayworth, and based on “Face Work.” Street of Chance (1942) was based on The Black Curtain, and starred Burgess Meredith and Claire Trevor; The Leopard Man (1943), based on Black Alibi, featured Dennis O’Keefe and Jean Brooks; and Phantom Lady (1944), based on the novel of the same title, starred Ella Raines and Alan Curtis. “Chance” led to Mark of the Whistler (1944), with Richard Dix and Janis Carter; Deadline at Dawn became a movie with the same name in 1946, starring Susan Hayward; and “It Had to Be Murder” was made into Rear Window (1954), with Grace Kelly and James Stewart. There were at least fifteen other film adaptations, not including scores for television programs. Arguably the worst film ever made from any work by Woolrich is The Return of the Whistler, a 1948 Columbia Pictures movie so loosely based on “All at Once, No Alice” that it is barely recognizable and so leaden-paced that it is barely watchable.
“All at Once, No Alice” was first published in the March 2, 1940, issue of Argosy; it was first collected in Eyes That Watch You (New York, Rinehart, 1952).
WILLIAM IRISH
IT WAS OVER so quickly I almost thought something had been left out, but I guess he’d been doing it long enough to know his business. The only way I could tell for sure it was over was when I heard him say: “You may kiss the bride.” But then, I’d never gone through it before.
We turned and pecked at each other, a little bashful because they were watching us.
He and the motherly-looking woman who had been a witness—I guess she was his housekeeper—stood there smiling benevolently, and also a little tiredly. The clock said one fifteen. Then he shook hands with the two of us and said, “Good luck to both of you,” and she shook with us too and said, “I wish you a lot of happiness.”
We shifted from the living room, where it had taken place, out into the front hall, a little awkwardly. Then he held the screen door open and we moved from there out onto the porch.
On the porch step Alice nudged me and whispered, “You forgot something.”
I didn’t even know how much I was supposed to give him. I took out two singles and held them in one hand, then I took out a five and held that in the other. Then I went back toward him all flustered and said, “I—I guess you thought I was going to leave without remembering this.”
I reached my hand down to his and brought it back empty. He kept right on smiling, as if this happened nearly every time too, the bridegroom forgetting like that. It was only after I turned away and rejoined her that I glanced down at my other hand and saw which it was I’d given him. It was the five. That was all right; five thousand of them couldn’t have paid him for what he’d done for me, the way I felt about it.
We went down their front walk and got into the car. The lighted doorway outlined them both for a minute. They raised their arms and said, “Good night.”
“Good night, and much obliged,” I called back. “Wait’ll they go in,” I said in an undertone to Alice, without starting the engine right away.
As soon as the doorway had blacked out, we turned and melted together on the front seat, and this time we made it a real kiss. “Any regrets?” I whispered to her very softly.
“It must have been awful before I was married to you,” she whispered back. “How did I ever stand it so long?”
I don’t think we said a word all the way in to Michianopolis. We were both too happy. Just the wind and the stars and us. And a couple of cigarettes.
We got to the outskirts around two thirty, and by three were all the way in downtown. We shopped around for a block or two. “This looks like a nice hotel,” I said finally. I parked outside and we went in.
I think the first hotel was called the Commander. I noticed that the bellhops let us strictly alone; didn’t bustle out to bring in our bags or anything.
I said to the desk man, “We’d like one of your best rooms and bath.”
He gave me a sort of rueful smile, as if to say, “You should know better than that.” … “I only wish I had something to give you,” was the way he put it.
“All filled up?” I turned to her and murmured, “Well, we’ll have to try someplace else.”
He overheard me. “Excuse me, but did you come in without making reservations ahead?”
“Yes, we just drove in now. Why?”
He shook his head compassionately at my ignorance. “I’m afraid you’re going to have a hard time finding a room in any of the hotels tonight.”
“Why? They can’t all be filled up.”
“There’s a three-day convention of the Knights of Balboa being held here. All the others started sending their overflow to us as far back as Monday evening, and our own last vacancy went yesterday noon.”
The second one was called the Stuyvesant, I think. “There must be something in a city this size,” I said when we came out of there. “We’ll keep looking until we find it.”
I didn’t bother noticing the names of the third and fourth. We couldn’t turn around and go all the way back to our original point of departure—it would have been midmorning before we reached it—and there was nothing that offered suitable accommodations between; just filling stations, roadside lunch-rooms, and detached farmsteads.
Besides, she was beginning to tire. She refused to admit it, but it was easy to tell. It worried me.
The fifth place was called the Royal. It was already slightly less first-class than the previous ones had been; we were running out of them now. Nothing wrong with it, but just a little seedier and older.
I got the same answer at the desk, but this time I wouldn’t take it. The way her face drooped when she heard it was enough to make me persist. I took the night clerk aside out of her hearing.
“Listen, you’ve got to do something for me, I don’t care what it is,” I whispered fiercely. “We’ve just driven all the way from Lake City and my wife’s all in. I’m not going to drag her around to another place tonight.”
Then as his face continued impassive, “If you can’t accommodate both of us, find some way of putting her up at least. I’m willing to take my own chances, go out and sleep in the car or walk around the streets for the night.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, hooking his chin, “I think I could work out something like that for you. I just thought of something. There’s a little bit of a dinky room on the top floor. Ordinarily it’s not used as a guest room at all, just as a sort of storeroom. You couldn’t possibly both use it, because there’s only a single cot in it; but if you don’t think your wife would object, I’d be glad to let her have it, and I think you might still be able to find a room for yourself at the Y. They don’t admit women, and most of these Knights have brought their wives with them.”
I took a look at her
pretty, drawn face. “Anything, anything,” I said gratefully.
He still had his doubts. “You’d better take her up and let her see it first.”
A colored boy came with us, with a passkey. On the way up I explained it to her. She gave me a rueful look, but I could see she was too tired even to object as much as she felt she should have. “Ah, that’s mean,” she murmured. “Our first night by ourselves.”
“It’s just for tonight. We’ll drive on right after breakfast. It’s important that you get some rest, hon. You can’t fool me, you can hardly keep your eyes open anymore.”
She tucked her hand consolingly under my arm. “I don’t mind if you don’t. It’ll give me something to look forward to, seeing you in the morning.”
The bellboy led us along a quiet, green-carpeted hall, and around a turn, scanning numbers on the doors. He stopped three down from the turn, on the right-hand side, put his key in. “This is it here, sir.” The number was 1006.
The man at the desk hadn’t exaggerated. The room itself was little better than an alcove, long and narrow. I suppose two could have gotten into it; but it would have been a physical impossibility for two to sleep in it the way it was fitted up. It had a cot that was little wider than a shelf.
To give you an idea how narrow the room was, the window was narrower than average, and yet not more than a foot of wall-strip showed on either side of its frame. In other words it took up nearly the width of one entire side of the room.
I suppose I could have sat up in the single armchair all night and slept, or tried to, that way; but as long as there was a chance of getting a horizontal bed at the Y, why not be sensible about it? She agreed with me in this.
“Think you can go this, just until the morning?” I asked her, and the longing way she was eying that miserable cot gave me the answer. She was so tired, anything would have looked good to her right then.
We went down again and I told him I’d take it. I had the bellboy take her bag out of the car and bring it in, and the desk clerk turned the register around for her to sign.