The Return of the Black Widowers

  "I knew it would be hopeless to expect Grace to answer the door while she was watching Star Trek, so I heaved myself out of my chair, went to the door, and, like a true New Yorker, refused to open the door without asking who was there.

  "There was no answer, so I opened the peephole and looked out— and, I tell you, I got a grade-A shock, because the hall was full of policemen as far as the eye could see. I opened the door at once and there were five of them—four policemen and a policewoman.

  "I looked at them blankly and said, 'What's going on, officers?'

  "The policeman in the lead said, in a kind of brusque, official voice, 'We have information that there's a marital fight going on here.'

  "Well, I'm sure there are people who are capable of putting on a convincing display of astonishment when they're not, in actual fact, astonished, but I'm not one of them. I was simply astonished at the idea of being involved in a marital fight of a kind that needed police attention, and my astonishment must have impressed the police as genuine.

  " 'A marital fight?' I said, stunned. 'Here? In this building?'

  " 'In this building,' said the policeman.

  " 'Then you have the wrong apartment,' I told him.

  " 'No, sir,' he said. 'We were given the apartment number and your name.' And of course my name was right on the door staring at him, so to speak.

  "My look of incredulity must have made the policeman feel impelled to justify his intrusion into our life. 'Our information is,' he said, 'that you had a knife at the throat of your wife.'

  "Words absolutely failed me at the thought of such a thing between Grace and myself. No wonder there were five of them. They were expecting a maddened killer, with a knife dripping blood.

  "Suddenly I thought of the two television sets that were on. However, we both ran the volume low to avoid troubling the other: my own set was a murmur and I couldn't hear Grace's at all through her closed door. And neither program had been violent. I checked that with Grace later.

  "But by then it had dawned on me that I had better produce a wife in one piece. Grace hadn't come out to see what was going on at the door, so I called for her.

  " 'Grace!' I shouted. She must have been reluctant to interrupt her watching. I had to call twice more—the second time in considerable agitation, for it seemed to me the police might begin to think I was bluffing and that I had a wife on the other side of a closed door who was either unconscious or dead.

  "But finally she came out, clearly in fine shape and good health. 'What's the matter?' she asked, and then she saw the policemen, and asked it again with more urgency.

  "I said, 'Someone reported that you and I were having a fight and that I was killing you.'

  "It was her turn to be astonished, and the blank surprise on her face was all the policemen needed to see the report was wrong. They turned away and the man in charge said, 'Okay, but we had to investigate the matter, you understand?'

  " 'Of course,' I said. 'You had no choice—and I thank you for trying to protect my wife.'

  "And they left."

  There was a silence, and then Avalon said, "Well, Mr. Kriss, it was an unsettling experience, I'm sure, but there were no later consequences, were there?"

  "Not of any definite kind, Mr. Avalon."

  Halsted said, "Are you referring to indirect consequences, Mr. Kriss? I imagine it must have created a stir among the apartment staff to have so many police charging up to your apartment. It must have spread among all the neighbors and required embarrassing explanations."

  "I certainly offered none," said Kriss stiffly, "and no one said anything directly to me about it. The story may have spread about a marital fight, but there isn't a person in the building who could possibly believe that I had been abusing Grace. We're well known as the Darby and Joan of the apartment house. No, that's not what bothers me."

  Gonzalo said, "We're still trying to get to it. What does bother you, Arnie?"

  Kriss said, "It's the question of who informed the police, of course. Someone called the police emergency number, reported a fight between us with a knife, and gave them the apartment building, the apartment number, and my name. It couldn't be a casual troublemaker. It had to be someone who knew me."

  Trumbull said, "Maybe so, but you know a great many people who know your name and address. One of them must have had a few drinks and then got what he thought was the very funny idea of sending the police to your door. There's no way of telling who it might have been."

  "You're quite wrong," said Kriss angrily. "As I told you, almost all the people I know are musicians, and none of them would do it. It's not that they're models of virtue, but they don't have that kind of mind, any more than I have. Once they've stopped thinking about music, musicians are a spent force.

