Hell Hath No Fury by Charles Williams 1953(8)

When I thought he could hear me, I squatted down
beside him. “Now get this,” I said. “You can’t make
trouble for her. But even if you could, there’s
nothing you can do to me. I’ll still be here. And hell
won’t be big enough to hold you. So if you want to
go around the rest of your life singing to yourself
and slobbering down the front of your shirt, go
ahead and try it.”
I went out and got in the car and drove back to
town. Maybe I’d sold him, and maybe I hadn’t. The
only thing I knew for sure was that next time I’d
never get a chance to unload the shotgun.
Hell Hath No Fury — 147
16
That next week was wonderful. We didn’t see
anything of Sutton, and we were together nearly all
the time. We had lunch together every day, and I
spent a lot of time in the loan office under the
pretext of familiarizing myself with the setup.

When
the other girl was gone we’d turn on to the phony
notes, trying to get them organized and establish
some sort of pattern for paying them off. She didn’t
want to be married until the last one was paid.
“It isn’t just stubbornness, Harry,” she explained
earnestly. “It has to be that way. You want me to
quit work when we’re married, and we both know I
can’t quit till all these are paid. They’re my debt, and
I have to pay them.”
I had to admit she was right, in spite of my
impatience.
We couldn’t let somebody else take charge of the
books until they were in order. I thought of the
twelve thousand dollars buried in that old barn, just
sitting there, and wanted to go right out and dig it
up and pay off the whole fifteen hundred dollars at
once. It didn’t take much thought, however, to throw
that out. It wouldn’t do. And it might be very
dangerous. In the first place, how could I explain to
Hell Hath No Fury — 148
her where I’d suddenly got hold of that much
money? And worse than that, I couldn’t be
absolutely sure the Sheriff had been lying when he’d
said the bank had the serial numbers of it. It would
be suicide to try to run the stuff right back through
the same bank it’d come out of, and this soon
afterwards. I’d just be asking for it. That money was
going to stay there a long time, maybe for years, and
when it went back into circulation it would be a long
way from here. I’d have to think of something. But I
didn’t worry about it; I had plenty of time.
At odd moments I did some digging back into sales
records on the lot, and I could see that even if I
couldn’t build it up I’d still clear five or six hundred
dollars a month with the commissions and the salary
he was paying me. And I was working on a number
of ideas for whooping sales up if we could get the
cars. There wasn’t too much live competition around
here, even in the county seat, and with some
advertising and good promotion to stir it up there
was no reason we couldn’t nearly double the
business.
The hardest part, of course, was going to be the
waiting. We added it all up, and by pooling every
nickel we’d make and could spare it would still take
until sometime in November to get it all paid off. We
wouldn’t have anything left to start with, but I’d
have a good job and somehow we’d scrape up
enough for at least a week’s honeymoon in
Galveston.
Once or twice she got scared and despondent
again, thinking of Sutton, but I was able to talk her
out of it. She asked me what I’d done and I was as
evasive about it as I could be without making her
suspicious. I told her I’d had a talk with him and
warned him, which was true as far as it went.
It wasn’t always so easy at night though, after I’d
left her and was lying there in my room. We hadn’t
seen anything of him, but how did I know we
wouldn’t? Everything we had planned was based on
the assumption that I’d scared him off and there
wouldn’t be any more demands. So what if I was
Hell Hath No Fury — 149
wrong? And there was always Dolores Harshaw. I
didn’t know what she was going to do about it.
I think it was Tuesday night when it hit me. I was
lying there in the dark going around with it for the
thousandth time, trying to guess whether she’d
meant it or not and what my chances would be if she
pulled her alibi out from under me and dropped me
back into that hellhole of questions, when suddenly I
sat up in bed with the whole answer perfectly clear
in my mind. She didn’t have me. I had her. She
couldn’t do a thing.
I thought about it for a while, and then turned over
and dropped off into an untroubled sleep for the first
time in weeks. If she tried anything she was going to
get the surprise of her life.
