The Player on the Other Side Read Free Page A

laughed as she had not been able to do when he was being not-serious. ‘That almost makes sense. Oh, dear!’
    The last two words were evoked by the taxicab that pulled up before Percival York’s little castle. From it alighted Percival, who after paying the driver assisted a blonde concoction to the sidewalk. The cab moved off and they had a wonderful glimpse, in the darkling light, of female calves taxing the tensile strength of the suffering nylon, of heels too high for the furtive speed urged on their wearer by Percival, of a black synthetic coat too glossily superb to be the Persian lamb to which it pretended — all surmounted by a piled-up confection of hair that looked as if it had been spun out of a cotton-candy machine.
    â€˜He has,’ murmured Ann Drew with a surprising touch of tartness, ‘and you have not, although you deserve it. Do you feel deserving of everything he has?’
    â€˜My modesty,’ replied Tom Archer, gazing with a slight shudder after the platinum blonde who was just being shooed into Percival’s castle by its chatelain, ‘my modesty prevents me from being sure I deserve that part of it. Ann Drew, you’re being catty.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Ann Drew said. ‘Refreshing, isn’t it? — Eeeeeeee !’
    Her fingers all but met through his sleeve and the flesh of his forearm.
    â€˜God,’ Archer whispered. ‘How long has he been there?’
    â€˜Who? Where?’ Her soft, shocked tone commanded the exact softness and shock from him. ‘Why, it’s …’ And Archer barked: ‘Walt! What the devil are you doing here?’
    â€˜Mr. Robert sent me looking for you,’ said Walt in his pale voice.
    â€˜Did you have to come creeping up like that?’
    Walt stood in a pool of shadow close by the memorial plaque. ‘I wasn’t creeping, Mr. Archer.’
    â€˜Did Mr. York say what he wanted?’
    â€˜He only said to find you — he’s got a Seebeck.’
    â€˜He’s got a Seebeck,’ groaned Archer. ‘Go tell him I’ll be right there.’
    Only then did the girl release his arm; she fumbled in her handbag. ‘Walt. Wait.’
    Walt waited.
    â€˜I was at the post office just as it closed and they gave me this for you.’ She handed him a letter.
    Walt took it silently in both hands and, holding it so, walked away from them, across the street toward Robert York’s castle. He had an odd walk — not exactly a shuffle, for it was silent, nor a shamble, for it was very contained, but a sort of sliding along, as if the lower part of his body were on tracks.
    â€˜Creep,’ muttered Archer.
    â€˜How long was he there?’
    â€˜No telling.’
    â€˜Probably not long at all.’ She was breathing as if breathing were something she had overlooked for a time. ‘And he isn’t a creep.’
    â€˜He looks like one.’
    â€˜Don’t you know why?’
    â€˜He just looks it,’ said Archer defensively.
    â€˜It’s his eyes,’ said the girl. ‘They’re almost perfectly round, didn’t you ever notice? That’s what creates the illusion of stupidity.’
    â€˜It’s no illusion. His brains are all in his wrists, and his nerves all run to his hands. I never yet saw that zombie angry or scared or worried or anything at all.’ Tom Archer said rather tenderly, ‘Do we have to talk about Walt?’
    â€˜All right,’ Ann Drew said. ‘What’s a Seebeck?’
    â€˜Oh, Lord, the Seebeck! I haven’t time now to tell you the whole dismal story — Sir Robert awaits. Take note of this, by the way, my girl — this is an historic occasion. You know, don’t you, that the Naval Observatory calls him up to find out what time it is? And that the stars in their courses check with him before they shift their Dopplers?’
    â€˜I know he has very regular habits,’ she said