Biggs went in and Heller sat down on the porch and waited. At long length, the porch light went off, Biggs came out and closed the door of the house behind him. He was carrying what appeared to be a big hatbox.
They got in the car and drove out. The jeep at the gate backed out of their way. They went down the road and Biggs stopped. He turned on the dome light.
"People," said Biggs, "nevah throw nothin' away. This was stuck cleah back undah th' eaves along with a bundle of election pohstahs fo' Jeff Davis an' a bundle of Confederate notes. They hid it but ah know mah people heah in Hamden. They hold on!" He dropped
the hatbox into Heller's lap. The dust geysered up. The strings had already been untied.
Heller sneezed and opened the cover. Lying there were packets of letters, all tied, some loose envelopes and a photo album.
Heller opened the album. The first picture, somewhat yellow, was that of a very beautiful blond girl in a dancing costume.
"That yo' mammy," said Biggs. "She was jus' abaht th' mos' beautiful girl in these pahts. A belle fo' shuah! You take aftah her. Ah knowed it th' firs' moment ah laid eyes on you. Same hair, same eyes."
A yellowed clipping was wedged under the photo. Heller took it out.
LOCAL GIRL
JOINS
ROXY CHORUS IN NEW YORK
Mary Styles, the only child of Ben and Charlotte Styles of the Styles farm in Hamden, graduate of the Fair Oakes High School and winner of last year's State Beauty Contest, has made good in Yankeeland.
It went on but Heller slid it back in place. He opened more album pages. They were pictures of chorus lines and publicity photos.
Slid loosely into the book were several enlarged nightclub and snapshot photos. The first was Delbert John Rockecenter, a better-looking man in his mid-twenties,
sitting at a table with Mary Styles, surrounded by waiters and champagne. Another was the pair of them, arms around each other in a bar. Another was of them semi-dressed at a beach resort sipping from the same Coke with two straws.
"The boy at the farm," said Biggs, "take mo' aftah his fathah, but that w'd be the case with unidenticals, ah guess."
Heller closed the book. He picked up a pack of letters and glanced through them. All were handwritten from "Delie" to "Mary Yum-Yum." They concerned arranging secret rendezvous in resorts and hotels and were heavy with caution about being seen.
Crumpled up over at the side of the box was a pair of half-torn sheets. Heller spread them out. It had an embossed letterhead. The date was over eighteen years ago. It said:
AGNES P. MORELAY, Ph.D., M.D.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Styles,
It is my sad duty to inform you that your daughter Mary, after a hasty and ill-conceived marriage, could not stand the strain of sudden elevation in the world. She contracted a serious mental disease known as delirium altaphasis. Whik she appears sane at times, she can be very dangerous to herself and those around her.
She is unfortunately pregnant. Until the child is born she cannot be treated professionally as the convulsion therapies would produce
miscarriage which I am sure you do not want.
To announce or even whisper her marriage would subject her to wild mental states in which she might seek to destroy herself.
As soon as the child is born, she can be treated with professional psychiatric care. So please assist us in quietly placing her in the fully competent care of my colleague, Dr. Tremor Graves.
If word of her marriage or condition were to leak out, even if she didn't destroy herself, she would have to be committed to the state insane asylum for life.
Adequate funds for her care, which is extremely expensive, running into the thousands of dollars per month and quite beyond your means, will be given Dr. Graves and yourselves from time to time, but these will be cut off if she becomes formally committed and a charge of the state.
I know you have her welfare at hean and so does her poor, distracted husband and will realize that this is all for the best.
Once the child is born, she can be cured by the most professional possible means and can take her rightful place in the world.
Please do not cost her that chance.
In professional confidence, AGNES P. MORELAY
"So that's how they kept the parents quiet," said Heller.
"They didn't have to ver' long," said Biggs. "They was kilt in a auto accident. But this, ah think, is what you'ah lookin' fo' an' which ah came to fin'."
jHr itrauteu1 iir umr1 pmlbtr1 our air diffnin'-ibothrtg-envelope. He opened it and gave it to Heller.
It declared that DELBERT JOHN ROCKECEN-TER and MARY CHARLOTTE STYLES had been joined in marriage at Elkton, Maryland, the place of instant marriages, a year before the date of birth. It was an imposing certificate, all stamped and sealed.
Stonewall Biggs said, "So you ain't even a bastard, Junior."
"Valuable," said Heller.
"Now ah got to go back and write that other boy's birth certificate," said Biggs. "We'll jus' call him Del-bert John Rockecenter, th' Second, if that all right with you, Junior."
"Fine," said Heller.
"An' whahl ah'm at it, ah'll do a duplicate of yo' mothah's death certificate an' some additional copies of yo' own. You may need them. Ah'll bring them ovah to th' fahm in th' mo'ning iPn you'll still be theah."
"Tha's what the captain said," Heller replied.
"Now, Junior, onto othah things. Ah don' think that chief has got much muscle in him. Do ah get a grant fo' that new cohthouse?"
"Only if you guarantee to build a absoloot ohriginal that George Washington slept in."
"Tha's mah boy!" cried Stonewall Biggs. "Smahtest thing ah evah did was to get th' late Tremor Graves drunk that night!"
Cfeagtes
Since Heller now would be going back, I hastily turned to the viewer of the Countess Krak to see if Torpedo had his opportunity and could shoot her in time.
She was sitting in the upper room of the pig building, back to the window, a perfect target for anyone outside.
The young man had come around. He was sitting on the edge of the littered bed, his blond hair in disarray, his eyes dazed. "It's nahee of you t' sit up with me. Ah'm too confused to sleep. Who'd evah thought ah had a real ma and pa jus' like pigs do!"
"Well, listen," said the Countess Krak, "I know it's late at night but if you're to get any sleep, there's something I could do. You know football?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am. Ah played it at the aggie college."
She reached into her shopping bag and pulled out the hypno rig. "This is a new type of football helmet. It teaches you."
"Aw, youah kiddin'."
"Try it on," and she put it on his head and threw the switch.
Torpedo's voice!"GOT YOU!"
I tensely stared at the viewer. Had Krak not heard him? She didn't turn around.
Then suddenly I realized that the voice had not come from the speaker.
IT WAS IN THIS ROOM!
I whirled.
Torpedo was standing in the open door!
His gray, prison-pallor face was contorted with rage!
The huge rifle was ready in his hand!
He was frothing!"You set me up, you son of a (bleepch)! You knew the car we had was stolen! You tipped off the cops! They were laying for me at the hospital! You're going to pay for that!
"I had to abandon the car and walk back here all night! You're going to get gut-shot for that!
"But, you (bleepard), you never told me that that was the girl of the man who trapped me at the Brewster and pushed me off the elevated and collected my fee and cost me all my future with Bury. You just sent me there so he could kill me! And for that, after I shoot you, I'm going to rape your corpse and give it syph, clap and all!"