* * *

I went out to see Harshaw Friday night to give him a
short rundown on how we’d been doing. He looked a
little better. He was still weak and shaky, but the
dirty gray color had cleared up and he appeared to
be becoming reconciled to inactivity. He was sitting
in the living-room reading “Lee’s Lieutenants” while
she listened to some quiz show on the radio.
I made the business talk as brief as possible, not
playing up the advertising ideas too much because I
didn’t want to run the risk of starting an argument
and getting him heated up. He grunted more or less
approvingly at most of the details, and nodded once
or twice. “Sounds all right,” he said. “I guess you’ll
make out.”
“I think so,” I said. She had turned off the radio
and was wandering restlessly around the room. I
could see she was bored, and I wondered what she’d
try next. But I wasn’t afraid of her any more.
“How are you getting along with Miss Harper?” he
asked.
I grinned. “I remembered what you told me. We’re
going to be married in November, so I’ll be able to
mistreat her all I want.”
Hell Hath No Fury — 150
He gave me that probing look, and then his face
softened a little. I thought he was going to smile.
“Marry her, huh? You’re beginning to show signs of
intelligence. When you get that girl it’ll be the best
day’s work you ever did.”
“I know it,” I said. I happened to look up at her
just then. She was behind him, adjusting the
Venetian blinds. She turned and looked at me with
that malicious smile on her face.
“I think that’s wonderful,” she said. “She’s such a
sweet girl.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“I know you’ll both be very happy.” The smile
slipped a little and you could see past it. She was
raging. I wondered how long it’d be before I heard
from her.
It wasn’t very long. It was that same night.
It was around midnight. I was coming back from
taking Gloria home and as I pulled up in front of the
rooming house another car came up behind me. I
stepped out, and it came up alongside and stopped.
A voice said softly, “Get in,” and I knew who it was. I
got in. It would be, the last time.
She went on around the block and over to Main,
turning north and gunning it fast along the highway.
“How’s the happy bridegroom?” she asked.
“Not bad,” I said.
“But I’m rushing it a little, aren’t I? You’re not a
bridegroom yet; you’re just engaged. You’re lovely,
and you’re engaged. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Yes,” I said. “And what’s on your mind?”
“You’d never guess, would you?”
“I thought I told you the last time. We’re through.”
“We are like hell. Remember?”
She pulled off on to a side road and stopped.
“Well,” she said, “so I’m just going to sit around on
my hands and let you and that angel-faced candy kid
get away with it, am I? The two of you’re just too
cute for anything. You make me sick.”
Hell Hath No Fury — 151
“Go ahead,” I said. “Tell me all about it. And when
you get through I’ll tell you.”
“You’re not going to marry her. In November, or
any other time. I thought we’d straightened that out
already.”
“You’ve got some other plan in mind?”
“You’re damned right I have. You’re going to
marry me.”
“I thought the bag limit was one husband at a
time.”
“Maybe I’m thinking of getting a divorce.”
It was something about the way she said it. She
didn’t mean divorce. Or I didn’t think she did. It was
just an awful feeling that I was very close to
knowing, for the first time, what she was really
driving at. She could have left him any time, and
he’d probably give her a divorce whenever she asked
for it. Maybe she was waiting for more. He’d had
two heart attacks—It was a little sickening.
“All right,” I said. “Get a divorce. But not on my
account. I’ve told you what I’m going to do.”
“You think I’m bluffing, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“What do you suppose the Sheriff’ll do when he
finds out what really happened that day?”
“So you’re going to tell him?”
“Certainly I am.”
“And have you thought over what’s going to
happen when you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll go to jail.”
“Who do you think you’re kidding?”
“Nobody. If I committed a crime, you’re an
accessory to it. I say if I committed one. You don’t
know, you see. But if I did, now you’re as guilty as I
am. You not only withheld evidence, but you lied
about it.”

“I don’t believe you.” She was still loud and defiant
Hell Hath No Fury — 152
and angry, but I could hear a little note of
uncertainty creeping in.
