The Devil To Pay Read Online Free Page A

please,” he protested.
    “But how about the flood story, Mr. Spaeth?”
    “Are you going on?”
    “Where’s that statement you promised?”
    “I’ll give you just this.” Solly picked up a paper and fussed with it. The reporters grew quiet. Solly put the paper down. “Owing to the catastrophe in the Ohio and Mississippi Valleys,” he said gravely, “our field men report the complete ruin of our equipment. That hydro-electric machinery would cost millions to replace, gentlemen. I’m afraid we shall have to abandon the plants.”
    There was a shocked silence. Then a man exclaimed: “But that means a loss of a hundred cents on the dollar to every investor in Ohippi securities!”
    Solly spread his hands. “It’s a great misfortune, gentlemen. But surely we can’t be held responsible for the floods? Floods are an act of God.”
    The reporters did not even notice Walter in their scramble for the door. Walter stood still near the terrace doors. His lips were twisted a little. … His father rubbed his right jowl thoughtfully for a moment, and then began to read the afternoon papers.
    Winni Moon was drifting about the study with a vague, pleased smile, touching things here and there; a small fire crackled in the grate; and Jo-Jo, Winni’s chimpanzee, was whirling on her pink haunches near the hearth like a dervish, chattering crossly. Jo-Jo whirled incessantly, for she despised the smell of herself, although she was prinkled with a scent that set Solly back fifty dollars an ounce.
    On the terrace, watching, Val tingled with hostility. The Moon worm was wearing the boldest creation in burgundy crêpe, with shirrings at the wrists that “dramatize your every gesture, madame”—Val knew the line so well—and her thick wheat-colored hair was done up in a convoluted braid, like a figure eight lying on its side on top of her head. Hostess gown. Hostess! Protégée! Val’s fingers curled for something to pluck and rend.
    “Oh,” cried Winni, “here’s Walter!” And she pounced. Her clinging act, thought Val bitterly. True, Walter was fending her off with one arm, but that was probably because he knew Val was watching.
    “Wally dear, isn’t it awful? The floods, and all those people in the woad. You’d think it was the storming of the Castille, at the very weast! I’ve simply begged Solly—your father—to make the police dwive them away—”
    Walter shouted: “Lay off me!”
    “Why, Walter!”
    Solly took off his glasses. After a moment he said: “Get out, Winni.”
    Winni smiled at once. “Of course, daddy. You two men must have—” She clapped her hands prettily. “Jo-Jo!”
    Oh, you— thing! thought Val, seeing it all from the terrace through the glass doors.
    The unhappy beast leaped to Winni’s shoulder and she went out with it, her hips swaying from side to side under the clinging stuff as if they were set in gimbals. She turned, smiled again, and carefully closed the study door.
    Thing! T HING !
    Walter strode forward and faced his father across the marbled leather top of the desk. “Let’s get down to cases,” said Walter. “You’re a crook.”
    Solomon Spaeth half-rose from his chair; then, blinking, he sat back. “You can’t talk to me that way!”
    “You’re still a crook.”
    Solly’s complexion deepened. “Ask the United States Attorney! There’s nothing illegal about my operations.”
    “Oh, I’m sure of that,” said Walter, “with Ruhig to handle it. But that doesn’t make you any the less a crook.”
    “If you call me that once more—” began his father balefully. Then he smiled. “Pshaw, you’re excited, Walter. I forgive you. Have a drink?”
    “I don’t want your forgiveness!” roared Walter.
    Walter, Walter, thought Val desperately.
    “Before the floods our cash position was sound. It was just the government—Congress undermined the confidence of the public—”
    “Look,” said Walter. “How much money have you made out of the sales of your