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Four Pretty Things by Robert Winton one two three. Old
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Stephen Burnt cackled and mumbled to himself as he turned
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his withered, shaking palm sideways and one by one allowed
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three sparkling gems to fall on the table. Three beauties,
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he gloated with senile, quivering lips. Three drops of crystallized
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light of sun and moon. When I die, you pretty
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shall go with me into the deep, cool grave, in
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the darkness, safe from the desire of some grasping stranger.
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You will stay with me until dust returns to dust.
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The old man's maudlin monologue spent itself in foolish, vague
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and half crazed mutterings. His rummy eyes blinked with cunning
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avariciousness as he sought to feast his gaze with the
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scintillating glitter of his precious bobbles. He grumbled weakly, and
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his shriveled fingers groped uncertainly for his hoarde. It seemed
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to him that the radiance of the stones that had
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been the comfort of his lonely, selfish hours was not
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so brilliant as it had been. My eyes must be
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going back on me, he muttered, I shed blood for you,
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and now you won't shine for me like you used
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to do. It ain't my eyes, it's you that have
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grown dull. What's the matter with you? Sparkle up, pretty things.
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I'm murdered a man to get you. Nobody knows that
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you are in my possession. Shine, little fireflies. You have
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been bathed in blood. Shine for the old man who
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has kept you warm on his heart for more than
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twenty years. Bah your lightest, dim Stephen. A shadow is
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creeping between you and your gems. Death is coming near,
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but they shall not tear you away from me. I
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will cheat them all. Still maundering and apostizing himself and
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his treasures, the old man gathered up his diamonds and
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reluctantly dropped them into a worn and greasy leather bag.
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He then tucked the bag inside his gray shirt and
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patted his thin, bony chest safe. He muttered, No one knows,
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No one guesses that poor Stephen is worth a pile
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of money. Now, I wonder if that darned girl has
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been spying on me, trying to peek through the keyhole
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or listen to what I was saying. I ain't been
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talking loud, though and Susan's a fool anyhow. Standing by
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his table, the old man gnawed nervously at his broken,
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discolored fingernails. The haunted dread that he his secret might
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be betrayed by some careless act of his own was
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again upon him. The pleasure that he obtained by contemplating
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and pawing over his stones was more than counterbalanced by
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the condition of terror that always came over him with
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redoubled intensity after he had indulged his weakness. The stolen
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diamonds were his pride and joy. Also, they were a
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burden and source of never ceasing anxiety. Shuffling over to
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the bolted door, Stephen bent stiffly and peered at the
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paper he had rammed into the keyhole. It ain't being touched,
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he whispered, and with slow care, quickly slipped back the bolt.
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There was a crafty, vicious gleam in his faded eyes
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as he opened the door with sudden quickness. It was
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his intention to surprise the girl he constantly suspected of
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spying on him. But even had Susan beIN at the door,
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the old men would not have caught her. He thought
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his movements were soundless that he had given no hint
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of his approach to the door. But he was greatly mistaken,
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deaf to the noise of his own footsteps, and blind
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to the many opportunities he had given the girl for
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discovering his secret. Old Stephen lived in a fool's paradise.
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Going slowly to the top of the stairs, he raised
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his voice in a quarrelous call, Susan is supper ready?
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From the kitchen below, came the sound of chair legs
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scraping on the uncovered boards. The door opened, and a
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shaft of lamplight illuminated the figure of a short, thick
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set girl. She stuck her hands on her hips and
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stared up at the crabbed features of her stepfather. Don't
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ask fool questions, she said, brusquely. You know as well
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as I do. It's been ready this hour and more.
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You heard me thump on the ceiling. Come on down,
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I'm sick of Waitin an attack of rage seized the
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old man, and when he stood in the bare, untidy kitchen,
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he shook a threatening fist in the girl's face. Don't
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you get fresh with me, he said loudly. Don't I
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feed you clothe you ain't it my money that pays
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for your keep. You that is so dumb and stupid
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that you can't even get a job at washing dishes. Ah,
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shut up, retorted Susan, slamming a blackened dish on the table.