“Well, I’ve told you,” I said. “But if you’re such a
hotshot hard guy, go ahead and try it. Personally, I
don’t think they could convict either one of us of
anything, but it’d certainly give people something to
talk about. Such as, why did you lie about seeing me
there in the first place? And what’s been going on,
girls, that we didn’t know anything about?”
“Why you dirty—“
“Well, I just thought I’d tell you, pal, before your
neck got out another foot. You’d better reel it in.”
“So that’s the way it is?”
“That’s exactly the way it is.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll tell you what I think of it.
And you. And everything about you. And her.”
She told me.
She was still telling me when she slid the wheels
to slow down a little to let me out three blocks away
from the rooming house. I didn’t mind walking. It
gave my ears a chance to stop ringing, and gave me
a breather to let the fact soak in that I was through
with her at last. It was wonderful. Everything was
wonderful.
It was a happy few hours. The next morning at ten
o’clock Sutton walked into the office to see me.
* * *
Gulick was up the street having coffee. I was at my
desk doing some paper-work when I heard the car
stop outside on the lot. I’d just shoved the papers
aside and started to get up to see who it was when
he walked in the door. He pulled a chair over and sat
down in front of the desk. His face was still a mess,
but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I was watching
his hands. He didn’t have on a coat and I couldn’t
see any place he could be carrying a gun, but if he
did have one I didn’t have a chance, with that desk
between us. By the time I got to him it wouldn’t
make any difference whether I got there or not.
Hell Hath No Fury — 153
He fished in the breast pocket of his shirt for a
cigarette and then reached down. I waited, scarcely
breathing. When the hand came out of his pants
pocket it held nothing but a big kitchen match. He
raked it along the edge of the desk and lighted his
cigarette.
“Don’t mind the way my face looks,” he said. “I fell
out of bed. I was having a funny dream.”
“What’s on your mind?” I asked.
“That’s the way to do business,” he said, with what
might have been a grin. His face was so puffed and
cut not much of it moved. “Always get right to the
point. Well, I’ll tell you. I’m thinking of buying
another car pretty soon.”
“How about just paying for the one you’ve got
now?” I said.
“Oh. That’s all right. I’ll trade it in on the new
one.”
“Like perpetual motion, huh? You want to trade in
a car you don’t own for another one you can’t pay
for. You ought to be in the government.”
“It must rub off on you,” he said. “You’ve been a
big shot less than a week and you sound just like
Harshaw already.”
“Maybe I was wrong,” I said. ‘You ought to work
for the newspaper.”
“Oh, I take an interest in things. But how about the
car? I’ve kind of got my eye on that Buick up there
at the end.”
“That’s twenty-four hundred dollars worth of car.
Eight hundred down. What are you using for
money?”
“I told you. I’ll trade mine.”
I was beginning to get fed up with it. It didn’t look
as if he had a gun or was looking for trouble, and I
couldn’t figure out what he was getting at.
“Cut it out,” I said. “If you haven’t got anything to
do, I have. Your equity in that Ford is about three
hundred dollars, and we both know how you got that
Hell Hath No Fury — 154
much in it. And just to jog your memory, that gravytrain
has quit running.” I stopped and looked at him.
“Incidentally, your next note is two or three days
overdue, so unless you’ve got fifty-five dollars on you
you’d better start thinking about walking home.
Thanks for bringing it in.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” he said. “But you still don’t
catch on. Why should I make another payment on it
when I’m going to turn it back? On that Buick. Let’s
go take a ride in it. We can work out the down
payment then.”
I started to tell him to beat it when I looked up and
saw Gulick coming back. There was no use letting
him get an earful. “O.K.,” I said. I got the key out of
the drawer. “Let’s take a ride.”
We went out to the car. “Mind if I drive?” he
asked.
“No. Go ahead.”
I climbed in beside him and he eased it out into
Main. “Nice car,” he said. “Radio and everything,
huh?”

“Now listen, you stupid bastard,” I said, “I don’t
know what you’re driving at, but I can get a bellyful
of you quicker than most people. So why don’t you
get wise and shove? You fall out of that bed about
once more and the grasshoppers’ll start talking to
you.”
