Champagne for One

When I got there he was trying to hold her up. I said to let her down, took her shoulders, and called out to get a doctor. As I eased her to the floor she went into convulsion, her head jerking and her legs thrashing, and when Cecil tried to catch her ankles I told him that was no good and asked if someone was getting a doctor, and someone behind me said yes. I was on my knees, trying to keep her from banging her head on the floor, but managed a glance up and around, and saw that Robilotti and Kent and the band leader were keeping the crowd back. Pretty soon the convulsions eased up, and then stopped. She had been breathing fast in heavy gasps, and when they slowed down and weakened, and I felt her neck getting stiff, I knew the paralysis was starting, and no doctor would make it in time to help.

Cecil was yapping at me, and there were other voices, and I lifted my head to snap, "Will everybody please shut up? There’s nothing I can do or anyone else." I saw Rose Tuttle. "Rose, go and guard that bag. Don’t touch it. Stick there and don’t take your eyes off it." Rose moved.

Mrs Robilotti took a step towards me and spoke. "You are in my house, Mr Goodwin. These people are my guests. What’s the matter with her?"

Having smelled the breath of her gasps, I could have been specific, but that could wait until she was dead, not long, so I skipped it and asked, "Who’s getting a doctor?"

"Celia’s phoning," someone said.

Staying on my knees, I turned back to her. A glance at my wristwatch showed me five past eleven. She had been on the floor six minutes. There was foam on her mouth, her eyes were glassy, and her neck was rigid. I stayed put for two minutes, looking at her, ignoring the audience participation, then reached for her hand and pressed hard on the nail of the middle finger. When I removed my fingers the nail stayed white; in thirty seconds there was no sign of returning pink.

I stood up and addressed Robilotti. "Do I phone the police or do you?"

"The police?" He had trouble getting it out.

"Yes. She’s dead. I’d rather stick here, but you must phone at once."

"No," Mrs Robilotti said. "We have sent for a doctor. I give the orders here. I’ll phone the police myself when I decide it is necessary."