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Shove some of them beans in your jaw and claw
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on the moldy pork you expect me to eat, but
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don't chew a rag with me. I am fed up
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with your nasty mean ways. I am a fool, sure
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I am for staying around here when I might mite,
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What asked the old man, jeeringly, might ride in a
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limousine and dress in velvet and a weezy gust of
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merriment was Old Stephen Brunt's greeting to the girl's strange announcement.
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He cackled and leered at her anger flushed face and
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took no heed of the dangerous look in her cold eyes.
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Don't make me laugh, he pleaded, in mock concern. You
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won't never ride in no gas tank, scept it be
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a patrol wagon or a hearse shove over the bread
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and quit. Try to be funny while he ate his
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food and gulped the lukewarm coffee that Susan poured in
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the tin cup that stood at his elbow. Old Stephen
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further elaborated on the girl's future. It was part of
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his evening recreation to taunt Susan and tease her with
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brutal words to the point of tears, with the meaninglessness
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of a diseased nature. The old man delighted in tormenting Susan,
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but although he tried to prod her with stinging words,
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he failed to bring a flash of rage into her sullen,
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dark eyes. It takes two to quarrel, and after a
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while Stephen, tired of his one sided argument. Crouched over
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the stove, his thoughts reverted to the girl's peculiar assertion.
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Lee Mosine, he muttered in puzzled disgust. Now and again,
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his hand rose stealthily to his chest, and he convinced
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himself by touching that his prize gems were safe in
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their hiding place. Pretty things, he whispered drowsily. Nobody dreams
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that Old Stephen is mighty rich. Nine thousand dollars apiece
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three ninees or twenty seven twenty seven thousand dollars in
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shining diamonds, safe and warm, Ignoring the old man's mutterings.
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Susan stacked the dirty dishes in the sink, and leaving
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them to be washed later, she silently went out the
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back door. Susan had a date, and when she reached
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the corner of the house, the smell of cigarette smoke
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acquainted her with the fact that her friend was waiting
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for her. Old man of sleep inquired a drunk husky voice.
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As usual, replied the girl. And as usual, you've been boozing.
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Keep away from me, Jim, you're a beast. I only
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had a couple of glasses, protested Jim. That ain't gonna
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hurt a fella. None, say, I pulled off a cinch
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last night. Listen, I got a wad as big as
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my fist. Get your hat and let's go take in
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a show. Come on, you, black eyed cutie, be a sport.
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Nothing doing, retorted the girl. Tell me about last night.
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What did you get? A hat full of watches and rings,
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boasted Jim got away like a bird. Did you hock him?
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Not on your life, kid, say I ain't such a
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simp as to take a risk like that. Jim leaned closer,
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but although the girl allowed his arm to encircle her
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ample waist. She proved to be in no mood for
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love making and light talk. She wanted to know how
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he disposed of stolen property. Jim talked a little, but
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thought a lot. I'll bet a dollar. He reflected that
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old miser has something hidden away that's worth having, and
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she wants to get a hold of them. Sue is
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mighty anxious to find out the name of a fence.
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Do I butt in and put one over on her?
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Or do I not? I'm sick of her anyway, and
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I may as well get something out of it before
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I cut loose. During the next three hours, Jim kept
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his foot on the brass rail, but although he drank frequently,
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he exercised care to keep his head. Got another little
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job on hand, he confessed to the bartend Good biz.