“You know,” he said, “I been thinkin’ about that.”
He turned right beyond the bank and started down
the street where the Taylor building had been.
“Thought I might go out to the Coast.”
“Now you’re getting smart.”
He jerked his head towards the charred rubble and
the ashes. “Quite a fire they had, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said. I’ll never know why I didn’t begin to
tumble then. Maybe it was that silly, half-witted act
he was putting on.
He turned again at the second cross street and
started around the block. And just after he’d made
the last turn he pulled to the curb and stopped. We
Hell Hath No Fury — 155
were facing up the street towards what had been the
rear of the Taylor building. There was a big elm
hanging out over the curb and we were in the shade.
There was something awfully familiar about it. And
then the warning began to go off in my head at last.
This was the exact spot where I’d parked the car
that day of the fire. The chill was going all over me
now in spite of the midmorning heat. There wasn’t
one chance in a thousand he’d stumbled on this spot
accidentally. And the only way he could have known
about it—I didn’t want to think about that.
“You know, it’s funny about this place,” he said.
“Familiar, sort of; ain’t it? You ever get that feeling?
You know, that you’ve been in a place before.”
“Break it up,” I said. “What are you talking about?”
“That day they had the fire. Seems to me I was
walking along here, going back to town, about a half
hour after it started. I’d been over there watching it,
see, but I’m kind of funny; fires bore me after a
while. The way I see it, there’s no money in ‘em. Or
at least that’s what I thought then. That just shows
you how stupid a man can be when he don’t use his
head. Now, you take a smart son-of-a-bitch like you,
a real big-shot sort of guy, he knows there’s money
in fires.”
“How about getting to it?” I said. “It wouldn’t take
much to finish that face for you.”
He lighted a cigarette and shook his head. The
simpleton act was gone now. “I wouldn’t advise it,
pal. You know how the monkey was caught in the
lawn-mower. The best thing to do in a case like that
is to hold still.”
“Hold still for what?” I asked, feeling the sweat
gathering on my face.
“Well, let’s say about five thousand, plus the
Buick. They say you tapped the bank for ten, which
probably means about fifteen grand, so I figure
around half will do for me. The way I see it, why be a
hog? People wouldn’t like you.”
“I think I’m beginning to get it,” I said. “You’ve got
a goofy idea I had something to do with that bank
Hell Hath No Fury — 156
business, and so—“
“Let’s just skip all that part, pal,” he said. I could
see I was boring him. “Let’s just talk about the
geetus. It’s more fun that way. As far as thinking you
clouted the bank, you’re talking about the Sheriff
and that deputy, Tate. They think you did it. Me, I’m
another guy altogether. I just happen to be the only
one who can prove it. But we wouldn’t want to make
it that easy for ‘em, would we, pal? As I see it, let
‘em earn their money. So that being the case—“
“You keep talking, but you haven’t said anything,”
I broke in. “What do you mean, you can prove a
crazy pipe dream like that?”
“Just like I said. I saw you drive up here in a hell of
a hurry thirty minutes after the fire broke out and
everybody who wasn’t staying for the second show
had started home—“
“What does that prove?” I said angrily. “Maybe I
was supposed to punch a time-clock, or something?”
“Please, pal. Keep your stories straight. I can see
you’re just breaking in. You tell them you got there
with the fire-wagon, and now you tell me you can
come dragging in any time you want. You got to tell
everybody the same story, see. I get in more trouble
with girls that way. Of course, I run around with
more the female type of girl myself.”
I went for him, but he saw it in my face before I
got started. His hand slipped inside the shirt, under
his right armpit, and came out with it. It was a
woman’s gun, a little pearl-handled automatic, not
as big as his hand as he let it rest in his lap, but
there’s no difference between being killed with one
of them and with a .45 unless it’s prestige you’re
after.
I slid back and left him alone.
Hell Hath No Fury — 157
17
“Now,” he said, “let’s talk about the geetus.”
