And then there were three.
Four, if you (compa.s.sionately) include Mr. Cauliflower.
Harry, we discovered later, walked to the highway, found a phone booth, and called for a taxi.
The Sheriff turned to Max.
"Before I go," he said, "I want you to know that your
wife is right-
"1 am going to keep an eye on you from now on.
"If I wanted to, I could take you in now for what you"ve
done.
"But I"d rattier you were on the outside, knowing that I"m
watching you, whatever you do."
His expression altered to one of contempt.
182 Richard Mathason
"Tf you took pleasure in fooling me, you take your plea- sures pretty cheaply," he continued.
"Tm the Sheriff of a small New England county. You"re a professional magician.
"Do you really think it was some grand accomplishment to makeyour magic workonme?
"IS you do, if that"s really how you earn your sense of pride, you have no real pride at all that I can see."
He smiled at Max; a faint, derisive smile.
"Good-bye, Great Delacorte," he said.
He changed his mind.
"No, not good-bye," he said. The derision turned to ani- mosity. "Until we meet again," he finished.
Max could only lower his head, me criticism uncontested.
I was glad he had the decency to do mat, anyway.
The Sheriff gave Ca.s.sandra one more extended, search- ing look.
Then he turned and walked toward the doorway.
His footsteps moved across me entry hall.
The front door opened, closed.
And then there were two.
I say there were two now. Of course, there were three, but you may just as well consider me invisible in this account.
Except for an occasional apology from my son, I pretty much was invisible. Fortuitous^ I suppose. If it hadn"t been for my ignored presence, none of this would have ever been recorded.
Where were we?
Max and Ca.s.sandra standing motionless, the Sheriff hav- ing just departed; me sitting motionless, as usual.
It was Ca.s.sandra who finally spoke.
"Tm sure they"re gone," she said.-
Not exactly what I might have expected to hear.
Max did not reply but moved to the bar with a look of undisguised hostility on his face.
Walking to one of the easy chairs, Ca.s.sandra sank down on it with a weary groan and slipped off her shoes.
Sighing, she began to wiggle her toes.
184 Richard Matheson
At the bar. Max had picked up the fallen bottle of Scotch and begun pouring the remainder of its contents into the sink, flushing it down with water from the faucet. He dropped the empty bottle into the wastebasket.
I watched him, curious, as he opened a cabinet door above the bar, removed a bottle of private-stock brandy, un- sealed and thumbed off its cork, then poured some into a snifter.
He downed it with a swallow; sighed.
Poured himself a second drink and sipped it slowly.
"Oh, yes/" he said, pleased.
What"s going on? I wondered.
I was not too long in finding out.
Ca.s.sandra chuckled.
"I thought I"d have a stroke when he decided to kiss me good-bye," she said.
"You made precious little effort not to leave with him,"
Max countered.
What was going on?
"He caught me off guard, what can I say?" said Ca.s.san- dra.
She chuckled again.