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Arnold Bourdon was suffering from a progressive muscle disease, which, while debilitating and unpleasant, was neither painful nor imminently fatal. Arnold was suffering, that is, but it was his wife, Elizabeth, who had the illness. She robed herself in its symptoms like a queen, and from her bed and wheelchair ruled her subjects (Arnold, the three servants and her physician) with a tyranny that was sometimes overwhelming to Arnold’s sensitive nature.

Arnold was a handsome, well-groomed man, kept younger-looking than his forty-three years through vigorous exercise and the health-giving benefits of an easy, moneyed existence. All his life, he had enjoyed the help of women. His mother, while poor and widowed, had devoted herself to his early care and feeding. His sister, sacrificing her own happiness for his sake, had supported him during his matriculation at one of the better Eastern colleges. Then he had met Elizabeth, who was rich, and partial to handsome, sensitive men.

Arnold’s every feature was sensitive. His eyes were a tender blue. His nose was aristocratic. His lips fine and delicate. But most sensitive of all were his ears. Shrill complaining voices gave him headaches. The sound of petulant sobs was painful. The creak-creak of a wheelchair scudding overhead caused him to grit his teeth. But most of all, the clangor of a bedside bell, summoning him to the royal invalid presence, was excruciating agony.

When the bell sounded one Monday morning in late February, Arnold was in the kitchen supervising the precise timing of Elizabeth’s two-and-a-half minute egg. The pale blue eyes crinkled, the delicate mouth winced, and the elongated fingers closed about the handle of a butter knife in an oddly ferocious manner. He picked up the breakfast tray and carried it up the stairway to the second floor, trying to take comfort from the fact that he was performing the chore for the last time.

Elizabeth was sitting upright in bed when he entered. There was a satiny blue bolster behind her back, and magenta pillows behind her head. The background was all wrong for Elizabeth’s graying hair and yellow skin. She had never been a pretty woman; now she was barely presentable. Arnold, as both esthete and husband, found her difficult to look upon.

“You certainly took your time,” she grumbled, smoothing the sheet over her lap. “If this woman you hired doesn’t do any better, I’ll probably starve to death one of these days. Well put it down, put it down!”

Arnold put the wicker tray in front of her, and glanced at her watch. “It’s almost nine now. Her train will be here in ten minutes; perhaps I should start for the station.”

“You seem awfully anxious,” she said.

“I just don’t want Miss Grecco to feel lost. You know that Hillfield station. I could send Ralph, of course, if you’d rather I stayed with you.”

“Go ahead, go ahead,” she said testily. “I’m anxious to meet your Miss Grecco. I suppose she’s some frittery blonde with ten thumbs and a bad permanent.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. The employment service recommended her highly, and you saw her references. You need a woman’s care, Elizabeth, you’ve said so yourself.”

“Oh, stop yammering and go.” She tapped the top of her egg violently with the back of a spoon. “And send her right up; I want a look at this creature.”

The train, as usual, was late. Arnold, waiting at the wheel of the small foreign car that Elizabeth had given him on their anniversary, drummed his fingers impatiently on the dashboard. When the 9:05 lumbered into the suburban station at 9:15, only three passengers got off. Two were men; the other was a trim-figured young woman with a slouchy feathered hat covering her face. A conductor assisted her with the three shabby suitcases which accompanied her. Arnold couldn’t determine much about her appearance from the distance, but he could see instantly that Miss Grecco had superb legs. Superb. He patted his thin, iron-gray moustache with one finger.

As he left the car to assist her, he saw that under her overcoat she wore a severe tweed suit that Elizabeth would have called Early Garbo. Something about the mannishness of the attire and the excellence of the legs made the woman’s figure provocative. Arnold found himself anxious to see what was under the concealing hat.

“Hello,” he said pleasantly. “I’m Arnold Bourdon, and I suppose you’re Miss Grecco. Sorry about the train, but our service here isn’t the best in the world.”

She looked up from the feathery brim. She wore absolutely no makeup. If she had, if there had been crimson on her lips and blue on her eyelids, she would have been altogether too voluptuous an entry into the Bourdon household. As it was, Miss Grecco was a remarkably pretty woman, and Arnold experienced a tremor of doubt concerning his wife’s reaction.

“I hope you’ll be happy here,” he said, smiling charmingly. “My wife’s needed some female attention for some time, someone who can take care of her needs better than I. You understand about her ailment, I trust?”

“Yes, it was explained to me,” Miss Grecco said shyly. I’ve done practical nursing before, but I understand that your wife needs more of a—companion.”

