A Man Called Milo Morai

by Robert Adams

  Some hour and a half after that night's dinner, there was a knock on Milo's door and he opened it to see Maggie O'Shea, still in her white uniform, lacking only her cap. "Mr. Moray, we two must talk of the matter you discussed with Rosaleen this afternoon. Now, while the others are down in the parlor listening to the radio, is a good time. I have just hung up the telephone after ringing up and talking with Father Rustung, and I want your version of these shocking events from your lips. I feel that as the worst happened under my roof, I have that right, at least."

  Maggie seated herself in the single chair and let him tell it in his words, in his order of events and at his own pace of speech. As he fell finally silent, the stout woman sighed and shook her graying head.

  "I don't really know just whom to believe in this story matter, Mr. Moray. I've known Irunn Thorsdottar much longer, of course, since she was in training, in fact, but you have always seemed an honest, decent, truthful man to me… and clearly to dear Rosaleen, too. She's carrying on like your sworn champion, and she's a proven good judge of character."

  "Your story of this mess and how it developed exactly contradicts many parts of Father Rustung's version of the same events, but then, of course, he got his facts or fables from Irunn."

  "You swear to me that you never, at any time, under even the most intimate of circumstances, drunk or sober, asked her to be your wife, Mr. Moray?"

  "Yes, I certainly do, Mrs. O'Shea. She was the first and the only one who ever discussed marriage, and I've told her until I was blue in the face that I just am in no position or frame of mind to marry her or anyone else, now. But still, she kept harping on that same tired subject, trying to get me to go with her to Wisconsin to meet her folks."

  Maggie frowned then, her lips thinning and her eyes narrowing. "And yet, Mr. Moray, both Father Rustung and the jeweler whose name he gave me, Izaak Plotkin, confirm that you bought for Irunn a diamond engagement ring. Had you forgotten that?"

  Milo's voice rose in exasperation. "Now, damn it, Mrs. O'Shea, Irunn picked out that ring herself, put a deposit on it and left it with that jeweler for enlargement of the band. When she left for Wisconsin so suddenly, she gave your husband, Pat, a note asking me to pick it up for her and promising to pay me back for the cost of it. I did pick it up; it's here, in my lockbox. Engagement ring, hell— I'll wring the neck of that bitch when I get my hands on her!"

  "Oh, no you won't, not in my house, Mr. Moray," said Maggie bluntly, in hard, no-nonsense tones. Then she asked, "Can you prove any of what you just told me, Mr. Moray? Everyone but you—Father Rustung, Izaak Plotkin, my husband, Pat, and most of the rest of the household and Irunn's family's—is under the impression that she is your intended bride."

  Milo sighed, hearing disbelief of him in the woman's tone. "The only scrap of evidence I have in regard to my verity, Mrs. O'Shea, is the note that Irunn left with your husband when she left here, last week. She said in a postscript that I should burn it. Now I can see why she wanted it burned, and I'm damned glad I didn't. Here, I'll show you."

  When he had dragged the strongbox from its place beneath his bed and unlocked it, he handed the satin ring box and the envelope containing the handwritten note to Maggie, along with the receipt for monies paid and the dated record of the transaction on which he had insisted.

  After reading everything thoroughly, opening the box, removing the ring and examining the bauble critically, it was Maggie who this time sighed and shook her head.

  "Please accept my full and complete apology, Mr. Moray," she said slowly, soberly and contritely. "Knowing Rosaleen and her intuition as well as I do of old, knowing that she instantly believed you with no shred of evidence in your favor presented her, I should have believed her and you, too. It's a devilish web that the young woman has woven about you, and Dr. Osterreich may well be right that your only choices are either to do what she wants, marry her, or leave the state."

  "Knowing, as we do now, of the enormity of the evil and the soul-damning sin of which she has proved herself capable, were I a man, I'd want no part of her; you seem to feel just that way, too. So I guess you must leave Illinois, for even if you are innocent of the breach-of-promise charge, you admit to being guilty of fornication, which is a mortal sin and a legal crime, as well, though not often invoked, I must admit, in these modern times, anyway. If they tried to lock up everyone guilty of fornication and adultery, I doubt they could build reformatories fast enough to put them all in."

