The Weak-Eyed Bat

Nora’s voice was rather distant. “Certainly it is. If Mary Little wants to try and house-train a pet louse, let her. But somebody should tell Ralph Bonner about it, somebody impersonal and calm, say a doctor, for instance.”

“Say what doctor, for instance?” Prye demanded coldly.

“You see Ralph is so innocent and idealistic, he might do anything. I’ll bet you could tell him almost painlessly.”

“I’ll bet,” Prye said gloomily, “that no one could painlessly inform a man that his fiancée is a little tramp.” Prye sighed heavily as a knock sounded on the front door. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. It’s a lynching party. Say I’m not at home.”

Nora tiptoed to the door and looked out cautiously from the shelter of chintz curtains. She turned back to him, frowning.

“It’s Miss Bonner’s nurse.”

“I didn’t know Miss Bonner had a nurse,” Prye said. “What’s she like, bloodthirsty?”

“Miss Alfonse is a perfect lady and she’ll cut the throat of the first guy that says she’s not.”

Prye grinned and went to the door, and Nora tiptoed back to the sitting room.

Miss Harriet Alfonse was on the point of knocking a third and last time when the door opened with a suddenness that made her jump. Miss Alfonse’s nerves were congenitally bad, and the strain of her profession, not entirely confined to nursing, had aggravated her condition. At thirty-one she passed as a well-preserved forty. The fact was that Alfonse was much too conscientious: when she chose a new name out of the telephone book she worked out a completely new personality to fit it.

She had long black hair neatly pinned into a roll at the back of her head, and only close observers suspected that Alfonse’s hair was too black to be true. She was tall, stout, and rigidly corseted. Her features were attractive in repose, but when she smiled she was not convincing as Miss Harriet Alfonse whose life of genteel poverty in Georgia had necessitated her going to work to save the old plantation. Miss Alfonse had never seen a plantation.

Her voice was prim. “Miss Bonner would like to see you before lunch,” she told Prye.

“You’re Miss Bonner’s nurse?”

“Nursing companion,” Miss Alfonse said loftily, in character.

Prye studied her. “Haven’t we met before some place?”

No Alfonse could be approached so blatantly. “No, indeed. Shall I tell Miss Bonner to expect you?”

“I’ll come over with you now,” Prye said suddenly. “I’d like to talk to you, Miss—?”

Miss Alfonse did not believe in mixing business and pleasure, but she permitted herself to smile. After all, one could never have too many irons in the fire and Dr. Prye was certainly distinguished-looking, perhaps even wealthy.

Her smile grew warmer and faded. “No, thank you,” she said with regret. “I am quite capable of finding my way back.”

Illustrating her point, she walked down the veranda steps unerringly. Prye watched her. In her white uniform with her neat hair and her sensible low-heeled white shoes she looked like a competent hospital supervisor. But there was something about her smile, a certain wariness, that Prye found familiar. He went back to the sitting room.

“Nice girl, Alfonse,” Nora said with a grimace.

“How long has she been here?” Prye asked.

“Two months. Miss Alfonse and I came up by the same train as a matter of fact. I was all set to let down my back hair and start a beautiful friendship with her but Alfonse was not in the market. Very aloof, and if I remember correctly she had a lovely Southern drawl which has since disappeared. Still, Miss Bonner likes her after two months, and that’s a character reference supreme.”

“I think I know this Alfonse,” Prye said thoughtfully.

“She doesn’t know you,” Nora said. “I was watching her from the window. Fumble around in your subconscious, Dr. Prye. Under what circumstances would you a remember her when she doesn’t remember you?”

Prye turned the question over in his mind all the time he was shaving, unpacking white flannels and a blue blazer, and walking up the lane to Miss Bonner’s white house.

The Bonner residence, since it was permanent, was the only one in the vicinity equipped with all the niceties of civilization: a doorbell, a houseman, a cook, two maids, fourteen gilt-framed oil paintings, a two-car garage, a motor launch, and a spotlight.

Miss Bonner had many vagaries and no one had been surprised when she announced her intention of erecting a powerful spotlight at the entrance to the lane. Sin, she propounded, flourished in the dark, and the spotlight would discourage prospective burglars. Since the surrounding countryside was a deep forest her explanation satisfied everyone but Nora.

Prye rang the bell and almost immediately the door opened and revealed a small rotund Chinaman in a white coat. His round face was creased with smiles.

“Dr. Prye. Most charming to see you again. I’m glad.”

“Hello, Wang. You’re looking well and a bit heavier.”

“Injudicious eating,” Wang said with a broad grin. “Miss Bonner is awaiting you in her room. Miss Bonner is a very, very old lady. She no longer comes downstairs.”