“You might say that. She requires all sorts of little attentions in addition to her medical care; you know how women are.” He glanced at her briefly. “I certainly hope you’ll like us, Miss Grecco.”

“I’m sure I will,” she murmured.

*  *  *  *  *

Arnold found Miss Grecco’s interview with Elizabeth as anxiety-ridden as childbirth. In the living room, he paced the floor like an expectant father, waiting for the bedroom door to open on the second floor. When it did, Miss Grecco came downstairs on her remarkable legs, and her pale cheeks were flushed with the natural cosmetic of emotion. He questioned her briefly, but she offered nothing more than the information that his wife wished to see him upstairs.

Elizabeth was a thundercloud when he entered. She crossed over the lace bedjacket.

“Well, where did you get her?” she asked bitterly. “From the Folies Bergère?”

“Elizabeth, really—”

“That getup didn’t fool me for a minute. I suppose you think you were being clever, don’t you?”

“Nothing of the sort. You chose Miss Grecco yourself, from three résumés sent by the employment service. I’ve never seen the woman before today.”

“But you admit she’s pretty?”

“Miss Grecco’s attractive, yes. But not pretty, no.”

Elizabeth laughed briefly. Then she lowered her reading glasses and hid the intensity of her eyes. “Very well, we’ll let her stay. It should be interesting watching you two. But make no mistake about it, Arnold. I’ll be watching.”

“Really, you’re talking nonsense.”

“I know you, Arnold, I know you inside out. I can hear your little romantic heart beating all the way over here.”

“Elizabeth, please—”

“Well, go ahead, tell Miss Grecco that she’s hired. No, never mind, I’ll tell her myself.” She picked up the bedside bell and rang it violently. The insistent clanging made Arnold grimace, but she didn’t stop until Miss Grecco realized the summons was for her.

“Yes, Mrs. Bourdon?” Miss Grecco said, appearing in the doorway.

“I want to be wheeled outdoors this morning,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll need your help. Then I wish you’d see about Arnold’s lunch; our cook has a tendency to fry everything, and Arnold has a delicate stomach. You see,” she said slyly, “I’m not the only one here who needs attention. My husband deserves some, too.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bourdon,” Miss Grecco said, glancing at Arnold with a hint of panic in her lovely violet eyes.

*  *  *  *  *

It was two months before he kissed her. It had been a trying two months, in which Elizabeth’s clanging bell had ripped through the house incessantly; not so much a summons as a warning. She was jealous, and she was enjoying her jealousy with a strange perverse pleasure. She hinted constantly about their burgeoning romance, and chuckled when the color rose in Miss Grecco’s alabaster cheeks. To Arnold, she did more than hint—she accused. Eventually, as if weary of being damned for a crime he wasn’t committing, Arnold kissed Miss Grecco.

It happened in the Bourdon kitchen, at midnight. Miss Grecco had come downstairs for a solitary cup of hot chocolate. When Arnold came in, he said nothing. Miss Grecco, in her housecoat, was especially feminine. Her auburn hair, normally tight-combed and pinned, was loose over her shoulders.

“Would you like some hot chocolate?” she whispered.

“Yes, thank you,” Arnold said. Then he took her in his arms.

Half an hour later, Miss Grecco put her head on his shoulder and said:

“I love you, Arnold.”

“I love you, too.”

She sighed. “But it’s hopeless, isn’t it?”

“That depends on what you mean by hopeless.”

“Why, I mean marriage, of course.”

“Oh.”

“That is what you meant, isn’t it?”

“It would be, ordinarily,” Arnold said ruefully. “But as you know, I’m well married.”

“There are divorce courts.”

“There are poorhouses, too.”

Miss Grecco pulled away from him. “Then that’s all there is to it, I suppose.”

“We can’t admit that—”

“What else can there be? I won’t be a back-street wife, Arnold.”

“That’s a dreadful, romance novel phrase. I prefer—lover.”

“And I prefer—husband.”

Now Arnold sighed.

They sat three feet apart at the kitchen table, their hands closed about the empty mugs of hot chocolate, waiting for an idea to occur. The thoughts that were finally expressed were no newcomers to either of them, especially Arnold.

“You know about the pentathalymine?” he said.

“That medicine I give her every night?”

“Yes.”

“I know that it’s a strong sedative. She’s often so uncomfortable at night; it helps her.”

“You know about the proper dosage, and all that?”

“I know that it’s dangerous, that an overdose could affect the brain, possibly cause hemorrhaging.”