  "So, have you decided yet where you're going to go? No, wait, don't tell me, I don't really think I should know."

  Chapter IV

  As he slumped in his train seat on his way to Indianapolis, Indiana, Milo looked to be asleep, but he was not. Rather was he thinking back to the night of Irunn Thors-dottar's return to the O'Shea house from Wisconsin, when all pure hell broke loose and some hard truths were finally voiced.

  A taxicab had deposited Irunn at the front door at about eight p.m., while Maggie and those of the household not working night shift were seated around the radio console in the parlor and Pat was facing Milo over the chessboard. Aware that Maggie disliked being disturbed when a favorite program was being broadcast, the returnee had climbed the stairs with her bag after only the briefest of greetings to the household in general.

  She had no way of knowing, of course, that immediately she could be heard walking down the second-floor hallway, Maggie pushed herself up out of her chair and made for the telephone in its nook under the stairs.

  When at last Irunn came back down to the parlor, walked across to the chessplayers and said sweetly, "Milo, love, please come upstairs. We need to talk, don't you think?"

  At the words, a sound that could have passed for a bestial growl or snarl came from Rosaleen O'Farrell, but Maggie O'Shea laid a hand on the cook's tensed arm, then turned off the radio set and came up out of the chair once more.

  "I agree, Miss Thorsdottar, there is talking to do, but it all will be done here, where as many witnesses as there are at home tonight can hear and remember. There have been more than enough lies and prevarications from, you concerning Mr. Milo Moray and what he was supposed to have done or not done. I, who have known you and worked with you and lived with you for years, would never have thought you capable of such terrible wickedness had the evidence not been placed in my hands. Now, tonight, I will have the full and unvarnished truth out of you, if truth can ever come out of the mouth of a lying harlot such as you. I also have summoned your priest, Father Rustung, and the deputy administrator of the hospital, Dr. Guiscarde, along with a policeman friend of Mrs. O'Farrell's, so that all of them can hear the truth and know the immensity of your crimes against this poor man."

  As Maggie had spoken, Irunn had turned first red, then white, her face seemingly drained of blood. She never spoke a word, but immediately Maggie had ceased to speak, the woman spun about and dashed up the stairs and down the hallway. A minute or so later, everyone heard her hurried descent of the rear stairs and a rattling and banging at the door at the foot of those same stairs, a few shrieked curses in both English and Norwegian, then a rapid reascent of those same rear stairs.

  Rosaleen showed a set of worn yellow teeth in a grin. "It was thinkin', I was, that she might try to skedaddle when faced down she was, Mrs. O'Shea. Beware, now the front she'll be tryin'."

  With her still-packed bag in hand, a purse in the other and a bundle of uniforms and dresses under one arm, Irunn came pouring down the stairs like a spring freshet in flood, to not halt or even slow until she abruptly became aware that Maggie O'Shea's not inconsiderable hulk loomed between her and the door that led to freedom.

  "Get… get out of my way!" she gasped, fear and anger plain on her face and in her voice. "You got no right… no right at all not to let me out."

  "If any of us needed any further proof of Milo's innocence in this sorry matter, you've just supplied it, you brazen hussy. You're not going out this door until I say so!" snapped Maggie.

  "The hell I'm not!" Irunn s
creamed, dropping her travel case and armful of clothes to swing a powerful roundhouse right at Maggie's head.

  But Maggie O'Shea was ready. She caught Irunn's telegraphed buffet easily on her left forearm even as she sank a paralyzing punch into the younger woman's solar plexus. A ready follow-up was not necessary. Irunn staggered back across the foyer, wide-eyed, gasping for breath, clutching with both her big hands at the point of impact, until her heels struck the first step of the staircase and she lost her balance and landed hard on her rump on the lower landing.

  Between the two of them, Maggie and Rosaleen got the woman up and into a chair in the parlor to await the priest, the doctor and the policeman. As soon as she could breathe almost normally and talk again, Maggie and Pat and the cook began to throw hard questions at her, intui-tively recognizing the lies she attempted and continuing their relentless probings until they got the truth out of her.