He’d deliberately needled me into lunging for him
so he could flash that gun. It made him feel better—
that and the way he had sucked me out of position
with that simpleton act of his.
“Let’s get this straight,” I said. “You really expect
me to give you five thousand dollars I haven’t got
and a Buick that doesn’t belong to me?”
He shook his head. “Let’s cut out the horsing
around. You go dig up that dough from wherever you
hid it and slice me five grand off the little end,
nothing bigger than twenties. Then you make out the
papers on this car, take mine in on the down
payment, and you can take care of the notes any way
you want.
“You see, pal,” he went on, “you’re in a worse spot
than it looks like at first. Remember what you told
me? If I didn’t quit touching Goldilocks for a
sawbuck now and then for beer money you’d slap me
around till I started shuffling my feet and talking
back to the bedbugs. Because you’d be around here
to do it. But the catch is, you won’t. You’ll be up the
river trying to think up a spiel to give the parole
Hell Hath No Fury — 158
board in 1971, and wondering how Sweetie-pie is
making out in the sawbuck department.
“You catch on? I can’t lose either way. But you
sure as hell can if you don’t go along with me. So
just shell out, like I told you, and I’ll take off for the
Coast. You’ll still have half of it left, so you can settle
down and join the Chamber of Commerce and talk
about the dirty crooks in Washington.”
And I’d thought he was stupid. I sat there feeling
the sick emptiness inside me and listening to him
drive the nails in it one at a time. He had me any
way I could turn, and he wasn’t bluffing. As he said,
he won either way. There wasn’t any way out. They
still might not prove it when they picked me up
again, but all the odds were on their side. They’d
know now for sure and without any doubt at all, and
there wouldn’t be anybody to spring me this time
before the questions drove me crazy. Harshaw
would fire me, and Dolores Harshaw might have to
get on the stand and admit she’d lied. All that
business would come out, and it’d settle me with
Gloria. He was right. There not only wasn’t any way
he could lose; there wasn’t any way I could win.
“Look,” I said at last, “how do I know you’ll go?”
“You don’t, pal.” He tried to grin with that messedup
face. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
“Well, geez,” I said. “I’ve got to have a little time.
I’ve got to think it over. You’re pulling all this stuff
on me, and I can’t figure out whether I’m up or down
—“
“There’s nothing to think over. Just take my word
for it, pal. You’re down.”
“Yeah, but—Look. I’m not admitting a thing,
understand, but even if I had that kind of money it’d
take me a while to get hold of it. And the car—It’s
almost noon Saturday, and we can’t get the paperwork
done on it today.”
“That’s all right. I notice there’s a dent in the right
rear fender, anyway, and I want that fixed. I’m not in
that big a hurry; I can pick it up from you on
Monday. You’re not going anywhere; you know
Hell Hath No Fury — 159
what’ll happen if you try to run.”
He stopped talking and turned to look at me out of
eyes sunk back in that scrambled and puffed-up
face. “A real neat package,” he said. “Isn’t it, pal?”
* * *
The long, hot Saturday afternoon was an endless hell
of sitting at the desk looking at papers I didn’t even
see while everything tumbled around me. The
finishing touch had come at noon, when I picked
Gloria up to take her to lunch. One glance at her
face was all it took. He’d been to see her too. We sat
in a booth in the crowded restaurant, unable to talk
about it for fear of being overheard, while we looked
at the ruin of everything we had planned. She
couldn’t know what he’d told me, and I didn’t say
anything about it, but she didn’t have to to
understand the spot we were in. All that mattered
was that he was back again for more and all our
bright ideas for getting the books straightened out
by November or any other time were shot to hell. I
tried to cheer her up, but it was useless.
I’d see her that night, but what was the use? What
could I say? That he’d promised to leave, and go to
California? That was too stupid to repeat. There was
a fat chance he’d go off and leave a gravy-train like
this. This was just the opening wedge. He’d stick
around until he got it all, and then he’d stay right on,
milking both of us for what we made or what we had
to steal to keep his big mouth shut.