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Maybe don't know yet. Gotta take a chance of landing
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A lemon was in a while. Soon after midnight, the
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back door of Stephen Brunt's ramshackle framed house creaked slightly
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and yielded to the pressure of a skillfully applied Jimmy
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Silent as a cat, Jim crossed the kitchen, listened for
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a moment at the door of Susan's room and climbed
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the stairs. He had made up his mind that whatever
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there was worth stealing would be hidden in the old
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man's room. The bolt that Stephen never failed to push
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into its socket did not delay Jim's entry more than
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fifty seconds. Accustomed to forcing an entrance where steel doors
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and bars blocked his way, Jim found this as easy
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to accomplish as opening a box of candy would be
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to a child. The light of Jim's torch flitted about
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the room, and in its passing, rested momentarily on the bed,
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partly covered by a torn quilt. The old man lay
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on his back, snoring. The light did not rest on
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him for more than a few seconds, but Jim's darting,
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searching gaze missed no detail. He saw enough to cause
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him to snap off his light and step nearer to
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the bed. Gently feeling his fingers crept over the old
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man's chest and closed around the leather bag. He held
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a knife, ready to cut the string that was looped
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about Stephen's craggy neck. The deed was as good as done,
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the bag all but in Jim's possession. When a metallic
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clatter on the floor caused the old man to wake
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with a shrill scream of alarm. Startled by the accident,
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Jim stepped back and his heel came down on the
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cylindrical torch that had fallen from his pocket and betrayed
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his presence. He tried to save himself from slipping, but
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the old man's clutching fingers hampered his effort to recover
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his balance. He fell and dragged with him the cursing
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old man. A furious struggle followed. Crazed by rage and
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fear of discovery, Jim let loose all his strength in
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beastial brutality. He secured a murderous clutch on the old
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man's throat, and his hole did not relax until he
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felt his victim become suddenly limp. Then, when it was
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too late, Jim let the body fall and grope for
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his torch. The bulb glowed and revealed the horror that
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his hands had done dead. He stuttered. The look of
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victory was wiped from his face as he stared down
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at the distorted features. He felt no remorse for his deeds,
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but in common with other murderers, he showed the cowardly
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streak in him and trembled with heart gripping panic. He
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jerked himself erect, ready to take instant flight. Then again
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the leather bag caught his eye, and greed nerved him
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to wrench it free. May as well have what I
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came for, he muttered callously. He was amazed and joyful
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when he opened the bag and three stones glittered in
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his hand. I'll bet he stole them, muttered Jim. And
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little knew that he was near the truth, and that
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fate had chosen him as the instrument of vengeance for
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the crime that Stephen Brunt had committed over twenty years ago.
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Me for the woods, he added, and padded softly to
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the door. Must have made a racket. If fat durned
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girl woke up, I'll have to do another job. The
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door slammed. Below, Jim heard a quick rush of feet
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and a woman screaming in abandonment to hysteria, Sue, mumbled Jim.
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Him crouching in the dark, he strove to collect his
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alarmed thoughts and plant a way of escape. He could
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frame no idea except the pressing necessity for flight. He
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blundered down the stairs, frantic to get out. A man
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shout and Susan's accusing repeated out cries of murder, that's
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him rang out simultaneously as Jim tore down the street.
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As he ran, he glanced over his shoulder. She's got
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a cop, he gasped, then plunged on, unheeding of the
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policeman's order to stop. Bullets began to spatter on his trail.
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The third shot found lodgment in the murderer's knee. He
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floundered and sprawled on his face. His race was done.
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At the station house, Jim listened bitterly to a mocking story.
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He had killed a man, pledged his own life to
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atonement in the electric chair for nothing. The gems that
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Stephen had fondled and played with were only paced duplicates
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of the diamonds he had doated on. It was Susan
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who told the surprising story. I stole them over a
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month ago. She confessed. My stepfather left his bag on
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his table, and I took the real diamonds and put
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in three imitations that I had picked out of a
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brooch I bought on purpose for when my chance should come.
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For years I knew he had him. He half starved
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me and never gave me a moment's peace. I was
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going to sell him and run away. Now, curse you,
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exclaimed Jim. All along you've been stringing me. That's why
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you wanted to find out the name of a fence.
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That's enough, the lieutenant interrupted, sharply. That'll be all from
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you now. The rest can wait until morning. You'll get
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all that's coming to you later. Hand over the diamonds,
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young woman. We'll look up their history and see if
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we can place them where they belong. When the real
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and false stones were ranged on his desk, the lieutenant
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summed up Susan's part. A clever girl, was his comment.
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No wonder the old man couldn't discover the trick she
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played on him. They're exactly the same size, and his
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eyes were failing him. I suppose she counted on that
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the real ones must be worth a pile of money.
