She Woke to Darkness

9

Aline was still lying face down on the couch fifteen minutes later when there was a knock on her door. She rolled over dazedly and sat up.

The knock was repeated. It wasn’t exactly a furtive knock, but it sounded hesitant. As though the person standing outside weren’t exactly sure whether it was the right door or not, or whether Aline would welcome his or her presence.

She pulled herself to her feet and went to the door and opened it. The sight of the big, blond Viking standing there, with boyishly tousled hair and a wistful, wishful sort of smile on his lips brought a sudden smarting to Aline’s eyes.

She whispered, “Dirk! My God, Dirk! What are you doing here? Ina just telephoned. She’s terribly upset.”

He said, “I know. I’m horribly sorry, my dear. Everything seems to have gotten itself in pretty much of a tangle.” He hesitated momentarily. “May I come in? Or would you rather I went away and never came back?”

Aline laughed shakily. “Please do come in.” She held the door open wide for him. “After what Ina suspects about last night, nothing that happens now can matter very much.

“I know exactly what you mean.” His eyes were bloodshot and his suit looked as though he had slept in the gutter in it. He entered her living room and sat down heavily. “I’m in an apologetic mood this morning,” he confessed unhappily. “If I owe you one… or many… please consider them as being very humbly offered.”

“I’m not at all sure that you owe me any.” Aline closed the door and turned to look down at him curiously. “Before we go into any of that, how the dickens did you get up to my apartment without buzzing me from outside?”

“I used your key.” He looked surprised and opened his clenched palm to show her a flat key. “An extra you had last night. Don’t you remember giving it to me at Bart’s?”

Aline shook her head slowly, sinking down onto the couch opposite him. “I’m sorry, Dirk,” she said wearily. “I don’t remember. Did I really?”

“Dear God!” Dirk spread out his hands piously. “Don’t tell me you forget things too?”

“I’m afraid I lost a lot of last night.”

“Oh, no! I’d depended on you. Didn’t I come up here after the party as you asked me to?”

“I don’t know,” Aline confessed miserably. “You see, I passed out, too. Honestly, Dirk, I don’t remember a single thing after my third martini.” She hesitated, biting her underlip in embarrassment. “What the hell?” she burst out angrily. “We won’t get anywhere beating around the bush. I remember you making love to me. Not too much, but nicely. But I didn’t know I gave you my key.”

“Then you passed out before I did,” Dirk said lugubriously.

“And I’d depended on you to put me straight on what happened.” He paused to take a deep breath, and went on rapidly, “I came to in my own place about four o’clock this morning with Ina in hysterics and accusing me of having spent the night with you. Seems she’d phoned around and had been told that you and I had sort of made some passes at each other at the party. I indignantly denied everything, but when I found your key in my pocket, I thought of course this is where I’d been all the time. If I didn’t come here, where the devil did I go?”

“I’m sure you weren’t here. Or, if you were, you were here alone.”

“When did you get in?” he asked unhappily.

Aline hesitated. A dreadful and horrible doubt was beginning to take possession of her mind. “How much do you remember about Bart’s party?” she demanded.

Dirk shrugged. “Dimly, right up to the last. You deserted me, you know. For some other man. A chap I’d never met before. Most unattractive, I thought him. But you whispered to me that it would be much safer for us both, there among people who knew us, if you pretended to be interested in someone else. You promised me faithfully,” he added sadly, “that you would get rid of him and be waiting for me here. Then you disappeared, and I lost track of just what happened. I naturally supposed I had come here.”

“You don’t remember anything after the party broke up?” demanded Aline.

“Nothing. It remains a complete blank. I couldn’t admit that to Ina, of course,” he went on hurriedly. “I made up a long story for her benefit about meeting a couple of strange men in a bar and drinking with them. Not that she believed me. She’s convinced I was here with you, and her conviction strengthened my own. Where were you if not here?”

Aline Ferris hesitated before answering him, biting her underlip uncertainly. She wanted terribly to confide in Dirk. To pour out every horrible detail to him and to beg for his advice. Did she dare to do it?

Could he be mixed up in it, too, somehow? The thought was utterly fantastic, but she couldn’t put it wholly away from her. She evidently had given him her extra key last night and invited him to come up after the party even though she didn’t remember doing so. With that incentive, and in a state of drunkenness, could he possibly have followed her… seen her meet Vincent Torn outside the cocktail lounge?

She shuddered violently and avoided his eyes, saying miserably, “I’m in a terrible mess, Dirk. I don’t know what to do, where to turn. I wish you had come here last night. If you only had! And stayed with me. I’d be almost willing to have Ina know about it, if it were only true.”

Dirk settled back in his chair and studied her downcast face with troubled eyes. “Tell me about it, Aline. Perhaps I can help. God knows, I’ll try.”

“I… I… all right, Dirk,” she burst out. “I think I’ll have to. I feel as though I’ll go mad if I don’t talk to someone. You say I passed out first at the party… that you remember another man whom I played up to in order to keep the others from suspecting the truth about us. Do you remember his name?”

