Solomon's Vineyard Read Online Free PDF Page B

I said.
    I saw the maple-sugar eyes light up again. She went out. I sat down
on a couch and lit a cigarette. The man touched my shoulder.
    “We do not allow smoking, brother.”
    I put the cigarette out. I started to throw the butt in a
waste-basket, but I thought better of it and stuffed it in my pocket.
The man stood looking down at me, his face cold and unfriendly. He made
me uncomfortable.
    “Hot weather we're having,” I said.
    He didn't answer, just stared at me. I didn't try any more
conversation. I sat there and wondered what I'd do if Daughter Penelope
refused to see me. That was a funny way to name anybody, I thought. I
wondered if all the women at the Vineyard were called Daughter.
    The woman came back, saying over her shoulder: “Here he is,
Daughter.”
    Penelope Grayson was thin and blonde and almost beautiful. She was
dressed in white. She should have been beautiful, but she wasn't. There
was something strange about her face. It was like the face of a person
who is blind. What I mean is she looked at me out of grey eyes that
really didn't see me. The woman and the man both watched her.
    “I'm Karl Craven,” I said. “Your uncle asked me to talk with you.”
    “It's no use,” she said slowly.
    The woman went away. The man stayed. I turned to him. “We don't need
you.”
    “I will remain.”
    “Do you want him to stay, Miss Grayson?”
    “Yes, please.”
    She spoke as though she was in a trance, or doped, or dreaming. She
stared back at me steadily enough, but she didn't see me. She wouldn't
know me again. Her face was queer, as though it was out of focus. The
man looked at me smugly.
    “Your uncle wants you to come home,” I said.
    “I belong here,” she said.
    “He is very worried about you.”
    She stood with her dull eyes on me. Her skin was very pale “You must
tell him I am happy here.” She looked anything but happy. I didn't
understand it.
    “He is lonely,” I said. “You're his only relative.
    “No longer,” she said. “I am a Daughter of Solomon. I have abandoned
my worldly connections.”
    I began to feel spooked. It was like talking to a medium. Her voice
came out of her mouth, low and soft, but it didn't really seem to have
anything to do with her. It was as if she didn't know what she was
saying. I wondered if she could be hypnotized.
    “Have you anything for me to tell your uncle? I asked.
    “I have no message.”
    “Will you see him if he comes here?”
    “Please tell him I am happy here.”
    “Wouldn't you be happy somewhere else?” I asked. “Where your uncle
would not worry?”
    The man tapped my arm. “Daughter Penelope has talked enough.”
    “Please,” she said; “I must go.”
    “You are keeping her from her duties,” the man said.
    She started to leave. I got in front of her. “Wait,” I said. “Don't
you know you're in danger here?”
    “I am happy here.”
    “She is going now,” the man said.
    His face was hard. He took her elbow and started to guide her around
me. His eyes were as black as ripe olives. I hit his jaw with a right
uppercut. He fell on the brown carpet, got up on one elbow. He was
dazed, but he wasn't out. I got my revolver and split his head open
with the barrel. That put him flat on the floor. I tucked the revolver
in the holster. Penelope Grayson stared at me with her wide
drugged-looking eyes.
    “Why did you do that?”
    “I want to talk with you alone,” I said. “You're in a lot of
trouble.”
    She was hearing and seeing me now. I had broken through whatever was
wrapped around her mind. She was still dreamy and unnatural, but a part
of her was listening to me.
    “I am in no danger,” she said.
    “I have to talk fast, so listen. I am a private detective. I have a
partner, Oke Johnson.”
    I looked at her eyes, but the name meant nothing to her. I kept it
simple, as though I was talking to a child.
    “He came to Paulton three weeks ago. At your uncle's request.”
    “A short, fat