Why had he waited all this time? I couldn’t even
figure that out. I shuffled unseen papers in the heat,
thinking, going around and around in the same
smooth rut from which there was no escape. I hadn’t
even got to the worst part of it yet. Suppose he got
the money. Suppose he got all of it. That still wasn’t
it. It was what was going to happen the minute he
got his hands on it. He’d start throwing it around,
making a big show around the beer joints and pool
halls, and that was exactly what that cold-eyed
Sheriff was waiting for, some citizen with too much
Hell Hath No Fury — 160
sudden prosperity. They’d pick him up, and to get
out from under he’d tell ‘em where he got it. So in
paying him off to keep out of jail, I’d just be buying a
one-way ticket right into the place.
I picked her up a little after seven and we drove
out into the country and parked the car on a side
road. I held her in my arms for a long time, not
talking, and at last she stirred a little and looked up
at me so hopelessly it was like a knife turning inside
me.

“He wanted five hundred dollars,” she said.
“Did you give it to him ? “
“Not yet,” she said dully. “I told him we didn’t
have it in the safe, and the bank was closed.”
“Good,” I said. “We’ll think of something.”
“We have to, Harry,” she said. “He said he’d go
away. He said he was going out west. If we give it to
him, maybe he’ll stay away.”
I wasn’t thinking, or I’d have kept my big mouth
shut. “Like hell he will. Blackmailers are all the
same. Every bite is always the last—until the next
one.”
“I know. But what can we do? He might go.”
“He won’t. And we won’t get anywhere by paying
him. The thing to do is stop him.”
“But how?” she asked frantically. Then she
thought of something. “Harry, did you do that to his
face? I never saw anything so—so horrible.”
“Yes,” I said. “I won’t lie to you. I did it. And a fat
lot of good it did.”
“I hate that sort of thing, Harry. You won’t do it
again, will you?”
“All right. It didn’t do any good, anyway.”
“We’ll just have to give him what he wants, and
hope he’ll leave.”
“He’ll never leave if you give him what he wants,”
I said.
“Then you don’t want me to give him the money?”
she asked.
Hell Hath No Fury — 161
“No,” I said. “Don’t give him anything till I tell you
to.”
“What are you going to do, Harry?”
“I don’t know yet, baby. I just don’t know.”
“Darling, please tell me why you don’t want to give
it to him. Isn’t that the best thing to do?”
“It’s the very worst thing we could do. The way to
get a blackmailer off your back is to stop him, not
pay him.”
“What do you mean? How can we stop him?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “But you just leave it to
me.”
I took her home around midnight and went back to
the rooming house. I lay in bed thinking about it,
and after a while I was conscious that I was no
longer wondering what to do. I was thinking of how
to do it. Sometime during the afternoon or evening I
had already arrived at the only answer there could
ever be to Sutton. I was going to kill him.
How?
The match flared as I lighted another cigarette. I
could see the face of the wrist watch. It was nearly
two-thirty.
There was no use trying to kid myself. It was
dangerous, It was dangerous as hell. I thought of
that Sheriff. Anybody who committed a crime in his
county was taking a long, long chance. And I already
had one strike on me. He had his eye on me. I was a
marked man, and he was probably having me
watched. I had to get down there and do it and get
back without Tate’s knowing I had left town.
How?
I rolled over on my back and lay staring up at the
ceiling. I not only had to get past the Sheriff; I had
to fool Gloria. There was no telling what a thing like
that would do to her. She’d probably crack up if she
ever found it out.
How? How? How?
And what about Sutton himself? I knew by this
Hell Hath No Fury — 162
time I was dealing with no fool. He was plenty
smart, and he was armed. I thought about the guns.
He had that Junior League automatic, a .11 rifle, and
a shotgun. And then I began to get it.
I sat up in bed.
It didn’t come to me all at once. It took a long time
to work it all out, step by step, thinking of all the
possibilities and when I was through it was dawn. It
was a hot, breathless dawn, the way it is before a
storm, and as the sun came up I looked out across
the back yard at the high board fence splashed with
crimson. Red in the morning, I thought, sailor take
warning.