  "Look, this is the sort of thing a musician thinks is funny: one of them will regale another by saying, 'Isaac Stern was wrapping his violin about one of Paganini's show-off pieces and made certain he hit every note—he left no tone unSterned.' Here's another: Two aspiring violinists had finally achieved their goal and were playing a duet at Carnegie Hall. Naturally, there was a good deal of nervousness, and one of them lost his place in the sheet music. He improvised desperately while trying unsuccessfully to locate the bar he was playing, and finally whispered out of the corner of his mouth to the other, 'Where are we?' And the other whispered, 'Carnegie Hall.' That's what musicians think is funny—not one of them would ever think that sending the police to my apartment on a false alarm would be funny."

  Avalon said gravely, "It's my experience that people can't be categorized that easily. Still, it might be one of your fans—though I should think they wouldn't know your exact address, or that, even if they did, they wouldn't be so disrespectful as to try such a trick."

  "I should hope not," said Kriss. "Anyway, I'll tell you who I think it is. I suspect it's one of my poker buddies—maybe all of them "And the lines of his face sank into depression.

  "Why do you think that?" asked Gonzalo.

  "No real reason, Mario, but they all know exactly where I live. They've been to my apartment often enough. And I told you I don't exactly fit in. For all my trying, they may still feel enough of something different about me to make them pull that trick on me. It makes me feel bad. Very bad. I enjoyed those sessions and now I can't."

  "Have you stopped playing poker?"

  "Oh, no. We still play, but the pleasure's gone. I keep looking from one to another, wondering which one of them did it. I don't know how much longer I can keep it up. It's spoiled everything."

  Drake said, "Have you tried to face them with it? Maybe one or more will confess and you can have a good laugh over it. If you can take the joke like a sport, then they may really accept you. You would have passed a rite of passage, I suppose."

  "But it's not my kind of rite of passage," said Kriss impatiently. "And I did face them with it, though not as a group. I thought that if only one of them had done it, he wouldn't like to admit it in front of the others. I took the opportunity of speaking to each one of them separately and mentioning what had happened in as jovial a manner as I could manage. Each one of the four told me it was a dirty trick and didn't show any signs of thinking it was funny. One of them must be lying, I suppose. At least one of them."

  "But I take it you get along well with them," said Halsted. "You've been playing with them for some considerable time and I assume they've never made a move to get you out of the game."

  "Never," said Kriss.

  "So did anything happen recently that would have made one or more of them annoyed with you? Did you arouse their envy in some way?"

  "Not on purpose. Of course, my apartment is somewhat better than theirs are, but not that much so."

  Gonzalo said, "You didn't boast about how much you get for a concert appearance or anything like that, did you?"

  Kriss looked revolted. "Of course not. You know me better than that."

  Avalon said, “Well, let's use our brains. The particular practi
cal joke that was played upon you, Mr. Kriss, put you in the position of being a wife-abuser. Is one of your poker-playing friends a wife-abuser?"

  "Not to my knowledge. Of course—"

  "Yes?"

  "Steve is having trouble with his wife. Not physical, as far as I know. He's been running around, I gather, and his wife caught him at it, so things are antagonistic between them."

  "I'm not a psychologist," said Avalon, "but isn't it possible he'd like to beat up his wife and rather than actually do it he worked up a fantasy that you beat up yours."

  "Why me?" asked Kriss.

  "Perhaps he was annoyed by your calm and pleasant married life. You might have boasted about that, Mr. Kriss."

  "I certainly did not—but, of course, when they come to my apartment I can't very well stop Grace from being pleasant and good-humored about the whole thing."

  "Well, there you are," said Avalon. "Steve might have some dim idea of getting even. After all, these are not great intellects you're dealing with, Mr. Kriss."

  "They're decent men," said Kriss. "I wouldn't like to think Steve would do it for any such silly reason. The suggestion is not proof, you know."

  "No, it isn't," admitted Avalon, "but we're not going to get proof unless one of them confesses."

