The Parting Glass Read Online Free Page A

not
quite yourself.”
    “Up until yesterday, I’d have thought so
too,” said Clyde.
    “Can you not remember anything of what
happened? of how it came about? Anything at all?”
    Clyde opened his mouth slowly, his brow
knitting as if with thought. He looked across at her, and for the
first time Mrs. Meade thought she caught a look of hesitancy in his
eyes. He shut his mouth again, undecided.
    But in the few seconds of silence Andrew
Royal had suddenly tumbled to the point. “There was something you remember!” he said explosively, sitting up with a
violent creak from his wooden swivel chair.
    Mrs. Meade gave him a quick, inconspicuous
shake of the head. It was too soon to press the point.
    “Why don’t you begin at the beginning, and
tell me just what you can remember happening,” she said to Clyde.
“You said that Miss Leighton sent for you—is that correct?”
    “Yes,” said Clyde. He was still a little
uncomfortable, but he seemed to relax somewhat as he spoke, his
words gradually coming more freely. “She sent me a note. It said
she wanted to ask my advice about a business matter—she asked me to
come to the hotel because she knew her aunt was going to be out
that afternoon, and it was something she couldn’t talk about with
her aunt there.
    “I went to the hotel—I had to ask for her
room number at the desk, because she hadn’t put it in the note—I
went upstairs and knocked at her door, and she let me in.” A vague,
troubled look came up in his eyes like a fog, as if he were back in
that moment, seeing Dorene as she opened the door. He swallowed and
went on. “She told me what she’d wanted to see me about. She said
she had some money her grandfather’d left her, three or four years
ago, but she’d given her aunt the control over it when she came of
age, so as not to have the bother of dealing with it herself. But
she felt differently now, because she couldn’t touch it—her aunt
wouldn’t let her have the least bit to spend unless it was on
something she approved of. Dor—Miss Leighton wanted to ask me what
was the best way to get control of it herself again, without having
too much of a fight with her aunt. I think—she kind of wanted a way
to do it without telling her aunt at all.”
    He came to a halt for a moment, frowning, and
rubbed his temple as if it hurt. Mrs. Meade noted the action.
    “What did you do while you talked? Did you
sit down?”
    “She did, after a few minutes. In a chair. I
might have—no, I think I walked up and down a little while I
talked—maybe leaned against the wall by the bureau.”
    “And then?”
    “There was a decanter full of sherry on the
bureau, and some glasses. At some point while we were talking she
stood up and asked me if I’d like a drink before I went, and poured
a glass for me, and I took it.”
    “Did you have more than one glass?” said Mrs.
Meade.
    “Yes,” said Andrew Royal before Clyde could
answer.
    Clyde turned toward him with the first
appearance of interest he had shown so far. “I did?”
    “She says you did. Admitted it, anyway.
Didn’t seem to want to, but Aunt Asher bullied her into it.”
    “I suppose I must have, then,” said Clyde
wearily, relapsing into indifference.
    Mrs. Meade leaned forward a little. “Do you
remember pouring a drink for yourself at any time?”
    “No-o-o…” Clyde sounded doubtful.
    “And then what happened? How did your
conversation end?”
    “We were still talking about the money. I
don’t remember it ending—I just—” Clyde was floundering now,
grasping vaguely for the memory. He shook his head. “There was a
picture on the wall, wavering back and forth, like it was
floating…I think I felt kind of sick. The next thing I remember is
hearing somebody shouting at me, from a long ways off it seemed,
and then Hollister was shaking me. I can’t remember.”
    “The curious thing is,” said Mrs. Meade, “you
were upstairs for more than an hour, between the time you stopped
at the