“Naturally, you wouldn’t make any mistakes about overdosing.”

“Of course not.”

“That would be foolish,” Arnold said thoughtfully.

“Yes, it would,” Miss Grecco said. “So easily detectable.”

“However, isn’t it true that an overdose wouldn’t be detected if administered a bit at a time? That is, one extra c.c. per night would have the same effect, only not immediately.”

“Yes, I believe that’s true.”

“She would become weaker every day”

“Nauseated. That’s sure to be a symptom.”

“Yes, but not necessarily ascribable to the drug.

The difference in the bottle would be hardly discernible. How long do you think it would take before she—?”

“I’m not really sure.”

“Just guess.”

“Perhaps two months,” Miss Grecco said.

“Why, that would be June,” Arnold Bourdon said, smiling sentimentally.

*  *  *  *  *

When Dr. Ivey was called in two weeks later, he spent an hour behind the closed door of Elizabeth’s bedroom and emerged looking puzzled and unhappy.
He asked to see Arnold privately, and being a man of integrity, admitted that he wasn’t sure of the cause of Elizabeth’s trouble.

“These nausea attacks she’s been getting,” he said. “They’re not usual in such cases, and yet I can’t seem to locate any other reason. She’s extremely weak, but that’s understandable, and her blood pressure is higher than it should be.”

“Is there anything you can do for her?” Arnold said, sympathetically.

“I’ve told her to keep to her bed for the rest of the week; perhaps she’s been overtiring herself lately. Also…” He paused and looked embarrassed. “Well, her mental state isn’t exactly wholesome. She seems to have some strange notions about… well, about your Miss Grecco.”

“What sort of notions?”

“Your wife’s an imaginative woman. Confined the way she is, her mind is free to think up all sorts of things. You know what I mean….”

“Miss Grecco has been absolutely loyal,” Arnold said. “I’m sure that Elizabeth would admit that herself. Frankly, I don’t see how we got along without her before.”

“Er, yes. Well, it’s something to be aware of, anyway. If you need me again before my regular visit next month, Mr. Bourdon, don’t hesitate to call.”

Arnold did call, four days later. Elizabeth had fainted suddenly while being wheeled about the garden. Miss Grecco did all the right things. She loosened her employer’s clothes, held her head between her knees and soon restored her to her senses. Dr. Ivey, arriving an hour later, complimented her on her prompt action, and suggested that she might wish to undertake a course of study as a registered nurse. Miss Grecco demurred, saying she had other plans for her future.

*  *  *  *  *

A week later, Elizabeth herself demanded the doctor’s presence. She threatened to throw him off the case if he didn’t improve her health and worked herself into such a state that she was sick on her best oriental carpet in the living room.

“Nerves,” the doctor told Arnold. “The woman is a bundle of them. You’ll have to watch her very carefully, Mr. Bourdon; if her condition is no better by the end of the week, I think we should have her in the hospital for observation.”

Arnold’s blue eyes widened at the ominous statement.

“You can’t,” he stammered. “I mean, Elizabeth would never consent to it.”

“She’ll have to,” Dr. Ivey said firmly. “I won’t answer for the consequences if she doesn’t.”

That night, Arnold reported the threat to Miss Grecco. They had a serious decision to make over their midnight hot chocolate. If Elizabeth’s condition was brought to the attention of probing clinical eyes, the overdose of sedative accumulating in her system might be detected.

“We could do this two ways,” he said thoughtfully.

“Either we could ease up on the amount we give her…”

“I’ve thought of that,” Miss Grecco said.

“Or…”

“I’ve thought of that, too,” Miss Grecco said.

They moved into each other’s arms with the easy grace of practiced lovers. They remained there for some five minutes with Arnold murmuring into her ear and placing dry little kisses on the white column of her neck. It was like all the other nights of their romance, sweetened by affection, spiced by danger. Only this time the moment became different. Arnold was aware of it first; his back stiffened, and he sniffed the air. Miss Grecco’s eyes rounded, and then she looked over his shoulder at the doorway of the
kitchen. She made a gasping sound, and Arnold spun her about, as if for a shield, and saw for himself the apparition that had intruded.

It was Elizabeth, in her night clothes. White faced, spectral in the dim light, her hands skeletal on the doorframe, her eyes like glowing charcoal.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she said, feebly, but with venom. “Go right on with it, Arnold.”

