Books › Blue Book v057 n02 [1933-06], 1933 › scan 18
Scan 18
Blue Book v057 n02 [1933-06], 1933
22 lines. Read by computer on 18 September 2026. No printed page number was found. See the scan on archive.org.
1"It's all right, Father," she said then, gently. "I think I'll go to bed."
2"I'm sorry, Ruth," he said brokenly. "But I was frightened. Do you forgive your stupid old father?"
3"Of course," she said. "Good night."
4She felt his lips brush hers, felt his arm tremble. Then she hurried from the room, her violin held close. When she had gone, Tyler turned a contrite face toward Nat, who shrugged.
5"Perhaps it doesn't matter," Nat said. "It will probably come again—later. But if that peril was immediate, as it was in the case of Roosevelt—"
6"I lost my head," said Tyler.
8In his room Tyler paced up and down, prey to a thousand conflicting emotions: Contrition for his interference—fear for Ruth—concern for the unknown person in danger. . . . What if it should be Ruth herself! He groaned and ran his hands through his hair. What a fool he was! Well, the damage was done. He must get hold of himself.
9He stopped his restless pacing, forced himself to undress, get into bed. He lay with his ears strained, fearful of hearing that music commence—and then stop! And just as fearful that it would not. There could be no peace, no rest for him now, until Ruth knew. . . .
10Nat did not undress. He was convinced that the girl would play again, sometime during that night. And equally sure that unless murder had already been done, she would get the danger-signals once more. He arranged a reading-light by the open door, placed his chair so that he could see Ruth's door at the end of the hall at all times.
11He made himself read a novel, but he kept his ears alert; when the time came, he would get to Ruth before her father could reach her. . . .
12Ruth lay very quietly in her bed, waiting. She heard her father come up the stairs, recognized the so-familiar footsteps. And her supersensitive ears caught the vibrations of his restless pacing. Her heart went out to him, but she lay still, waiting. She heard Nat come upstairs too, heard him moving the chair, the lamp, knew that he was keeping vigil. That knowledge warmed and heartened her.
13She was thankful when she realized that her father had stopped his agonized stalking of the floor. She hoped he would sleep. She would not sleep if she could—and could not if she would. The hours passed slowly. In her mind she groped for the shutter which would let in the light—until she realized that it was beyond her power to open it.
14No, the shutter had to be opened from the outside. And when that realization had become very clear to her, she knew that it would open, soon . . . presently she knew that it was time. Very quietly she got up, felt for her violin. She would play it very, very softly, hoping not to wake her father. Nat would hear it, of course. But Nat would not interfere.
15She tucked the violin under her chin. It was a wonderful instrument, a very old Amati said to have once been the property of the Italian magician Castiglione. She poised the bow, waited for the utter compulsion to play. It came almost at once. Gently she drew the bow across the strings. And in her mind the shutter slowly opened, and the light came in. She stopped, her fingers taut on the strings.
16At the first sound Nat was out of his chair. He stood waiting, unwilling to allow a single footfall to break the tension. Then the music stopped, and Nat started swiftly down the hall. He heard Tyler's door open. The man was coming too. Nat reached the door first, opened it swiftly but quietly, switched on the light. Tyler crowded close behind him. Nat flashed him a warning look, and Tyler nodded, humbly.
17They stood tense, still, staring at the girl. If she realized their presence, she gave no sign. Then she began to speak:
18"Gordon… Gordon… Gordon… The name is Gordon."
19Tyler started to open his lips, but Nat's swift pressure of his arm restrained him from speech. Both men were thinking the same thing: Gordon! A common name. There are many Gordons!
21Ruth stood as before, waiting. . . . Would nothing come but that name, Gordon? She resolutely shut all thought from her mind, kept it open, as completely receptive as she was able, and waited. The feeling of another's hate that came to her was a malevolent, malignant thing. Yet she was not afraid now. It was a different kind of hate from that of Zangara. That had been a fanatic, almost maniacal thing. This was colder, even more evil, but controlled, cunning, careful. It was planning death for this Gordon; that, she knew. But the will was not yet ready to translate the plan into action. It was a waiting hate.
The computer misreads some letters and numbers. Where a name matters to you, read the scan.