“Er . . . I’d like to tip you, but I . . . I don’t seem to have any change on me . . .” Tom fumbled in his pockets again, a reflex-action. “You didn’t find my wallet outside in the drive did you? And what about our luggage?”
The agate-eyes of the blind Negro fixed on a point above his head, polite but sulky—as though Tom should have known better than to ask such a foolish question, As no doubt he should have, Tom thought grimly!
“Nawsuh. Ain’t see no wallet, ain’t had time to tote yo’ luggage. . . . Wallet! Luggage!” the childish voice fell to mumbling again, pettishly. “Be mighty nice, now, if ive did git holt o’ some change-money! What wid de taxes pilin’ up, an’ us needin’ a new well-pump, an’ . . . Ma’m?” The white eyes fixed on Jean as she whispered something urgently to Tom about getting out of there, possibly by the back door.
“N-nothing!” Jean quavered. “I . . . I was just saying what a pretty room this is!” she chattered nervously. “This lovely old four-poster bed . . .”
“Yas’m,” Saul bobbed politely. “Dis-yeah Miss Addie’s room. Ain’t no others cleaned up . . . And I ain’t fixin’ to do no dustin,’ and makin’ beds nobody don’t sleep in!” the huge Negro was mumbling again. “Miss Addie say, “Have everthing like it was jest nachel. But I say, ain’t no sense in it! Dem guests o’ her’n ain’t goin’ eat nothing’, ain’t goin’ sleep in no bed, and de biggest balance of ‘em don’t stay no time a-tall . . . ! In and out, in and out . . . !” The mumble continued irascibly, until at Tom’s cough, Saul asked: “Anything else I can do for y’all, suh and ma’m? Miss Addie say, make you comf’able . . .”
“Oh, we’re . . . very comfortable!” Tom managed, scanning the big high-ceilinged bedroom for another exit. There was only one, he saw with a sinking heart; and doubtless this ebon giant would station himself outside that door to make sure they did not escape.
“Den I’ll bid you a good night, suh and ma’m!” Saul, with another old-world bow, backed through the door, but called back: “Miss Addie say she’ll drap up to see y’all in a few minutes, after she ‘tend to de other guests.”
“Er . . . that’s nice!” Jean said brightly, but as the door closed, her face took on an expression of dismay. “Oh, Tom!” she whimpered. “What are they planning? How can we get out of this . . . this . . . ? That old lady is as crazy as a loon; you realize that, don’t you?”
Her young husband nodded grimly. He tugged at his collar. “Yeah! That’s pretty obvious! The thing I don’t know is, what she has that big ogre of a servant do to her ‘overnight guests!’ Is this one of those murder-for-profit inns you read about . . . ? Aw, honey!” his tone changed quickly as Jean’s eyes dilated with terror. “I didn’t mean to scare you. We’ll get out of this . . . somehow!”
His pretty bride sank down on the tester-bed, removing her little flower hat and kicking off her shoes. The feather mattress sank under her invitingly, and she lay back, closing eyes dark-circled with fatigue.
“This is wonderful! I’m so-o tired. . . . It seems we’ve been driving forever . . .”
Tom was eyeing the tray of partridge and wine. Tentatively he nibbled a piece, then shrugged and opened the wicker- covered bottle.
“If this is poisoned,” he said airily, “it’s a pleasant way to go! Mm-mm!” He smacked his lips over the delicate fowl. “Have some, honey?”
Jean grinned, and held out her hand for a browned wing. “What can we lose?” she pointed out wryly. “Oh, darling, I’m . . . I’m scared! What if . . . if they mean to . . . ?”
She stopped speaking, with a gasp as a light knock sounded on the bedroom door.
“It’s only I!” Miss Faraday’s birdlike carol came through the closed portal. “May I come in?”
“Y-yes! Yes, come in . . . !” Jean called, sitting up with a panicky look at her husband.
They braced themselves as the door swung open, prepared for anything—even the sight of gigantic Saul following his mistress in with an axe in his great hands.
But Miss Addie was alone. She tiptoed in, still winnowing her small fan with coquettish grace, and sat down in a lovely old chair beside the bed. Tom and Jean watched her warily as she beamed up at them, sadness and humor an odd mixture in her expression.
“Well!” she said merrily. “I see you’ve made yourselves right at home. Saul will bring up your . . . er . . . luggage in a little while,” she added in the placating voice of an adult promising a crying child the moon. “In the meanwhile, you just . . . rest. Hm? And . . . ah . . . accustom yourselves to . . . to . . . the realization that, although where you’re going will be different, it won’t necessarily be worse than . . . well, what you’ve just left behind!” she finished, like a diplomat carefully wording an important speech. “Are you beginning to understand? It’s only that everyone fears change, and tries to cling to the familiar, the well-known . . .”
Tom did not dare look at his young wife. Elaborately casual, he strolled over to the bedside table again and took another delicious morsel from the tray. Somewhere he had heard that if one would humor a lunatic, and then carefully divert his attention from his obsession. . . .
“Wonderful food . . . !” he murmured, and was opening his mouth for another bite when he noticed Miss Faraday staring at him. Her expression was that of supreme shock, bordering on consternation. She stood up, pointing a shaky finger at him.
“Why, you . . . you’re eating!” she gasped. “And . . . and drinking!”
Tom lowered the morsel of bird and the tiny wine glass, stiffening. He looked at Jean, who was clutching her throat.
“Yes!” Tom snapped. “Of course I’m eating. Is the food poisoned?”
“No! No, certainly not!” Miss Addie panted, sinking back into her chair as if the shock of what she saw was too much. “It’s only that . . . that . . . none of them ever . . . I mean, they only think they’re hungry. It’s just a thought-habit carried over from . . . from . . .”
She was interrupted by a loud hammering on the door. It burst open, and the blind Negro, drenched to the skin, plunged into the room. A damp wallet—Tom’s wallet—was clutched in his outthrust black hand.
“Miss Addie!” he burst out in agitation. “Dey’s a car out yonder in de driveway! I run slap into it a minute ago, when I went out to call Feather in out’n de rain! And . . . and he was totin’ somep’m around in his fool mouth, like he always do—a slipper, or anything he pick up.” Dark sensitive fingers ran ever the object, seeing what the blind eyes could not. “Feel like a man’s wallet! And hit’s plumb full o’ foldin’ money!”
“It’s mine,” Tom snapped, reaching out and taking it from the trembling black hand almost bruskly. “I told you I must have dropped it when we . . .”
“Saul—!” Miss Addie was fluttering her fan again, with a visible effort at composure. “Saul,” she interrupted, half in dismay, half in amusement, “these two guests aren’t like the others. They . . . I realized it when I saw this nice young man eating your partridge.”
“Eatin’!” The white eyes bulged in the ebon face. “Y-you mean dey ain’t . . . ?”
No,” Miss Addie began to laugh weakly. “No, Saul, they’re just like us.” She turned to Jean and Tom then, with a gracious smile of apology. “You poor children! Stumbling out of the storm into a . . . a place like this! I naturally thought you were one of the usual . . . ah . . . travelers who stop here. We haven’t had a genuine paying-guest,” she confessed gaily, “for over ten years!”
*
The tall Negro grinned feebly, nodding. “Naw’m. Sho’ ain’t.” His face brightened