Alec

by William di Canzio

In the foyer of her house on Bedford Square, Maurice and Alec encountered another guest, about to depart, whom Alec recognized and greeted. “Oh yes!” said Madame Mardash. “I remember you. Who could forget such a kindly face? Thank God you’ve survived, dear boy. My heart breaks these days, dozens of families coming to me, hoping they might speak to sons who’ve died. But for you I recall feeling a certain confidence that night, because the Hanged Man had just turned up when you did—” Then she seemed to recognize Maurice. “You were also there, sir.” “No, ma’am.” “But surely—you must recall—such a vibrant soiree—I had an awful cold—and you were with your friend, standing by him, as close as you are now.” “That’s impossible. I was serving in the Dardanelles.” She closed her eyes. “I see.” She opened them. “Someone very much like you, then, but older, considerably, in civilian clothes. An uncle, your father?” The baroness entered from the hall and interrupted: “Roxana, I assure you, Mr. Scudder was alone that night. It must have been another guest you saw with him.” She greeted her young friends. But Maurice was intrigued by the clairvoyante and wished to answer her question. He said to her, “I’ve no uncles, ma’am, and my father died more than twenty years ago.” “Ah…” Madame Mardash closed her eyes once more. She smiled and opened them: “Then perhaps it was he.” She bade them goodbye.