It meant nothing except that it would probably rain
by tonight. I turned on my side and went to sleep.
* * *
I awoke around noon with a bad taste in my mouth
and my body drenched with perspiration. Outside
the sun was a brassy glare, and there was no
whisper of a breeze. I walked uptown and bought
the Houston paper and took it into the restaurant,
propping it up before me while I drank some orange
juice. I remembered none of the news, even while I
was reading it, but this had to look like any other
Sunday. I was tight and nervous, for I could feel that
cold-eyed Sheriff looking over my shoulder at every
move I made. It had to be natural from start to
finish, for he had a merciless eye for anything that
didn’t fit.
It was a day that would never end. Around five
o’clock I drove over to the Robinsons’, but Gloria
had gone out about an hour ago, they said. I talked
to them for a few minutes, and then left, unable to
sit still. Time crawled. Tension was building up
already, and I still had hours to go I went back about
seven and she was home. She’d gone for a ride to try
to cool off, she said. We went over to the county seat
to an air-conditioned movie, trying to escape our
thoughts and the heat. On the way home she was
depressed and silent and nothing I could do would
Hell Hath No Fury — 163
bring her out of it. There was a feeling she was more
than usually upset by Sutton and that she wanted to
tell me something, but she never did. When we got
back to town she said she had a headache and
wanted to go to bed early. I left her at the gate.
I parked the car in front of the rooming house and
went on through to my room. I was going to stay
there all night, just in case Tate had orders to check
on me from time to time. Looking at my watch, I saw
it was almost eleven. I changed clothes, putting on
dark slacks, a blue sports shirt, and black shoes. I
left the light burning for a while, as if I were
reading, and after about a half hour I turned it out
and lay down on the bed. The landlady’s room was
directly above mine, and I could see the light from
her window shining out into the back yard. In
another twenty minutes it went out.

I waited. The whole house was deathly still now. I
tried to quiet my nerves by thinking how it would be
afterwards, of Galveston and a honeymoon in
November, and all the years ahead. It would work
for a few minutes and then I’d be tightened up
again, thinking of what had to be done first, of
Sutton lying there in the cabin, waiting for me
maybe, or at least alert and knowing the risk he was
running, and of the gun which wouldn’t be very far
from his hand. And then I’d think of the Sheriff and
the fact that this time the game we were playing
wasn’t only for keeps, but forever. It made me cold
thinking about it, but there wasn’t any other way.
Sutton had asked for it. He’d get it.
I struck a match and looked at my watch. It was an
hour since the landlady’s light had gone out. I got
softly off the bed and stood up. It was time to go.
Hell Hath No Fury — 164
18
There was a screen door leading from my room into
the backyard. I eased it open, an inch at a time, and
slipped out, and closed it very gently. The night was
heavily overcast and so dark I couldn’t see the gate.
I knew where it was, though, and moved towards it,
keeping on the grass to muffle any sound. Then my
hands were on the gate, feeling for the latch. I
opened it and eased out into the alley.
I went over to the car lot, walking fast and
avoiding street lights, and slipped up to it from the
rear. I eased around the corner of the shack, put the
key in the lock, and stepped inside, closing the door
after me. I didn’t need any light to find the cigar box
which held the ignition keys; it was in the top
drawer of my desk and I located it by feel. Carrying
it over to a corner away from the windows, I
squatted down so my body would shield the flame,
and struck a match. All the keys had round
cardboard tags with numbers on them, and it took
me only a second or two to find the one I wanted. It
was the key to the Ford which was parked down at
the end of the line where the shadows were«
heaviest and I could pull right out into the cross
street without going on to Main at all. I put the
Hell Hath No Fury — 165
others back in the desk and slipped out and closed
the door.
I stood between two cars and peered out, looking
up Main. A block and a half up the lights of the
restaurant poured out into the night, but there was
no one on the street. The constable would be inside,
probably, drinking coffee. I ducked back and
climbed into the Ford, reaching for the starter. The
motor turned over slowly, as if the battery was weak.