  The three were merciless. When once they had what they took to be the truth or near to it, they drilled her, asking the same questions over and over in slightly differing forms. By the time Dr. Gerald Guiscarde arrived to be ushered into the parlor, Irunn was in tears, sobbing, all the defiance and fight drained out of her.

  Coldly, efficiently, Maggie took her through the whole of the sordid story for the benefit of the physician, ending by asking, "Doctor, is this the kind of woman that we want nursing at the hospital?"

  "Good Lord, no!" was his immediate reply. "It's… it was diabolical… almost unbelievable. And all of this misery and trouble and sorrow simply so that she could get her greedy hands on Milo's couple of thousand dollars? And knowing Milo as Sam—Dr. Osterreich— and I have come to know him, he would probably have given, or at least made her a long-term loan of the money, had she been truthful with him at the start."

  "No, the hospital wants no part of a woman like this… and I doubt that the Board of Examiners of Nurses will look with any degree of favor upon this evidence, either. Let her go back to Wisconsin or somewhere else— anywhere else, and nurse there if she can. She's a disgrace to a fine and noble profession."

  A police lieutenant and a sergeant were next to arrive. They were greeted warmly by Rosaleen, had whiskey pressed upon them by Pat O'Shea, and Maggie put Irunn through her paces once more for their benefit. Then Rosaleen brought out trays of cupcakes and little chess pies.

  By the time the priest and his effeminate subordinate drove up to park their ornate Daimler beside the doctor's Mercedes-Benz and the plain black city-owned Ford, leaving their chauffeur outside to keep warm any way that he could, Irunn was well drilled and resigned to the utter ruination of her nefarious schemes, her professional career, her life. She went through the recitation of her multiple misdeeds with but little prompting from Maggie. Irunn did not once raise her gaze from her lap and the hands clasped there.

  Looking even grimmer than Milo remembered him, Father Rustung spoke not one word until the tale was completely told, then he said, "And you told all of these lies to me and to others, you defiled your chastity and forged a letter simply in order to gain for your family a sum of money owned by Mr. Moray, Irunn Thorsdottar?"

  In tones of dull apathy, she answered, "Papa has said so often that if only he had a thousand or two dollars he could do so much with the farm and the barns and the herd and have a bequest of real value to leave to my dear brother, Sven. And besides," she went on, a degree of animation returning to her voice and manner, "Milo had no need of the money—it was just lying useless in his lockbox under his bed. The Jews were paying him more each week than even I, a graduate nurse, make in a week."

  With a curt nod, the priest said, "Yes, my child, another instance of the fierce love of family that is but a hallmark of the Aryan race and folk. I, of all here assembled, can fully understand why you did what you did, the lies and the… the far more heinous sins, the mortal sin of fornication, even. But mere understanding and even a degree of sympathy does not in any way justify your transgressions. The penance I shall lay upon you will be heavy, child, awesomely heavy, and as hard or harder to bear than what the hospital and secular authorities will likely do… although I shall strive to afford you as much protection from them as my office permits, of course, when once I am certain that you truly repent your sins."

  "It were probably better that you depart with me, this night, for after all of this, I doubt that you would be happy or even welcome for any longer under this roof. I will take you to the home of a good German family for the night, and tomorrow you can first make a true confession, receive penance and absolution, then I will do what I can to help you out of these difficulties."

  He turned to the younger man. "Father Karl, please fetch Fritz and have him take this child's things out to the auto."

  Then Rustung stood up and, pointing a forefinger at Milo, demanded, "You did use this child's body, you did take her flower, you did have carnal knowledge of her?" His voice quivered slightly with the intensity of his emotion, his cold blue eyes fairly spitting sparks.

  Milo had not liked the man from minute one of their meeting and now could think of no reason to dissemble or mask that dislike. "You know damned well that I did, priest! Yes, I slept with her, but it was she that came to my bed, night after night, despite a locked door on one occasion. And she was no virgin from before the first night!"

  Father Rustung nodded another of his curt, grim-faced nods and turned to the police lieutenant. "Well, lieutenant, you heard him damn himself out of his own mouth. Where are your handcuffs? I want him arrested this instant for criminal carnal knowledge and fornication."

