The Parting Glass Read Online Free Page B

desk and the time Mr. Hollister burst in. How can you
account for all that time? How long did you discuss the question of
Dorene’s money?”
    “I don’t know,” said Clyde, shaking his head
again. “It couldn’t have been that long, but I haven’t got the
least idea.”
    “If you say it wasn’t that long, then you have got some idea,” said Royal shortly. “How long did it
take you to finish that first drink?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Royal got up impatiently. “You mean to tell
me you had no idea of the time at all? You didn’t look at your
watch once? Or a clock?”
    “Yes,” said Mrs. Meade, “one should always be
aware of the time, for one never knows when one may be called upon
to produce an alibi.”
    Sheriff Royal coughed suddenly, but Clyde
looked piteously rebuked.
     
    “Leaving that aside for the moment,” said
Mrs. Meade, “I am, admittedly, not an expert in such matters, but—I
suppose two glasses of sherry could have had such an
effect upon you?”
    “The decanter was practically empty
afterwards,” said Clyde, sinking back into his former state of
despondence. “Hollister saw it; other people saw it. And about the
only thing I am sure of is that it was mostly full when I
went into the room. I must have just drunk more without remembering
it.”
    “But you don’t drink, ordinarily, do
you?”
    “Well, not as we know the meaning of the
word,” said Clyde. “I mean, if I’m trying to close a deal with a
man and he’s pushing to buy me a drink, I’ll have one with him, but
not more—do you see? And I’ve been known to have a glass of sherry
if it’s served at a dinner I’m invited to…not that I’m invited to
dinners that often,” he added with a gloom that seemed separate
from the subject at hand.
    “Then that was the reason you accepted the
glass of sherry Dorene Leighton offered you—just politeness?”
    A rather funny smile replaced the strained
expression on Clyde’s face, a smile that seemed both shy and
tender. “Well—I don’t know,” he said awkwardly. “It was more the
way she looked. She seemed like a—like a little girl playing at
being hostess, and anxious to get it all right—the way she had the
glasses set out so carefully, and tried to pronounce all her words
just right when she asked me. I—I kind of felt I’d hurt her
feelings if I said no.”
    “That is also why you accepted a second
glass, perhaps?” suggested Mrs. Meade.
    Clyde shook his head again and reverted to
his old refrain. “I don’t know.”
    “So, if you are not accustomed to much strong
drink,” said Mrs. Meade, “do you suppose the second glass might
have affected you, so that you unthinkingly drank more—for
instance, if you were nervous, perhaps?”
    “I—don’t know what you mean,” said Clyde, his
eyes shifting away from hers.
    Mrs. Meade deftly skirted the issue again.
“Do you know Mr. Hollister?”
    “No. I don’t know him, but I’ve seen him
around—he’s been out working the town. I saw him in the saloon the
other day, buying drinks all around and trying to fast-talk
everybody into buying his toothache oil, or whatever it is.”
    “You met Dorene Leighton at a dinner at the
Coopers’, didn’t you?” said Mrs. Meade inconsequently, as though
refreshing her memory on a minor point.
    “No, a picnic,” said Clyde. “But I did see
her at a dinner once.”
    The way he said it made it sound as if every
time he had seen Dorene was marked off as a significant occasion in
his memory, a precious stone on a chain of plain days.
    “There is one other thing,” said Mrs. Meade.
“My room is just across the hall from Dorene’s. Yesterday
afternoon, a few moments before Mr. Hollister began shouting, I
head three taps in succession, as if someone had rapped lightly on
a door or a wall. Do you know anything about that?”
    Clyde shrugged, with an air of bewilderment.
“I’ve told you, I wasn’t in any shape to tell whether I tapped on
anything or not.”
    “If