And then Sondra exclaiming:
“That reminds me!
I have to phone Bella to- day.
She promised to come up to that horse show over at Bristol week after next, sure.”
And then more talk of horses and dogs.
And Clyde, listening intently in his anxiety to seem an integral part of it all, yet brooding on all that so desperately concerned him.
Those three men.
Roberta.
Maybe they had found her body by now — who could tell, yet saying to himself — why so fearsome?
Was it likely that in that depth of water — fifty feet maybe, for all he knew — that they would find her?
Or that they could ever identify him with Clifford Golden or Carl Graham?
How could they?
Hadn’t he really and truly covered his tracks except for those three men? THOSE THREE MEN!
He shivered, as with cold, in spite of himself.
And then Sondra, sensing a note of depression about him. (She had determined from his obvious lack of equipment on his first visit that perhaps the want of money was at the bottom of his present mood, and so proposed later this day to extract seventy-five dollars from her purse and force that upon him in order that at no point where petty expenditures should be required, should he feel the least bit embarrassed during his stay this time.) And after a few moments, thinking of the short golf course, with its variety of concealing hazards for unseen kisses and embraces, she now jumped up with:
“Who’s for a mixed foursome?
Come on, Jill, Clyde, Burch!
I’ll bet Clyde and I can turn in a lower card than you two can!”
“I’ll take that!” exclaimed Burchard Taylor, rising and straightening his yellow and blue striped sweater, “even if I didn’t get in until four this morning.
How about you, Jilly?
If you want to make that for the lunches, Sonny, I’ll take it.”
And at once Clyde wincing and chilling, for he was thinking of the miserable twenty-five dollars left him from all his recent ghastly adventures.
And a lunch for four here would cost not less than eight or ten dollars!
Perhaps more.
At the same time, Sondra, noting his expression, exclaimed:
“That’s a go!” and drawing near to Clyde tapped him gently with her toe, exclaiming:
“But I have to change.
I’ll be right down.
In the meantime, Clyde, I’ll tell you what you do — go and find Andrew and tell him to get the clubs, will you?
We can go over in your boat, can’t we, Burchy?”
And Clyde, hurrying to find Andrew, and thinking of the probable cost of the lunch if he and Sondra were defeated, but being caught up with by Sondra and seized by the arm.
“Wait a minute, honey, I’ll be right back.”
Then dashing up the steps to her room, and in a moment down again, a handful of bills she had reserved shut tightly in her little fist:
“Here, darling, quick!” she whispered, taking hold of one of Clyde’s coat pockets and putting the money into it.
“Ssh! Not a word, now!
Hurry!
It’s to pay for the lunch in case we lose, and some other things. I’ll tell you afterwards.
Oh, but I do love you, baby boy!”
And then, her warm, brown eyes fixed on him for a moment in profound admiration, dashing up the stairs again, from where she called:
“Don’t stand there, silly!
Get the golf clubs!
The golf clubs!”
And she was gone.
And Clyde, feeling his pocket and realizing that she had given him much — plenty, no doubt, for all of his needs while here, as well as to escape if need be.
And exclaiming to himself: “Darling!”
“Baby girl!”
His beautiful, warm, generous Sondra!
She loved him so — truly loved him.
But if ever she should find out!
Oh, God!