Master of the Game

"Frankly, I think that’s wise, Keith. They’re both lovely young women. The newspapers are hinting that the police think Alexandra killed George. That’s impossible. I remember when they were little girls…"

Dr. Webster was no longer listening.

When he left Dr. Harley, Keith Webster was lost in thought. He had certainly not left even the trace of a scar on that beautiful face. Yet, John Harley had seen it. It was possible that Eve could have gotten a scar afterward in another accident, but then why had she lied? It made no sense.

He examined it from every angle, going over all the different possibilities, and when he had come to a conclusion, he thought, If I’m right, this is going to change my whole life…

Early the following morning, Keith Webster called Dr. Harley. "John," he began, "excuse me for disturbing you. You said that Eve Blackwell came in to talk to you about her sister, Alexandra?"

"That’s right."

"After Eve’s visit, did Alexandra happen to come in to see you?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, she came to my office the following day. Why?"

"Just curious. Can you tell me what Eve’s sister came to see you about?"

"Alexandra was in a deep depression. Eve was trying to help her."

Eve had been beaten and almost killed by Alexandra’s husband. And now the man had been murdered and it was Alexandra who was being blamed.

Keith Webster had always known he was not brilliant. In school he had had to work very hard in order to achieve barely passing grades. He was the perennial butt of his classmates’ jokes. He was neither an athlete nor a scholar, and he was so-cially inept. He was as close as one could come to being a nonentity. No one was more surprised than his own family when Keith Webster was admitted to medical school. When he elected to become a surgeon, neither his peers nor his teachers expected him to become a competent one, let alone a great one. But he had surprised them all. There was a talent deep inside him that was nothing short of genius. He was like some exquisite sculptor working his magic with living flesh instead of clay, and in a short time Keith Webster’s reputation spread. In spite of his success, however, he was never able to overcome the trauma of his childhood. Inside he was still the little boy who bored everyone, the one at whom the girls laughed.

When he finally reached Eve, Keith’s hands were slippery with sweat. She answered the phone on the first ring. "Rory?" Her voice was low and sultry.

"No. This is Keith Webster."

"Oh. Hello."

He heard the change in her voice. "How’ve you been?" he asked.

"Fine."

He could sense her impatience. "I – I’d like to see you."

"I’m not seeing anyone. If you read the papers, you’ll know my brother-in-law was murdered. I’m in mourning."

He wiped his hands on his trousers. "That’s what I want to see you about, Eve. I have some information you should know about."

"What kind of information?"

"I would prefer not to discuss it on the telephone." He could almost hear Eve’s mind working.

"Very well. When?"

"Now, if it’s convenient."

When he arrived at Eve’s apartment thirty minutes later, Eve opened the door for him. "I’m very busy. What did you want to see me about?"

"About this," Keith Webster said apologetically. He opened a manila envelope he was clutching, took out a photograph and diffidently handed it to Eve. It was a photograph of herself.

She looked at it, puzzled. "Well?"

"It’s a picture of you."

"I can see that," she said curtly. "What about it?"

"It was taken after your operation."

"So?"

"There’s no scar on your forehead, Eve."

He watched the change that came over her face.

"Sit down, Keith."

He sat opposite her, on the edge of the couch, and he could not keep from staring at her. He had seen many beautiful women in his practice, but Eve Blackwell totally bewitched him. He had never known anyone like her.

"I think you’d better tell me what this is all about."

He started at the beginning. He told her about his visit to Dr. Harley and about the mysterious scar, and as Keith Webster talked, he watched Eve’s eyes. They were expressionless.

When Keith Webster finished, Eve said, "I don’t know what you’re thinking, but whatever it is, you’re wasting my time. As for the scar, I was playing a little joke on my sister. It’s as simple as that. Now, if you’ve quite finished, I have a great deal to do."

He remained seated. "I’m sorry to have bothered you. I just thought I should talk to you before I went to the police." He could see that he really had her attention now.

"Why on earth would you go to the police?"

"I’m obliged to report the attack George Mellis made on you. Then there’s that business about you and the scar. I don’t understand it, but I’m sure you can explain it to them."

Eve felt the first stab of fear. This stupid, dreary little man in front of her had no idea what had really happened, but he knew enough to start the police asking questions.

George Mellis had been a frequent visitor to the apartment. The police could probably find witnesses who had seen him. She had lied about being in Washington the night of George’s murder. She had no real alibi. She had never thought she would need one. If the police learned that George had almost killed her, it would give them a motive. The whole scheme would begin to unravel. She had to silence this man.

"What is it you want? Money?"

"No!"

She saw the indignation on his face. "What, then?"