Now You See It... Part 31

She thought about it for several moments, then replied,

Now You Sea It.. 115

"Wouldn't it be better if we found Harry's body first? Until we do, my husband is just going to deny everything."

"You think he'll deny it," said Plum.

"Well, you don't imagine he'll confess, do you?" she de- manded.

Yes, I do imagine that, I answered silently. He's not a man to s.h.i.+rk responsibility.

Sheriff Plum was losing patience now.

"Mrs. Delacorte," he said, "I don't know your husband.

He might do anything, as far as I'm concerned."

Touche, you clod, 1 thought.

Ca.s.sandra looked apologetic. "You're right. I'm sorry/'

she said.

Her features hardened then.

"Well, believe me, he will deny it," she said. "He didn't set this whole cabal up only to admit his guilt."

"Cabal?" asked Plum.

"Pht," she told him. "Secret plan. Conspiracy. Maneu- ver-"

"Got it!" cried the Sheriff. "Lwdamighty!"

Lordamighty?

"I'll take your word that he won't confess," Plum went on. "So what do-"

She cut him off. "We have to find Harry's body," she said- "If we can only-"

She stopped, looking across the room.

At the burial case-

The Sheriff asked, "What's that?"

"An Egyptian burial case," she told him.

"From Egypt?"

"Well, maybe ifs from Yugoslavia, I don't know," she snapped.

"There's no need to be smart," the Sheriff told her.

Especially/or you, I thought. (Max, where are you ? is what I was thinking behind that thought.)

116 Richard Matheson

Ca.s.sandra had exhaled wearily. "Sorry," she said- She didn't sound it.

"I think/ before we start searching for a body-I'll proba- bly need a warrant anyway-I'd better speak to your hus- band," the Sheriff decided.

"It's always kept open," she said.

He squinted at her. "What?" he asked.

Ca.s.sandra walked across the room and opened the burial case.

"Yes, it would have been terribly clever of him to hide the body in here," she said, scowling at the empty interior.

Neither of them noticed what was happening behind mem.

On the right glove of the suit of armor.

A large drop of blood was about to drip from one of its fingertips.

"Where might I be likely to find your husband, Mrs. Dela- corte?" the Sheriff asked.

Her smile was bitter. "After committing murder?" she said- "On a flight to Europe, probably."

No, I thought; not Max. But it was only half a thought.

The bulk of my attention was on the suit of armor as the hanging drop of blood disengaged itself from the fingertip of the glove and dropped to the floor, splas.h.i.+ng delicately.

They did not react.

Can't you hear that? I thought incredulously.

"You think he's left, then?" the Sheriff asked. Obviously, he hadn't heard.

"Sheriff, how am I supposed to know?" Ca.s.sandra re- plied. "How could I know?"

Obviously, she hadn't heard either.

Now a second drop of blood was collecting at me tip of the glove finger. I watched with a kind of sickened fasdna-

Now You Sw IL.. 117

tion as it stretched downward, quivered, broke away, then fell to me floor, where it splashed on me damp spot left by the first falling drop of blood.

Are the two of you deaf? screamed my mind.