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I guess we won't have much of a job tracing
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them back to their rightful owner. The End of Pretty
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Things by Robert Winton
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Four Pretty Things by Robert Winton one two three. Old
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Stephen Burnt cackled and mumbled to himself as he turned
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his withered, shaking palm sideways and one by one allowed
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three sparkling gems to fall on the table. Three beauties,
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he gloated with senile, quivering lips. Three drops of crystallized
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light of sun and moon. When I die, you pretty
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shall go with me into the deep, cool grave, in
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the darkness, safe from the desire of some grasping stranger.
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You will stay with me until dust returns to dust.
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The old man's maudlin monologue spent itself in foolish, vague
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and half crazed mutterings. His rummy eyes blinked with cunning
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avariciousness as he sought to feast his gaze with the
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scintillating glitter of his precious bobbles. He grumbled weakly, and
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his shriveled fingers groped uncertainly for his hoarde. It seemed
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to him that the radiance of the stones that had
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been the comfort of his lonely, selfish hours was not
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so brilliant as it had been. My eyes must be
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going back on me, he muttered, I shed blood for you,
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and now you won't shine for me like you used
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to do. It ain't my eyes, it's you that have
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grown dull. What's the matter with you? Sparkle up, pretty things.
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I'm murdered a man to get you. Nobody knows that
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you are in my possession. Shine, little fireflies. You have
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been bathed in blood. Shine for the old man who
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has kept you warm on his heart for more than
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twenty years. Bah your lightest, dim Stephen. A shadow is
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creeping between you and your gems. Death is coming near,
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but they shall not tear you away from me. I
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will cheat them all. Still maundering and apostizing himself and
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his treasures, the old man gathered up his diamonds and
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reluctantly dropped them into a worn and greasy leather bag.
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He then tucked the bag inside his gray shirt and
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patted his thin, bony chest safe. He muttered, No one knows,
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No one guesses that poor Stephen is worth a pile
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of money. Now, I wonder if that darned girl has
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been spying on me, trying to peek through the keyhole
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or listen to what I was saying. I ain't been
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talking loud, though and Susan's a fool anyhow. Standing by
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his table, the old man gnawed nervously at his broken,
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discolored fingernails. The haunted dread that he his secret might
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be betrayed by some careless act of his own was
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again upon him. The pleasure that he obtained by contemplating
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and pawing over his stones was more than counterbalanced by
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the condition of terror that always came over him with
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redoubled intensity after he had indulged his weakness. The stolen
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diamonds were his pride and joy. Also, they were a
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burden and source of never ceasing anxiety. Shuffling over to
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the bolted door, Stephen bent stiffly and peered at the
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paper he had rammed into the keyhole. It ain't being touched,
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he whispered, and with slow care, quickly slipped back the bolt.
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There was a crafty, vicious gleam in his faded eyes
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as he opened the door with sudden quickness. It was
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his intention to surprise the girl he constantly suspected of
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spying on him. But even had Susan beIN at the door,
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the old men would not have caught her. He thought
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his movements were soundless that he had given no hint
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of his approach to the door. But he was greatly mistaken,
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deaf to the noise of his own footsteps, and blind
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to the many opportunities he had given the girl for
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discovering his secret. Old Stephen lived in a fool's paradise.
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Going slowly to the top of the stairs, he raised
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his voice in a quarrelous call, Susan is supper ready?
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From the kitchen below, came the sound of chair legs
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scraping on the uncovered boards. The door opened, and a
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shaft of lamplight illuminated the figure of a short, thick
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set girl. She stuck her hands on her hips and
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stared up at the crabbed features of her stepfather. Don't
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ask fool questions, she said, brusquely. You know as well
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as I do. It's been ready this hour and more.
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You heard me thump on the ceiling. Come on down,
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I'm sick of Waitin an attack of rage seized the
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old man, and when he stood in the bare, untidy kitchen,
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he shook a threatening fist in the girl's face. Don't
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you get fresh with me, he said loudly. Don't I
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feed you clothe you ain't it my money that pays
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for your keep. You that is so dumb and stupid
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that you can't even get a job at washing dishes. Ah,
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shut up, retorted Susan, slamming a blackened dish on the table.
