Thursday The Rabbi Walked Out

21

SATURDAY MORNING, GORE STOPPED OFF AT MOLLY'S HOUSE before going to Jordon's. When she admitted him, he asked eagerly, "What did he say when you gave it to him?"

"I didn't give it to him." said Molly. "I didn't see him, the house was dark when I got there."

"Why, what time was it?"

"A little after I spoke to you, that was around half past eight."

"He must have gone out. What did you do with the report?"

"I didn't want to leave it in the mail slot. I brought it back with me, that was right, wasn't it?"

"Oh, absolutely. I'll take it up to him now."

She handed him a manila envelope and watched expectantly as he riffled through the typed pages.

"Beautiful,” he said. "I really appreciate this. Molly."

"But it doesn't balance."

He ran an expert eye down a column of figures. "Here it is,” he announced, pointing. "This is an asset, not a liability. You sure I marked it L rather than A?"

She flipped open the file. "This one? You want me to make the correction on my typewriter? I can x it out and—"

"No, don't bother." He made the correction in pencil. "I'll show it to him to explain what held it up."

From Molly's he drove directly to Jordon's house, as he turned in at the gate, he heard an automobile horn, seemingly from the direction of the house. It grew louder as he drove up the driveway, and sure enough, there was a car parked in front of the door. It was Martha, her face contorted with rage as she pushed down on the horn button on the steering wheel.

He got out of his car and approached her. "What's going on? What's the matter? What's the racket for?"

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Gore." Her face relaxed, and she even managed a shamefaced little smile. "There's a month's wages due me. I knocked on the door and rang the bell but there's no answer, the old bugger must have seen it was me and won't answer out of spite. I'd like to put a pin in the bell like we used to do when we were kids on Halloween."

"He's probably gone out."

"No, look at the door. It's not pulled to, he wouldn't leave it like that if he weren't in. You can just push it open."

He walked to the door, as she got out of the car to follow him, he stabbed at the bell button. Sure enough, he could hear it ringing inside.

"See, the bell is all right. You can hear it, can't you?"

He nodded and pushed the button once more, they waited, and she said. "I'll bet he's watching and waiting for me to go away."

He shook his head impatiently and then, with sudden decision, pushed the door open and stepped in. Martha was right behind him. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust from the bright morning sunlight to the dim light of the room, somber with its curtained and draped windows.

It was the buzzing of a large bluebottle fly that drew their eyes to the figure of Ellsworth Jordon lying back in his recliner as though asleep. But there was an ugly wound at the base of the forehead, right between the eyes, from which the blood had trickled down both sides of his nose to the corner of his mouth.

Martha screamed. Gore pressed his lips tightly together and managed to repress the urge to retch.

"He's hurt,” she moaned. "The poor man is hurt. Why don't you do something?"

"Shut up,” he snapped, without moving, he looked around the room, noting a broken medicine bottle, the fragments of a shattered light bulb, the torn canvas of the oil painting of Jordon's father on the wall.

"WeVe got to call the police,” he said in a hoarse whisper. "I'll wait here while you get in your car and drive down to the corner, there's a pay station there."

"Can't you call from here?" she asked.

"Fingerprints,” he replied tersely. "There may be prints on the phone."

As soon as she had gone, he forced himself to approach the figure in the recliner, he touched the icy forehead with his fingertips and then wiped them on his trouserleg. Suddenly he thought of Billy and called out. "Billy? Are you there. Billy?" He giggled in relief as no answer came.

He backed out of the room and left the house, closing the door behind him, but making sure that the lock did not catch, as he went to his car to await the arrival of the police a wild thought occurred to him: that now there was no way of proving who had won the bet he had made the night before.