“I don’t believe I heard it. He was a complete stranger to me. I know I was quite jealous of him, but kept telling myself you didn’t mean it really and were just doing it for camouflage.”

“Does the name Vincent Torn mean anything to you?”

He shook his head wearily. “Afraid not.”

She drew in a deep breath and told him swiftly: “It will by this time tomorrow after you read the paper. He’s dead, Dirk. Lying alone in a hotel room where I went with him, God help me. I don’t know why I did it,” she cried out wildly. “Don’t ask me why. I don’t even know the man. Consciously, I mean. I’m not aware of ever having seen him until I woke up early this morning in a hotel room with his dead body the only other occupant.”

“Are you serious, Aline? How did the man die?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed piteously. “That is, I do know how, of course. He was murdered, Dirk. With a knife. There was blood all over. But I didn’t do it!” Her voice rose, hysterical and shrill. “I couldn’t have. Don’t you see? Even though I was unconscious at the time it happened. There was no knife there in the room. Nothing that could possibly have done it to him.”

Dirk’s face was pale, his eyes deeply troubled. He said gently, “I think you had better tell me all about it. Every single thing. This sounds very serious.”

“Serious?” With an effort she choked off wild laughter. “That’s one of the understatements of all times. Any moment now, the police will be here accusing me of his murder. And I can’t possibly prove I didn’t do it. This is the way it happened, Dirk.”

She paused and asked uncertainly, “Would you like a drink before I start?”

Dirk shook his blond head decidedly. “I’m afraid there’s already been much too much drinking. We both need clear heads to cope with this.”

Aline sat very erect and began her story in a small, tight voice. She omitted nothing, or at least, tried to omit nothing. Not even the horrible detail about the two-dollar bill tucked in her stocking and her own reaction on discovering it there.

Dirk did not speak once or move while she went rapidly over every incident that had occurred after she awakened in the hotel room. His face was gravely concerned and he sat well back on the sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him, eyes narrowed and brooding down at the tips of his shoes.

“So I just don’t know what to think,” Aline ended despairingly after quoting his wife’s virulent words over the telephone. “That was the first time I knew you and I had gotten serious about each other last night.”

“And the thought immediately sprang into your mind,” he told her morosely, “that I might be the one who killed your friend.”

“I… I…,” she faltered and was silent.

“And the fact is, Aline, that neither of us can possibly say it wasn’t I who did it.” Dirk’s voice was controlled and dispassionate. “It seems quite possible. I was jealous of the man, you know. I’ve admitted that. Suppose I did see you leave with him? Suppose I drove here a short time later, feeling fully confident that you would get rid of him and be waiting for me as you had promised; and as I passed the cocktail lounge down the street I saw you waiting outside and get in a car with him?”

Dirk paused and his full lips twisted painfully. “How can I truthfully say what I might or might not have done under those circumstances? How can any man know? I don’t believe any man has ever truthfully known himself. It takes a psychoanalyst years to dig beneath the surface of any one human being and know what really lies beneath.”

“Do you mean that, Dirk? Do you think…?”

“How do I know what to think?” he demanded somberly. “You admit that the most obvious motive for Torn’s death is sexual jealousy. Yet you were forced to discard that because you didn’t believe any man cared enough about you to be jealous. But I loved you last night, Aline, in my fashion. Who can possibly know or judge what happened to my reasoning faculties last night when alcohol took possession of me? Who knows what savage, atavistic traits came up from far beneath the surface? Of course, I don’t believe it for a moment. How can I? What civilized man could believe such a thing about himself? On the other hand, how can I possibly be sure?”

“Oh God, Dirk!” she sobbed, throwing herself forward on her knees before him and pressing her face into his lap. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to face every possibility as calmly as possible and then go on from there,” he told her sternly. “Hysterics won’t help. There’s nothing definite, yet, to connect you with Torn or the hotel room except the telephone call you made to him at midnight. In other words, though many persons seem to suspect you left the party with Torn, you know you didn’t. You can prove that. Ralph Barnes drove you home and left you here. But for the accident of having left your bag and keys in his car, I’d like to think you would have come right upstairs and waited for me.”

“But I didn’t,” she said tearfully. “As soon as the police learn that I telephoned Mr. Torn, they’ll know I met him and went to the hotel with him.”

“They’ll suspect it strongly,” he agreed. “Not only that, Aline, they’ll also suspect strongly that I may have followed you there, gained access to the room somehow, and killed Torn in a jealous rage. With no knowledge or proof as to where I was at the time, I’m wide open to any sort of accusation.”

“What are we going to do?” Aline sank back on her haunches and looked up into his face appealingly. “It’s all my fault, you see. Whether you did or didn’t do anything. My untamed sexiness when I get tight. First, leading you on and making an assignation with you, and then faithlessly switching my desire to Vincent Torn whom I didn’t even know from Adam. I deserve anything that happens to me.”