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Shove some of them beans in your jaw and claw
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on the moldy pork you expect me to eat, but
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don't chew a rag with me. I am fed up
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with your nasty mean ways. I am a fool, sure
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I am for staying around here when I might mite,
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What asked the old man, jeeringly, might ride in a
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limousine and dress in velvet and a weezy gust of
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merriment was Old Stephen Brunt's greeting to the girl's strange announcement.
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He cackled and leered at her anger flushed face and
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took no heed of the dangerous look in her cold eyes.
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Don't make me laugh, he pleaded, in mock concern. You
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won't never ride in no gas tank, scept it be
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a patrol wagon or a hearse shove over the bread
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and quit. Try to be funny while he ate his
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food and gulped the lukewarm coffee that Susan poured in
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the tin cup that stood at his elbow. Old Stephen
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further elaborated on the girl's future. It was part of
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his evening recreation to taunt Susan and tease her with
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brutal words to the point of tears, with the meaninglessness
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of a diseased nature. The old man delighted in tormenting Susan,
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but although he tried to prod her with stinging words,
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he failed to bring a flash of rage into her sullen,
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dark eyes. It takes two to quarrel, and after a
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while Stephen, tired of his one sided argument. Crouched over
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the stove, his thoughts reverted to the girl's peculiar assertion.
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Lee Mosine, he muttered in puzzled disgust. Now and again,
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his hand rose stealthily to his chest, and he convinced
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himself by touching that his prize gems were safe in
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their hiding place. Pretty things, he whispered drowsily. Nobody dreams
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that Old Stephen is mighty rich. Nine thousand dollars apiece
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three ninees or twenty seven twenty seven thousand dollars in
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shining diamonds, safe and warm, Ignoring the old man's mutterings.
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Susan stacked the dirty dishes in the sink, and leaving
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them to be washed later, she silently went out the
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back door. Susan had a date, and when she reached
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the corner of the house, the smell of cigarette smoke
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acquainted her with the fact that her friend was waiting
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for her. Old man of sleep inquired a drunk husky voice.
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As usual, replied the girl. And as usual, you've been boozing.
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Keep away from me, Jim, you're a beast. I only
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had a couple of glasses, protested Jim. That ain't gonna
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hurt a fella. None, say, I pulled off a cinch
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last night. Listen, I got a wad as big as
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my fist. Get your hat and let's go take in
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a show. Come on, you, black eyed cutie, be a sport.
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Nothing doing, retorted the girl. Tell me about last night.
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What did you get? A hat full of watches and rings,
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boasted Jim got away like a bird. Did you hock him?
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Not on your life, kid, say I ain't such a
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simp as to take a risk like that. Jim leaned closer,
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but although the girl allowed his arm to encircle her
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ample waist. She proved to be in no mood for
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love making and light talk. She wanted to know how
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he disposed of stolen property. Jim talked a little, but
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thought a lot. I'll bet a dollar. He reflected that
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old miser has something hidden away that's worth having, and
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she wants to get a hold of them. Sue is
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mighty anxious to find out the name of a fence.
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Do I butt in and put one over on her?
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Or do I not? I'm sick of her anyway, and
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I may as well get something out of it before
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I cut loose. During the next three hours, Jim kept
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his foot on the brass rail, but although he drank frequently,
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he exercised care to keep his head. Got another little
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job on hand, he confessed to the bartend Good biz.