  "I wouldn't demand proof," said Kriss. "I'm not going to be reporting anyone to the police. All I want is to be satisfied in my mind who it was, and why."

  Rubin said, "Just a thought. Are any of the four actually given to practical jokes? If any of them is given to pulling dumb stunts like this, they'd do it as a way of life. They wouldn't need reasons."

  Kriss was thoughtful. "I can't recall that any of them ever told stories about practical jokes he'd played. Joe once palmed all four aces and let us play a game without them. Naturally, each one of us thought one of the others had the aces and when Joe started bidding we thought he might have them. He was able to take the pot with a nothing hand. As soon as it was over, he admitted what he'd done, we all gave him what-for, and he never tried anything like that again."

  "Maybe not "said Rubin, "but it shows a bent of mind, you know."

  Kriss shook his head. "That's not at all convincing."

  "Look here," said Drake. "The point is that policemen were involved in this and it strikes me that not many people would try a practical joke that makes policemen as well as some innocent civilian the victims. You, Mr. Kriss, don't see the humor in it, and neither, I'm sure, did the police. If they found out who made the false report, they'd have good motivation for making life miserable for him."

  "What are you driving at, Jim?" asked Avalon.

  "It just seems to me that whoever did it must be sufficiently familiar with the police to be willing to take a chance. Did one of your poker mates ever have a run-in with the police to your knowledge, Mr. Kriss? Would he be trying to get at the police rather than at you?"

  "Nothing like that was ever hinted at," said Kriss. Then, thoughtfully, "Ernie has a cousin, I think, who's a policeman. He mentioned that once or twice, it seems to me."

  Trumbull said, "A relative in the police force would make it less likely that a person would play games with the police, if you ask me."

  "Unless," said Drake, "Ernie doesn't like his cousin."

  "I don't think that's at all meaningful, either," said Kriss.

  A silence fell around the table, and then Gonzalo said, "Listen, Arnie, is there anyone at the poker table that you don't particularly like?"

  "No," said Kriss. "They're all nice guys. Or I always thought they were till the police appeared at the door."

  "Then let me put it another way, Arnie. Even if you like all four, isn't there one you like the least?"

  "Well," said Kriss cautiously, "there's Ken. There's nothing wrong with him, really, but he's got a hoarse voice that grates on my ear. My musical sense, I suppose. I just find myself wincing a little sometimes when he talks. What difference could that make?"

  "Because I have a theory," said Gonzalo, "that dislike usually works both ways. You don't usually dislike someone who likes you and vice versa. Like and dislike make themselves felt in subtle ways even when you're not aware of it. If you wince at Ken, he's bound to wince at you, and maybe his dislike drove him to the deed."

  "I don't believe it," said Kriss.

  Avalon offered, "Well, we've managed to show that each one of the four has something about him that makes it possible he's the one who phoned the police. Steve has trouble with his wife and may be jealous of your marital bliss. Joe has a tendency to engage in practical jokes and may have done it to indulge in his caprice. Ernie has a cousin who is a policeman and may have done it either because he is hostile to policemen or unafraid of them. And Ken may have done it out of a vague dislike of you. The trouble is that not one of the four motivations is anywhere near convincing."

  Kriss nodded. "That's it. So it ends up where it began. I can't trust anybody at the game and my one nonmusical recreation is probably gone. Is it any wonder I envy you six your stable get-togethers?"

  "Not us six," said Gonzalo, "it's us seven. And nobody has asked Henry yet. —Can you make anything of this, Henry?"

  Henry, from his post at the sideboard, smiled paternally. "I'm not at all sure I can shed any light on the situation, but I do have some questions to ask, if Mr. Kriss will permit me."

  "Go ahead, Henry," said Kriss resignedly. "Everyone else has been at me."

  Henry said, "Did the police know who you are, Mr. Kriss?"

  "You mean that I'm a well known cellist? I'm sure they didn't. When Mario says I'm a celebrity, he's exaggerating, you know."

