Over My Dead Body

There was a round of ejaculations. Eyes moved from his face to that of Neya Tormic and back again. I felt Carla Lovchen's fingers gripping my elbow, but I didn't react, because I was trying to keep my brain cleared for action.

Ludlow continued in the same easy tone, "Yesterday when Miss Tormic was suddenly confronted with Driscoll's ugly accusation, naturally she was flustered. Impulsively and perhaps foolishly, she denied having been in the locker room. Hearing that denial, I was a little flustered myself. It would have produced a most unfortunate impression if I had contradicted her on the spot, so I temporized and confirmed her statement that she had been with me continuously in the end room. But, as it turned out, that was no go. Driscoll was positive that it was Miss Tormic he had seen with his coat. Miss Reade and Mr Gill both declared that they had seen her in the hall near the door of the locker room shortly prior to four-thirty. So it was clear that the only thing for it was the truth, which is that while we were fencing yesterday the strap of my pad broke and I had to change it, and we felt like a cigarette and found that we had none, and while I was changing the pad she took my key and went to the locker room for my cigarettes."

I had left his face and was concentrating on Neya's, but I couldn't read it. It wasn't alarmed or angry or pleased; I would have said it was more puzzled than anything else; but that seemed unlikely, so I scored myself zero. There was a buzz around the room which stopped when Miltan remarked, more to space than to any audience, "So! So she was there!"

Ludlow nodded negligently. "Oh, yes, she was there, but it was my coat she had, not Driscol's. No doubt of it, because she returned with my cigarette-case and lighter. We had a few puffs together, and we were fencing again when word came that Miltan wished to see Miss Tormic-"

He stopped, and lost his audience. The door had opened, and two men entered. The one in front was a grey-haired guy with a full cargo of dignity and an air that invited respect, and behind him, practically hiding behind him, was a plump specimen about fifty-one years old with thick lips and bald eyebrows. They came on in and Miltan met them.

"We've been waiting for you, Mr Driscoll-"

"I'm sorry," the plump one stammered, edging around. "Very sorry… unh… this is Mr Thompson, my lawyer-Mr Miltan…"