“Elizabeth, you shouldn’t have come down here—”

“I couldn’t find the bell. That damn fool doctor put my bell somewhere. I had to walk down here…” She forced herself to smile; her teeth were like tiny tombstones. “But I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, Arnold, this pretty picture…”

“Oh, Mrs. Bourdon,” Miss Grecco sobbed. “Oh, you mustn’t think that—”

“Quiet, you! I’ve had enough of you. Understand that, Arnold? Quite enough!”

“You’re mistaken, you know,” Arnold said stoutly.

“Miss Grecco merely has something in her eyes…”

“I know,” Elizabeth said, “you. But this is one woman you won’t lean on again, Arnold. I want her out of here. Tomorrow!”

Miss Grecco started to plead.

“That won’t do any good!” Elizabeth said. “You’re fired, Miss Grecco. If Arnold were my employee instead of my husband, I’d fire him, too. But he is my husband. Understand? My husband.”

Miss Grecco turned and fled. Arnold, helpless, listened to the rapid thumping of her low heels as she went up the carpeted stairway.

“Now you can help me,” Elizabeth said, fatigued but with triumph. “You can carry me upstairs, Arnold. And tomorrow, you will call the employment agency and see about a substitute for Miss Grecco. Only this time, I’ll interview our candidates, personally.”

“Yes, Elizabeth,” Arnold said.

Ralph, the chauffeur, drove Miss Grecco to the station the next afternoon. She left the house in the tweed suit in which she had arrived, the slouchy feathered hat pulled down over her red-rimmed eyes. She didn’t look back at Arnold, who watched her departure through the living room window, his own expression pained and hopeless. It wasn’t merely a lover that was being taken from him; it was a rescuer. As he watched her climb into the front seat of the car, he knew that Miss Grecco’s appeal had been only partly romantic; that her help and understanding, her talented handling of the sedative that would someday release him from Elizabeth, were even more
important than the attractive legs and pretty face. With a sigh, he turned from the window and saw Elizabeth in her wheel chair, watching him.

“Poor Arnold,” she said, smiling maliciously. “There’s always been a woman to help you, hasn’t there? Only now she’s gone, and you’ll have to depend upon me. Poor, sick little me.” She pushed the chair closer. “Have you done what I told you? Did you call the employment office?”

“Yes,” he said wearily. “You’ll have three candidates to choose from this afternoon. They’ve been instructed to arrive at alternate hours, beginning at two.”

“Good.”

“I think I’ll go out to a movie,” Arnold said. “If you don’t think you’ll need me.”

“Go ahead,” Elizabeth chuckled. “See a good romantic movie, Arnold, full of passion and pretty girls. Get it out of your system, Arnold, get it out for good.”

She wheeled about sharply, and left him alone.

He returned home at five. From the moment the front door closed behind him, the bell began clanging upstairs. He threw his overcoat on the back of the sofa, and trudged up the steps. Elizabeth was in bed, tying her hair with paper curlers. She was almost affable.

“It’s all settled, Arnold. I’ve found the perfect woman.”

“I’m glad, Elizabeth. Did they all show up on time?”

“The first two were impossible,” she said slyly. “They were so young. You know how you are around young women, Arnold. But I’m sure you’ll find the one I’ve hired most attractive. In a mature, way. She’s in the kitchen now. Why don’t you go down there, and—look her over?” She giggled.

“You seem to find it amusing.”

“Amusing? Why should I? Go down there, Arnold, give her the once-over. You might like her a great deal. Perhaps even more than you liked Miss Grecco. Go on!”

He frowned, and went out the door.

In the kitchen, the small, fat, dumpling of a woman was at the stove, watching a percolator. She turned when Arnold entered. She was in her mid-sixties, with stringy white hair, three chins and red cheeks.

“Does she want me?” she whispered. “Your Missus? I was just making some coffee.”

Clang! Clang! went the bell above. Arnold, angrily, went to the stairway and looked up. His wife was in the doorway of her bedroom. “How do you like her?” Elizabeth shouted. “How do you like your new dream girl, Arnold?” She laughed wildly, and slammed the door.

Flushing, Arnold went back to the kitchen.

“My wife gets her sedative at nine o’clock,” he said crisply. “You won’t forget it?”

“No, of course not,” the woman said. “You look pale. You don’t look well at all.”

“You understand about the dosage?”

“Yes, I understand. Just one c.c. above the normal.”

“That’s right. It shouldn’t take long to finish her off now. God knows what’s kept her going this long.” He patted the red cheek affectionately. “I certainly appreciate this, mother.”

She simpered happily and went to answer the clanging bell on the second floor.