It was evidently not much of a success, for the plump little woman frowned. "You can't really tell what a man looks like just from words, can you? I don't know many athletes except that team of rowers the Colonel is—"
A spoon was rapped sharply against a glass and Colonel Lee rose majestically to his feet:
"Ladies and gentlemen! The gallant active members of the Pegasus Lit'ry Society once more return to the arms of their loved ones, aureoled in immortal glory after exerting their might in the defence of the right. Let us shed a tear to the memory of that good friend and noble character, Hyacinth Standwood, who fell on the field of honor, defending the pursuit of literature from those scoundrels, the Bummingham Arcadians. Let us rejoice that the low, cunning carpetbagger, Cleanthus Odum, has ceased to inflict on the world his skunk-like aroma. And now, as president of this society, it is my pleasure to announce that the following—"
He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening into the same fixed stare with which he had regarded the Mona Lisa girl. His mouth moved wordlessly once, and his forefinger shot out. "Impy, shoot Marmaduke, quick!"
There was one instant of tense silence, in which Finch's eyes had just time to travel to Marmaduke; when the roar of a shot seemed to push him bodily backward so that his chair crashed to the floor. Others were up, too, amid a chorus of cries; glasses toppled and wine spilled across the tablecloth.
Impy alone sat still, two paces from the Colonel, his outstretched hand on the table holding a pistol from which a tiny feather of smoke drifted up past the candles. Across the table, the darkly handsome Marmaduke had been in the act of pushing back his chair. As Finch's eyes fell on him, he pushed it still farther back and slunped gently down out of sight between chair and table.
"Return to yo' seats, folks," said the Colonel companionably. "Dromio, have a couple of yo' boys throw that carrion out where the buzzards can get at it. Gumfoot! Gumfoot! Jest have a couple of yo' boys pe'suade Elise Mallory to step off the grounds of Pegasus Hall, and if she comes back, throw her out again."
The girl with the Mona Lisa hair had one. hand over her mouth, staring toward the Colonel with wide agonized eyes. As two of the liveried negroes advanced to take her arms, she shook herself from their grasp long enough to cry:
"You old gelding! I'll go and gladly—anywhere to get away from you now. Yes, and I'll come back to eat your liver with salt and pepper. But I want my clothes and things."
The Colonel made a half bow and sat down. "Madam, clothes are the legitimate means by which a good woman enhances her ch'ms, but the poisoned weapons of a bad one. Take her away, boys." He looked up and down a table where no one spoke. "I deeply regret, folks, that this untowa'd incident has marred the fair surface of our festive merriment. That snake in sheep's clothing, Marmaduke Mallory, set his wife on to vampire me, so that he might be free to attempt the seduction of Miss Kirsch, and failing in this dasta'dly plot, he was going to plug me in the back as I left the table ... Dromio, you may serve the dessert."
Finch sat before an untasted Bert Atkinson creation in ice cream and fruit, wondering how much appetite the guests of the Borgias had for their desserts, while beside him the fluttery Mrs. Weems, like everyone else, was chattering rapidly:
"... think they'd be more careful when they know perfectly well the Colonel is an ESP mind-reader, but I s'pose that little spat she got into with you made her forget to control what she was thinking for a while, only I can't understand how Marmaduke—"
The spoon tapped again, and the Colonel announced urbanely: "Now we will have the treat for which you-all have been waiting. Sonia, honey, will you sing us something?"
The red-head undulated to the side of the room, where everyone could see her, draped herself on the edge of a side-table and without prelude or accompaniment swung into Michaele's aria from "Carmen." Her pose was well calculated to reveal the fact that she was a mammal, and Finch found the picture not unpleasant.
"That dress used to be so loose on her, too," murmured Mrs. Weems by his side. Finch shushed her gently, for the aria was distinctly worth hearing, though the expressions on some of the other guests indicated they did not think so. Miss Sonia Kirsch was certainly what his colleague Lloyd Owens would have described as an attractive piece of goods—combining curves, good features, and that Continental outlook which opens negotiations with every member of the other sex, and either lets them drop or develop, according as the affair promises or fails to be interesting. He could hardly blame Marmaduke Mallory—
He snatched his eyes away in sudden panic. It must have been just some such chain of thoughts that touched off the downfall of the unfortunate Adonis across the table, of whom nothing now remained but a damp spot where the servants had wiped up the blood. If the Colonel were really an extra-sensory mind-reader, there were certain subjects on which even the vaguest speculation was hardly advisable. For a moment his mind groped wildly through various strata of thought for an innocuous subject; then, as the singer waited only for a little pattering of hands before plunging into "Mon coeur s'eleve a ta voix," he snatched at the mystery,of Terry-Tiridat, the carnelian cube, and how he might escape from this dream of a world of which he had already seen about enough, in spite of its individualist freedoms.
If this were an analogy of the previous experience, Tiridat with the cube, ought to be related in some way to the others. Lee was quite clearly replacing Orange, though with immensely more talent and vigor and no facial resemblance. Sonia would be the counterpart of Eulalie. Terry ought to be some abandoned husband of hers if there were any thread of logic in the structure of this experience. If the present phase were part and parcel of the last, he and Sonia ought to—No! Stop it!
Archaeology. It was possible that they had been conducting the dig too far to the north and east to throw light on what they really wished—the fascinating problem of what happened at the court of Assyria to cause the collapse of that great and bloody empire so soon after the death of Tiglath-Pileser. Why had the last of the Shalmanesars, surely an able man, given way to the foreigner, Sargon? It was as though he himself, Arthur Finch, were to enter Pegasus Hall, possess himself of the Colonel's authority and mistress—for Heaven's sake, cut it out!
He woke up to find Mrs. Weems tugging at his sleeve and the song over. "The boss wants to say something to you, honey."
Finch's heart turned over. The redoubtable Colonel was beckoning, his chair pushed back a little from the table, while Impy had moved up into a position by his side. Ladies were rising and the boys passing trays of tall drinks and port wine.
Rubber legs dragged leaden feet across the interval. "Sit down, suh," said Lee, indicating the chair on the opposite side from Impy. "Mr. Finch, maybe you can rigger why I want to have a special little talk between me 'n you;" He leaned forward and Finch carefully thought that 11 x 13 Was 143, while 12 x 13 would be 156. "The Pegasus Lit'ry Society, suh, is an organization that believes in the talent of its members, and seeks to encourage them. We know you as a conve'sationalist of great ability, an o'nament to the profession. But we spend less one-fifth of ouah waking hours at table, and there must be other talents you have that could be used to our mutual encouragement. Now is the time to state them." He beamed past the crooked nose.
"Why—I don't know—" said Finch, caught off balance.
The Colonel held up a hand, and Finch observed that the whites of the pale eyes were bloodshot, at the same time making note how the accent seemed to come and go. "Save yo' modesty, suh. It does you credit, yes indeedy it does, but it is a houn' dog's virtue. Have some po't. Liquor loosens the tongue and expands the ego."