3. Ruthless

Judson Webb put poison into a half full whiskey bottle in order to punish anyone who dared to steal a drink of it. Who eventually drank it? The thief ... ?

Judson Webb was an American businessman. He had a comfortable flat in New York but in the summer he used to leave the dusty city and go to the country. There he had a cottage which consisted of three rooms, a bathroom and a kitchen. In one of the rooms there was a big closet. He liked his cottage very much, especially his closet where he kept his guns, fishing-rods, wine and other things. It was his own closet and even his wife was not allowed to have a key, for Judson Webb loved his personal possessions and got very angry when anybody else touched them.

It was autumn now and Judson was packing his things for the winter. In a few minutes he would be driving back to civilization—to New York.

As he looked at the shelf on which the whiskey stood his face was serious. All the bottles were unopened except one. It was placed invitingly in front with a whiskey glass by its side. The bottle was less than half full. As he took it from the shelf, Helen, his wife, spoke from the next room:

"I've packed everything. Hasn't Alec come to run the water off and get the keys?"

Alec lived nearby and acted as caretaker.

"He's at the lake taking the boats out of the water. He said he'd be back in half an hour!"

Helen came into the room carrying her suitcase. She stopped and looked in surprise as she saw the bottle in her husband's hand.

"Judson," she exclaimed, "you're not taking a drink at ten in the morning, are you?"

"No, my dear. I'm not taking anything out of this bottle. I am just putting something into it." He took two small white tablets out of his pocket and put them on the table. Then he opened the bottle.

"The person who broke into my closet last winter and stole my whiskey will probably try to do it again while we are away," he went on, "only this time he'll be very sorry if he comes."

Then one by one he dropped the tablets into the bottle and held it up to watch them dissolve. His wife looked at him in horror.

"What are they?" she asked him at last. "Will they make the man sick?"

"Not only sick. They will kill him," he answered with satisfaction.

He closed the bottle and put it back on the shelf near the little whiskey glass. He was pleased. He said:

"Now, Mr. Thief, when you break in, drink as much as you wish ... "

Helen's face was pale.

"Don't do it, Judson," she cried. "It's horrible, it's murder!"

"The law does not call it murder if I shoot a thief who is entering my house by force."

"Don't do it," she begged. "The law does not punish burglary by death. What right have you?"

"When it comes to protecting my property, I make my own laws."

He was now like a big dog which was afraid that somebody would take away his bone. "But all they did was to steal a little whiskey," she said, "probably some boys. They did not do any real damage."

"It does not matter. If a man robs me of five dollars it is the same as if he took a hundred. A thief's a thief." She made one last effort:

"We won't be here again till next spring. I shall worry all the time if I know that this bottle full of poison is here. Suppose something happens to us and nobody knows ... "

He laughed at her earnestness. "We'll risk it," he said. "I've made my money by taking risks. If I die, it will all belong to you, and you can do as you please."

She knew it was useless to argue. He had always been ruthless in business. She went to the door with a sigh of defeat.

"I'll walk down the road and say good-bye at the farmhouse," she said quietly. She had made up her mind to tell the caretaker's wife about it. Someone had to know.

"All right, my dear," he smiled, "and don't worry about your poor little burglar. No one is going to be hurt unless he breaks in."

Helen went down the road and Judson started to close the closet door. He suddenly remembered that he had not packed his hunting boots drying outside on the heavy table in the garden. So, leaving the door open, he went to fetch them. But when he went to reach for his boots he suddenly slipped on a stone and his head struck the massive table as he fell.

Several minutes later he felt a strong arm round him and Alec's voice was saying: "It's all right, Mr. Webb. It was not a bad fall. Take this—it'll make you feel better."

A small whiskey glass was pressed to his lips. Half-conscious, he drank.

From English Reader

published in Moscow, 1961.