Get a Load of This

     Gerda pulled off her wrap and began pushing her into her clothes. Stella stood quite still, sobbing the whole time like an hysterical child, and let Gerda dress her. When at last she was ready, Gerda shook her again, but she could see that Stella was going to be utterly useless to help her in the work she had to do.

     She pushed Stella into the chair again. “Stay here,” she said. “And don't move until I come for you.”

     She went out and opened the front door. The rain still came down heavily, but the wind had dropped somewhat. She ventured out and found that she could walk without much difficulty.

     She went back to the house and collected Denny's clothes. She took them and the suit-case to the car. Then, picking up a large rug from the back seat, she went back to the lounge. She dropped the rug over Denny, rolled him into it and then dragged him out of the house into the pouring rain. She opened the back door of the Lincoln and dragged him into the car. It took her a long time, but eventually she did it.

     She was wet through and her clothes stuck to her body, as if they were painted on her. She was feeling completely exhausted after the struggle to get Denny into the car, and she poured herself out a stiff shot of whisky. She felt better for that.

     So far so good, she told herself, looking round the disordered room. She dare not leave it like that. There was only one quick way to destroy that sort of evidence. She remembered seeing a spare can of gasoline on the running-board of the Lincoln and she went out and got it. She left the can in the lounge and walked into the kitchen.

     Stella was still sitting where she had left her. She had stopped crying, but her limbs continued to shiver and tremble.

     “We're getting out of here,” Gerda said. “Come on, pull yourself together for God's sake.”

     Stella gave a little shudder at the sound of her voice. “Go away,” she said, “I don't ever want to see you again. Oh, God, whatever shall I do? Look what you've got me into.”

     Gerda stood very still. “What do you mean?” she said softly. “You're to blame as much as I.”

     Stella sprang to her feet. She looked a little insane. “I knew you'd say that,” she screamed. “But I didn't kill him. I never wanted to kill him. I didn't want him to make love to me—you made me! Do you hear? You made me!”

     Gerda said: “Pull yourself together. If you want to get away with this you've got to use your head and help me.”

     “Leave me—go away! He said you were bad, and I didn't believe him. He warned me against you. Oh, how could you do such a thing?” She buried her head in her arms and began sobbing again wildly.

     A sudden expression crossed Gerda's face, making her look old and ugly. She said: “Don't you see it was as much for you as for me? We can be rich now, Stella. We won't have to pinch and scrape any more. You won't have to lie with any more men. We've got all that behind us. Isn't that worth something?”

     “How can you talk like that?” Stella demanded, confronting her. “Does his death mean nothing to you? Are you so hard and callous that you're not frightened by the awful thing you've done?”

     Gerda shrugged. “Oh, very well,” she said. “What shall we do? Call the cops?”

     Stella beat on the table with her fists. “There's nothing we can do,” she cried. “We can't bring him back. You've finished us both!”

     “I've got him in the car,” Gerda said. “We can dump him and the car in the river. It is very deep. He may never be found. Then we can get another ride into Miami. With the money, we'll be safe and we'll be happy.”

     Stella stopped crying and stared at her. “Is that what you're going to do?” she said. “What about the house and the bloodstains? Do you think we can get rid of them?”

     “I'm going to set fire to the house. They'll think it's the lightning.”

     Stella went very white. “Then he was right. You are utterly bad. You have no feelings for anything but yourself. Go on, do what you've planned. I can't stop you. But I'm not going with you. I'd rather go on the streets than go with you. I don't ever want to see you again.”

     Gerda looked at her thoughtfully. “But I couldn't let you do that,” she said reasonably, “you might talk. I'm very fond of you, Stella, but you mustn't try my patience too much.” Her voice was toneless and her eyes shone strangely.

     Stella shook her head. “I shan't talk,” she said; “you needn't be afraid of that. I'm going right out of this house and I hope I shall never see you again.”

     She had recovered from her hysteria now that she had a fixed purpose, and her one thought was to get as far away from Gerda as possible.

     Gerda held out her hand. “Because we have been happy, won't you shake hands? I know I've done wrong, but ...” She shook her head. “Oh, what's the good? Come, Stella, say good-bye and I wish you good luck.”

     Stella hesitated and then came back to her. “God help you, Gerda,” she said. “There is no one else who can.”