Call After Midnight Read Online Free PDF

would have proved that your gun wasn’t used.”
    There was a long pause. Then Peter said slowly, “I acted too fast. Always a mistake. There was Fiora, fainting, blood all over her dress. Well, I can’t get that slug back now.”
    “Why on earth did you throw it away?”
    “Use your head,” Peter said coldly. “I didn’t know what had happened. I only knew it was a gunshot and I had a gun. If my gun had been used and Fiora had died, the first person the police would suspect would be me. A slug from my gun would be very convincing evidence.” A touch of impatience came into Peter’s deliberate voice. “And don’t look at me like that, Cal. Nobody knows what he’s going to do in an emergency until it happens. I made a mistake in judgment.”
    “You thought Fiora had shot herself with your gun?”
    “What else was there to think—?”
    “I didn’t!” Fiora screamed. “I didn’t!”
    Cal came back into the room. Peter followed him. “How about you, Blanche?” Cal asked. “Do you happen to have a gun?”
    “No!”
    “Fiora?”
    “No! Never. I’m afraid of them. You see—I kept telling you, Peter, I didn’t shoot myself.”
    Cal said to Peter, “Too bad you didn’t call the police immediately. I think you’d better do it now.”
    Peter thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it does look as if somebody got into the house. Yes, I’ll call them now. Besides, the doctor will have to report it.”
    “I’ll call them.” Cal went out into the hall again.
    “Peter, you didn’t believe me!” Fiora cried plaintively. “I told you I didn’t shoot myself!”
    “I’m sorry,” Peter said in a controlled way. “I thought you were hysterical.”
    Blanche said, “Really, Fiora, everything was horribly confused. We didn’t know what to do except see to you as fast as we could. You don’t realize—”
    She broke off as they heard Cal at the telephone in the hall. He was speaking for Mr. Vleedam; someone had entered the house and shot and wounded Mrs. Vleedam. No, Mrs. Vleedam was not seriously wounded. No, there was apparently no intruder in the house now; it had happened nearly two hours ago. No, Mrs. Vleedam had seen no one. Nobody had seen the prowler. Well, it hadn’t been reported sooner because they had been upset about Mrs. Vleedam and hadn’t thought of the police. He listened for a while, said thank you, and came back. “They’re sending a prowl car at once.”
    Fiora cried shrilly again, “You wouldn’t believe me, Peter! Why didn’t you look at your gun? Why didn’t you believe me?”
    If there was a flash of exasperation in Peter’s eyes it did not show in his face. He sat down again on the sofa beside Fiora. “It’s not hurting much, is it?” he said.
    Devotion? Jenny thought. She couldn’t be sure.
    She leaned back in the too deep chair so as to avert her eyes from Peter sitting there beside Fiora who was now his wife. It seemed odd that Fiora had said so flatly and so very unexpectedly that Jenny was her friend. She was no friend of Fiora’s.
    She wished that she and Peter had met alone, with no watching eyes. She wished that the meeting had been different. She eyed a brilliantly blooming box of fuchsias at one of the windows and then looked around the room.
    So here she was again. This was the house she had thought of as home, and had been poignantly homesick for, during the whole of the past year. Same roof, same rooms—different, of course. Very different. Fiora must have called upon the services of decorators to change every inch of the vast place. It surprised her again because it was in Peter’s nature to hate change. He had changed wives though. And he must have permitted Fiora to change the house. Perhaps Peter was happy with Fiora.
    She wouldn’t think of that now. She let her eyes travel over the entire room. She missed ranks of bookshelves which had disappeared. She missed a huge old writing table which had stood solidly before the fireplace, and