I jabbed it again, and it caught this time.
It’s all right, I thought. Driving out there will
charge it up. I got it in gear and rolled out into the
cross street, not turning on the lights until I was off
the lot. Going over two blocks, I turned left and ran
parallel to Main until I was in the edge of town, and
then cut back and got on the highway. There was
very little traffic. I met only two or three cars. I
made the turnoff, feeling my stomach tighten up,
and started uphill through the pines. As I passed the
old farm I turned my head and looked towards the
barn and wished I’d never heard of the money that
was buried there.
After I crossed the bridge over the river and
climbed up out of the bottom I slowed down, trying
to remember all the details of the road. I had to be
careful not to get too near. He’d hear the car. I
stared intently ahead into the beam of light,
watching the wall of timber going past on each side
and disappearing into the blackness behind me.
Then just after I was over the crest of the ridge and
starting down I found what I wanted, a place where I
could get the car off the road on firm ground and
pine needles which wouldn’t show the tracks. I
pulled off and cut the motor, leaving the key in the
switch, and then turned off the lights.
Velvety, impenetrable blackness closed in around
me. I got out and closed the door and held my hand
up in front of my eyes. I couldn’t see it. It was like
being blind. I groped my way back out to the road,
and when I was out from under the trees it was a
little better.
Hell Hath No Fury — 166
A sudden thought occurred to me. How would I
ever find the car when I came back? In this ocean of
blackness there was nothing to mark the place I’d
driven off the road. I took out my handkerchief and
dropped it beside the ruts. Out of the corners of my
eyes I could see it very faintly, a tiny blur of gray.
It should be less than a quarter mile to the
clearing. I turned and faced downhill, feeling the
tightness in my chest and the rapid beating of my
heart. For the first time I noticed the charged and
sullen vacuum of the night itself. There were no
stars, and the air had the hot, dead feel of a closed
and sealed-off room. Not a leaf moved. There were
no night sounds at all. Everything seemed to be
waiting, holding its breath for an explosion that
might come any minute. Then in a moment there
was a growl of thunder somewhere off in the west. It
wouldn’t be long.
I started downhill in the darkness, feeling my way
and stumbling now and then in the ruts. Once I
missed a turn and blundered off into the trees. Panic
caught up with me for a minute. Suppose I lost the
road? I’d never find my way out until daylight. And
then the really horrible thought came sweeping over
me. What if I lost it afterwards? If anyone saw me
down here, or coming out of here, it could mean the
electric chair. I cursed and tried to shake off the
chill as I turned and stumbled back into the road.
How long had it been now? The road seemed to go
on forever, winding down off the hill. Was I sure I
was on the right one? I had to be. There wasn’t any
other. But I should have come to the clearing before
this. The thunder was growing nearer. I wanted to
run, and cursed myself, knowing how stupid it was.
It’s just the waiting, I thought. Once I get there I’ll
be all right. And then I was out in the clearing.
The shack would be around to the right, less than
fifty yards away. I felt my way cautiously along the
faint traces of the road. A long roll of thunder
growled and reverberated across the sky, sounding
very near. In a moment there was a jagged flash of
lightning and I saw the cabin in the greenish-yellow,
Hell Hath No Fury — 167
unnatural light, and then in the quick fraction of a
second before it was gone I caught a glimpse of the
car standing near the porch. Breath swelled up in
my chest, making it painfully tight. He was home.
Then blackness rolled back over everything like a
breaking sea, and thunder crashed over the clearing.
Temporarily blinded by the lightning flash, I
couldn’t see anything now. It was like the bottom of
a coal-mine. I groped my way ahead, moving in the
direction I had seen the shack. Then it began to take
shape, a dense pile of shadow a little nearer than the
inky wall of trees behind it. I was very near the front
porch. I could hardly breathe. The tension was
almost unbearable. I located the door and stepped
carefully up on to the porch, the rubber-soled shoes
making no sound at all.