  "Did they address you by name, or refer to your playing?"

  "Not at all."

  "Your name on the door must have meant nothing to them, then."

  "That's right. I'm sure of that."

  Henry said, "And your wife still uses her maiden name on the door?"

  "Yes."

  "When the police came, they said the incident had been clearly localized by address, apartment number, and name. Did they address you by name? Or did you announce your name?"

  "They didn't use my name and I didn't announce it. My name is right there on the door. They saw it."

  "But they saw two names, Mr. Kriss, G. Barron on top and A. Kriss on the bottom. Which name had been reported to the police?"

  "Why, my name, of—" Kriss stopped cold.

  "Exactly, sir. You have assumed it was your name that had been reported, but you don't know. No name was actually mentioned, either by the police or by you or, I suppose, by your wife. So it may have been your wife's last name that was reported, not yours. Isn't that right?"

  "Oh, my God," said Kriss blankly.

  "What difference would it make, Henry?" asked Gonzalo.

  Henry said, "There doesn't seem to be any clear candidate for the role of having played this practical joke on Mr. Kriss. Might there be one who would have played it on Mrs. Kriss?" Kriss groaned. "Of course—-there is. There's someone who has been harassing Grace for years, since long before I married her. He phones her frequently, he sends her letters—he won't leave her alone."

  "Why?" asked Gonzalo.

  Kriss shrugged. "He was a fellow student of hers once. Harmless enough, but somehow he never grew up, I imagine. He seems to have been in love with her back then. I suppose he's never found anyone else and she's his fantasy. He's always been quite harmless, so I didn't think of him in this connection. But, of course, it must be he. He knows Grace is married and resents it and fantasizes her husband might be cruel to her, I suppose.— How is it it never occurred to me it might be her name that had been reported?"

  "It is my feeling," said Avalon, "that however seriously a male may intellectually accept the concept of his wife's equality, his feeling, viscerally, is that she is merely an appendage."

  Kriss seemed too abashed to answer, but Henry said softly, "At least, Mr. Kriss, you can go back to your poker game in full enjoyment."

  Return to Tabl
e of Contents

  THE HAUNTED CABIN

  G

  eoffrey Avalon, host of the Black Widower banquet that month, gazed benignly at the five other seated Widowers, and at his guest for the evening, Marcellus DaRienzi. Henry, that unparalleled waiter, would soon be removing the main-course plates, when the last bit of the roast goose, red cabbage, and potato pancakes would be gone.

  "I have a rather odd tale that I would like to tell you all before the business end of the meeting begins "Avalon said in his stately baritone.

  Emmanuel Rubin looked up at him owlishly through the thick lenses of his glasses with an unaccustomed bonhomie, and patted a stomach full of goose. "Go ahead, Jeff, but don't be tedious."

  "I shall try not to be," said Avalon gravely. "It happened two weeks ago. I was on a business trip and had taken a room in a hotel. I needn't mention the name of the hotel, or of the city, to avoid tedium for Manny, and because they have nothing to do with the story. My wife was not with me. That is essential.

  "I had several hours one afternoon between appointments and I thought I might as well take a nap." He added defensively, "I don't know about the rest of you, but since I am past my first youth I find forty winks after lunch to be most helpful."

  "We'll grant you that, Jeff," said Thomas Trumbull, scowling under the crisp, tight waves of his white hair. "I've been known to take such naps myself, and Jim Drake is taking one now."

  "Not at all," said Drake indignantly, "I was just resting my eyelids."

  263 "Let me go on," said Avalon. "I fell into a light doze and suddenly felt the poke of a finger on my shoulder, quite a hard poke. Naturally, I woke up at once and, in the confusion of sudden wakefulness, I cried out, "Who? What?" and sat up in bed. The room, as I suppose you can guess, was, except for me, empty. It was afternoon, the sunlight was slanting in—there were no dim corners, all was bright, and the room was empty. The door was securely locked, with an inner chain in place. The windows were locked and they were, in any case, sixteen sheer stories above the street."