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Maybe don't know yet. Gotta take a chance of landing
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A lemon was in a while. Soon after midnight, the
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back door of Stephen Brunt's ramshackle framed house creaked slightly
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and yielded to the pressure of a skillfully applied Jimmy
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Silent as a cat, Jim crossed the kitchen, listened for
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a moment at the door of Susan's room and climbed
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the stairs. He had made up his mind that whatever
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there was worth stealing would be hidden in the old
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man's room. The bolt that Stephen never failed to push
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into its socket did not delay Jim's entry more than
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fifty seconds. Accustomed to forcing an entrance where steel doors
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and bars blocked his way, Jim found this as easy
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to accomplish as opening a box of candy would be
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to a child. The light of Jim's torch flitted about
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the room, and in its passing, rested momentarily on the bed,
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partly covered by a torn quilt. The old man lay
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on his back, snoring. The light did not rest on
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him for more than a few seconds, but Jim's darting,
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searching gaze missed no detail. He saw enough to cause
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him to snap off his light and step nearer to
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the bed. Gently feeling his fingers crept over the old
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man's chest and closed around the leather bag. He held
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a knife, ready to cut the string that was looped
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about Stephen's craggy neck. The deed was as good as done,
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the bag all but in Jim's possession. When a metallic
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clatter on the floor caused the old man to wake
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with a shrill scream of alarm. Startled by the accident,
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Jim stepped back and his heel came down on the
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cylindrical torch that had fallen from his pocket and betrayed
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his presence. He tried to save himself from slipping, but
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the old man's clutching fingers hampered his effort to recover
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his balance. He fell and dragged with him the cursing
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old man. A furious struggle followed. Crazed by rage and
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fear of discovery, Jim let loose all his strength in
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beastial brutality. He secured a murderous clutch on the old
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man's throat, and his hole did not relax until he
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felt his victim become suddenly limp. Then, when it was
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too late, Jim let the body fall and grope for
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his torch. The bulb glowed and revealed the horror that
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his hands had done dead. He stuttered. The look of
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victory was wiped from his face as he stared down
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at the distorted features. He felt no remorse for his deeds,
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but in common with other murderers, he showed the cowardly
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streak in him and trembled with heart gripping panic. He
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jerked himself erect, ready to take instant flight. Then again
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the leather bag caught his eye, and greed nerved him
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to wrench it free. May as well have what I
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came for, he muttered callously. He was amazed and joyful
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when he opened the bag and three stones glittered in
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his hand. I'll bet he stole them, muttered Jim. And
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little knew that he was near the truth, and that
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fate had chosen him as the instrument of vengeance for
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the crime that Stephen Brunt had committed over twenty years ago.
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Me for the woods, he added, and padded softly to
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the door. Must have made a racket. If fat durned
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girl woke up, I'll have to do another job. The
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door slammed. Below, Jim heard a quick rush of feet
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and a woman screaming in abandonment to hysteria, Sue, mumbled Jim.
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Him crouching in the dark, he strove to collect his
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alarmed thoughts and plant a way of escape. He could
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frame no idea except the pressing necessity for flight. He
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blundered down the stairs, frantic to get out. A man
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shout and Susan's accusing repeated out cries of murder, that's
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00:14:22.440 --> 00:14:25.840
him rang out simultaneously as Jim tore down the street.
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As he ran, he glanced over his shoulder. She's got
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a cop, he gasped, then plunged on, unheeding of the
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policeman's order to stop. Bullets began to spatter on his trail.
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The third shot found lodgment in the murderer's knee. He
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floundered and sprawled on his face. His race was done.
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At the station house, Jim listened bitterly to a mocking story.
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He had killed a man, pledged his own life to
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atonement in the electric chair for nothing. The gems that
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Stephen had fondled and played with were only paced duplicates
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of the diamonds he had doated on. It was Susan
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who told the surprising story. I stole them over a
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month ago. She confessed. My stepfather left his bag on
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his table, and I took the real diamonds and put
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in three imitations that I had picked out of a
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brooch I bought on purpose for when my chance should come.
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For years I knew he had him. He half starved
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me and never gave me a moment's peace. I was
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going to sell him and run away. Now, curse you,
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exclaimed Jim. All along you've been stringing me. That's why
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you wanted to find out the name of a fence.
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That's enough, the lieutenant interrupted, sharply. That'll be all from
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you now. The rest can wait until morning. You'll get
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all that's coming to you later. Hand over the diamonds,
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young woman. We'll look up their history and see if
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we can place them where they belong. When the real
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and false stones were ranged on his desk, the lieutenant
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summed up Susan's part. A clever girl, was his comment.
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No wonder the old man couldn't discover the trick she
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played on him. They're exactly the same size, and his
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eyes were failing him. I suppose she counted on that
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the real ones must be worth a pile of money.
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I guess we won't have much of a job tracing
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them back to their rightful owner. The End of Pretty
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Things by Robert Winton
