As Ellery followed the guard down the eye-studded corridor, a cell exploded in his brain with a great and disproportionate burst of light. He actually stopped walking, causing old Planetsky to turn and look at him in surprise. But then he shook his head and strode on again. He’d almost had it that time¯by sheer divination. Maybe the next time . . .
* * *
Pat drew a deep breath outside the frosted-glass door on the second floor of the County Courthouse, tried to see her reflection, poked nervously at her mink hat, tried out a smile or two, not too successfully, and then went in.
Miss Billcox looked as if she were seeing a ghost.
“Is the Prosecutor in, Billy?” murmured Pat.
“I’ll . . . see, Miss Wright,” said Miss Billcox, and fled.
Carter Bradford came out to her himself, in a hurry.
“Come in, Pat.” He looked tired and astonished. He stood aside to let her pass, and as she passed, she heard his uneven breathing. O Lord, she thought. Maybe. Maybe it isn’t too late.
“Working?” His desk was covered with legal papers.
“Yes, Pat.” He went around his desk to stand behind it. One sheaf of bound papers lay open¯he closed it surreptitiously and kept his hand on it as he nodded toward a leather chair. Pat sat down and crossed her knees.
“Well,” said Pat, looking around, “the old office¯I mean the new office¯doesn’t seem to have changed, Cart.”
“About the only thing that hasn’t.”
“You needn’t be so careful about that legal paper,” smiled Pat. ”I haven’t got X-ray eyes.”
He flushed and removed his hand.
“There isn’t a shred of Mata Hari in my makeup.”
“I’m nor¯” Cart began angrily. Then he pushed his fingers through his hair in the old, old gesture. ”Here we are, scrapping again. Pat, you look simply delicious.”
“It’s nice of you to say so,” sighed Pat, “when I really am beginning to look my age.”
“Look your age! Why, you’re¯” Cart swallowed hard. Then he said, as angrily as before: “I’ve missed you like hell.”
Pat said rigidly: “I suppose I’ve missed you, too.” Oh, dear! That wasn’t what she had meant to say at all. But it was hard, facing him this way, alone in a room together for the first time in so long¯hard to keep from feeling . . . feelings.
“I dream about you,” said Cart with a self-conscious laugh. ”Isn’t that silly?”
“Now, Cart, you know perfectly well you’re just saying that to be polite. People don’t dream about people. I mean in the way you mean. They dream about animals with long noses.”
“Maybe it’s just before I drop off.” He shook his head. ”Dreaming or not dreaming, it’s always the same. Your face. I don’t know why. It’s not such a wonderful face. The nose is wrong, and your mouth’s wider than Carmel’s, and you’ve got that ridiculous way of looking at people side-wise, like a parrot¯”
And she was in his arms, and it was just like a spy drama, except that she hadn’t planned the script exactly this way. This was to come after¯as a reward to Cart for being a sweet, obliging, self-sacrificing boy. She hadn’t thought of herself at all, assuming regal stardom. Certainly this pounding of her heart wasn’t in the plot¯not with Jim caged in a cell six stories above her head and Nora lying in bed across town trying to hold on to something.
His lips were on hers, and he was pressing, pressing.
“Cart. No. Not yet.” She pushed. ”Darling. Please¯”
“You called me darling! Damn it, Pat, how could you play around with me all these months, shoving that Smith fellow in my face¯”
“Cart,” moaned Pat, “I want to talk to you . . . first.”
“I’m sick of talk! Pat, I want you so blamed much¯” He kissed her mouth; he kissed the tip of her nose.
“I want to talk to you about Jim, Cart!” cried Pat desperately.
She felt him go cold in one spasm.
He let her go and walked to the wall with the windows that overlooked the Courthouse plaza, to stare out without seeing anything¯cars or people or trees or Wrightsville’s gray-wash sky.
“What about Jim?” he asked in a flat voice.
“Cart, look at me!” Pat begged.
He turned around. ”I can’t do it.”
“Can’t look at me? You are!”
“Can’t withdraw from the case. That’s why you came here today, isn’t it¯to ask me?”
Pat sat down again, fumbling for her lipstick. Her lips. Blobbed. Kiss. Her hands were shaking, so she snapped the bag shut. ”Yes,” she said, very low. ”More than that. I wanted you to resign the Prosecutor’s office and come over to Jim’s defense. Like Judge Eli Martin.”
Cart was silent for so long that Pat had to look up at him. He was staring at her with an intense bitterness.
But when he spoke, it was with gentleness. ”You can’t be serious. The Judge is an old man, your father’s closest friend. And he wouldn’t have been able to sit on this case, anyway. But I was elected to this office only a short time ago. I took an oath that means something to me. I hate to sound like some stuffed shirt of a politician looking for votes¯”
“Oh, but you do!” flared Pat.
“If Jim’s innocent, he’ll go free. If he’s guilty¯You wouldn’t want him to go free if he’s guilty, would you?”
“He’s not guilty!”
“That’s something the jury will have to decide.”
“You’ve decided already! In your own mind, you’ve condemned him to death!”
“Dakin and I have had to collect the facts, Pat. We’ve had to. Don’t you understand that? Our personal feelings can’t interfere. We both feel awful about this thing . . . ”
Pat was near tears now and angry with herself for showing it. ”Doesn’t it mean anything to you that Nora’s whole life is tied up in this ‘thing,’ as you call it? That there’s a baby coming? I know the trial can’t be stopped, but I wanted you on our side. I wanted you to help, not hurt!”
Cart ground his teeth together.
“You’ve said you love me,” cried Pat. ”How could you love me and still¯” Horrified, she heard her own voice break and found herself sobbing. ”The whole town’s against us. They stoned Jim. They’re slinging mud at us. Wrightsville, Cart! A Wright founded this town. We were all born here¯not only us kids, but Pop and Muth and Aunt Tabitha and the Bluefields and . . . I’m not the spoiled brat you used to neck in the back of your lizzie at the Grove in Wrightsville Junction on Saturday nights! The whole world’s gone to pot, Cart. I’ve grown old watching it. Oh, Cart, I’ve no pride left¯no defenses. Say you’ll help me! I’m afraid!”
She hid her face, giving up the emotional battle. Nothing made any sense¯what she’d just said, what she was thinking. Everything was drowning, gasping, struggling in tears.
“Pat,” said Cart miserably, “I can’t. I just can’t.”
That did it. She was drowned now, dead, but there was a sort of vicious other-life that made her spring from the chair and scream at him.
“You’re nothing but a selfish, scheming politician! You’re willing to see Jim die, and Pop, and Mother, and Nora, and me, and everyone suffer, just to further your own career! Oh, this is an important case. Dozens of New York and Chicago and Boston reporters to hang on your every word! Your name and photo¯Young Public Prosecutor Bradford¯brilliant¯says this¯my duty is¯yes¯no¯off the record . . . You’re a hateful, shallow publicity hound!”
“I’ve gone all through this in my mind, Pat,” Cart replied with a queer lack of resentment. ”I suppose I can’t expect you to see it my way¯”