“We’re going to see that nothing happens,” he said sternly. Then he sighed and added wistfully, “If we could only prove we spent the four hours from midnight onward here together. That would solve everything… for both of us.”

“No one can prove we didn’t,” she said hopefully.

He shook his head. “Except Ralph Barnes with his knowledge of your telephone call. If you’d only foreseen this, and gone to the bar yourself to inquire. Then we’d be quite safe. The bartender doesn’t know who you phoned, and there’d be no reason for him to come forward with information about the matter.”

“It’s too late to think about that now. Ralph does know. He even knows the number I called. As soon as he learns that Mr. Torn is dead, he’ll check the number and then he’ll know.”

“That’s true.” Dirk was frowning thoughtfully. He cleared his throat and said, “Please tell me honestly, Aline. Ralph goes for you in a big way, doesn’t he?”

Aline hesitated before replying. She wanted desperately to be honest with Dirk. It was easy, somehow. She said thoughtfully, “Just about as big as Ralph is capable of going for any woman. You know how he is.” She was thinking about Doris as she spoke. How Ralph had turned to her so easily last night… and then turned away from her back to Aline just as easily this morning. “He’s completely amoral. Like any tomcat prowling the back alleys.”

“I know,” said Dirk rapidly, “but he does like you, and I gather his ego was severely wounded when you sent him away last night. You didn’t tell him anything about Torn?” he asked urgently. “He has no idea at all that the midnight telephone call you made may involve you in a murder case as a suspect?”

“No!” Aline shuddered. “I told him nothing. I didn’t dare. You’re the only person who knows, Dirk.”

“If he did know how important that telephone call is to you,” pointed out Dirk, “isn’t it quite possible he would be willing to remain quiet about it? As a favor to you?”

“I don’t know,” said Aline doubtfully. “Just at this moment, Ralph isn’t in a mood to do me any favors.”

“But he could be put into such a mood without too much trouble,” said Dirk. He rose and strode across the living room, his face grave and deeply troubled. “You and I are both caught in the same sort of trap,” he told her despondently. “Without knowing what we did last night, neither of us can possibly prove we had no hand in Vincent Torn’s death. Once the police get onto the affair and dig into what happened at Bart’s party, we’ll be equally suspect. Don’t you see how perfect it would be for us both if we could alibi each other by swearing we were here in your place together from midnight until four o’clock?”

“It’s the perfect solution,” she agreed. “And no one could ever prove otherwise if I hadn’t made the telephone call to Mr. Torn.”

“About which no one can give evidence except Ralph Barnes.” Dirk strode to her side and took her arm firmly in his grasp. “If I know anything at all about Ralph, you should have no real difficulty persuading him to remain quiet about that. He needn’t actually lie when the police question him. He need only tell the truth about bringing you home from Bart’s and dropping you here. If he doesn’t mention the telephone call, the police will never know you didn’t come directly upstairs to spend the next few hours with me.”

“Wait a minute,” she faltered. “When you speak of persuading Ralph… you know what he will expect in payment?”

Dirk nodded gravely, his eyes holding hers. “I can easily guess. But, remember your danger, Aline. And the position I’m in myself.” His voice was deep-throated and strong. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret later, but think it over very carefully before you decide either way.”

Aline nodded and drew in a deep breath. “Don’t forget about Doris,” she warned him. “She knows I was out on the street at four o’clock without my purse and with no key to my apartment.”

“I think Doris will play along. She isn’t the sort who’d want to make trouble for you. She doesn’t know about the phone call, of course, and has no reason to suspect you were with Torn. You might even tell her that you and I were together, but ask her not to tell Ralph.

“And, of course, Ralph mustn’t know we’re going to tell the police we were together. He knows we weren’t. And he mustn’t know he’s providing me with an alibi at the same time, or he’d probably balk. But if he thinks he’s simply doing you a favor by keeping you out of a nasty mess, I hardly think he’ll refuse.”

“I don’t think he will, either,” agreed Aline breathlessly. “It is the right thing, isn’t it? Since I do know I’m completely innocent but have no way of proving it.”

“Innocent persons have been convicted before this,” Dirk reminded her gravely. “I think I’d better run along now and try to pacify Ina. You’d better have a talk with Ralph right away.”

“I will,” Aline promised, moving with him to the door. “You’ll never understand how much good it’s done me just to be able to talk with you, Dirk.”

“I think I do know.” He smiled wearily. “Remember, I’m in the same boat. Call me about Ralph?”

Aline told him she would. As he hesitated in the doorway, she rose impulsively on her toes and touched her lips lightly to his.

Then he was gone and she was alone in the apartment. She felt almost light-hearted now. It was going to be all right. If she could persuade Ralph not to tell the police about her midnight phone call, no one could possibly prove she hadn’t been with Dirk during the time Vincent Torn was being murdered.