  "You should also know that he is a dangerous radical who will divulge nothing of his past life to anyone. He may well be a Bolshevik, for I am reliably informed that he speaks excellent Russian and Ukrainian, and his overt employers are a clique of Jews, mostly of Russian extraction. If you don't take him into custody tonight, now, here, you'll probably have no second chance to take him easily or without a gun battle. You know how these Bolsheviks and Jew Anarchists are."

  The lieutenant arose and looked about uncertainly, his left hand hovering in the vicinity of his eased handcuffs, the voice of authority, but ecclesiastical authority only, ringing in his jug ears. The sergeant stood up too, but made no other move, watching his superior.

  Old Rosaleen had heard enough and more than enough, however. "It's prayin' for your forgiveness I am, fither, but you should be ashamed of yourself, and you a holy priest of God and His Mither. That poor, weak mortals like us all be easily tempted, you of all people should be a-knowin', and if crawlin' mither-naked into a man's bed of nights be not temptin', I'd like to know what is. It's that—that scarlet woman you should be after the punishin' of, not poor Mr. Moray."

  "And although he's not of the True Faith, I'll warrant he's no Jew, nor yet a godless Bolshevik or whatnot. He's a good man, a decent man and godly in his own way… far and away more godly than some who've sheltered under this roof."

  She stared pointedly at Irunn, who met that stare for a brief instant, then hung her head and began to sob again.

  Turning to the police lieutenant, she said flatly, her hands extended before her at a little over waist level, "Terence, if it's taking in Mr. Moray you're thinkin' of, then you'll be takin' me, as well, so put the cold steel chains on me old wrists. They cannot be more cold than the Christian charity of this holy priest, I'm thinkin', I am."

  Milo thought that the lieutenant looked as if he would rather be in hell with a broken back than here and now in the warm, comfortable furnished parlor of Maggie and Pat O'Shea. He could almost hear the wheels turning, the gears grinding madly as the tall, lanky redhead tried to think of a way out of his dilemma that would not offend either the priest or his old friend's widow. And Milo felt a stab of pity for the much harried man.

  Then Gerald Guiscarde chimed in, "Lieutenant Grady, Milo Moray is not, no matter what this priest claims to have heard, a Bolshevik or an Anarchist. He's not a Jew, either. I've physically examined him thoroughly, and beli
eve me, I know."

  "Yes, he speaks Russian, but he also speaks German, French, Spanish and a plethora of other languages, as well. His work for Dr. Osterreich's group is that of a translator, and I am told by Dr. Osterreich and others that he does his job in a good, thoroughgoing manner, that he's the best translator they've ever had in their employ."

  "And if there are truly any radicals in this room just now, my vote would be for Father Rustung. Were he as truthful as he demands others be, he'd register himself with Washington as an agent of a foreign power. That's what he really is, you know—he and his precious German-American Bund would sell out this country in a minute to Adolf Hitler and his gang of German thugs."

  "Be very careful what you say of me, doctor," said the priest in icy tones. "A day of reckoning will come for you and your kind… and it may well come far sooner than you think."

  Then, turning back to Terence Grady, the priest demanded, "Well, what are you waiting for, lieutenant? Are you going to arrest him and put him in jail where he belongs, or not?"

  Ignoring on this rare instance the snap of command in the voice of the German-born priest—whose accent had become stronger and more noticeable in the last few minutes—Lieutenant Terence Grady drew himself up and said, "No, fither, I ain't. I'm a lieutenant of patrolmen, a harness bull, not a vice cop or even a detective, and taking Mr. Moray in would be a job for one of them guys, not for me. It wasn't like he was caught in the act or nothin', and not even a warrant for him, either."

  "A warrant you want, lieutenant? Well, a warrant you will have, the first thing tomorrow morning, over the signature of Judge Heinz Richter. Do you recognize the name of my good, good and old friend, eh? Of course you do. And please to be warned that he will also hear quickly of your impertinence to me, your failure to follow my orders, to do the duty which I pointed out to you and arrest a malefactor who had publicly confessed his guilt to a terrible crime against God and man."