A Dog's Ransom by Patricia Highsmith

two weeks till it was due. But it was a problem. Awkward. Because the police could trace him if he ever stepped into his savings bank (where he kept his bank book), if the police had troubled to find out that he had an account at the Union Dime Savings at 40th Street and Sixth Avenue. The police could ask the bank to detain him, and there was always an armed guard in the bank. But fortunately there was not much money there, and he could live on the ransom money for quite a time.
    As the day wore on, Kenneth became a little nervous. Seven p.m. now. He wanted to leave his hotel, feeling that he’d be safer on the loose, walking around, and yet the walls of his room offered a kind of protection, too, and it was raining slightly. By five minutes to ten, Kenneth could stay in his room no longer, and he put on his old raincoat, which he had carried over his arm when he left Mrs. Williams’s. He had gone back to the clothing shop at 4 p.m. for his new suit, but because it was raining, he wore his old clothes.
    He imagined the young cop having to tell Mr. Reynolds—last night—that Kenneth Rowajinski had disappeared from his apartment. Mr. Reynolds must have known this when Kenneth spoke to him. If so, it hadn’t seemed to influence Edward Reynolds about coming up with the money. Kenneth took a crosstown bus on 8th Street to First Avenue, then an uptown bus. He got off at the 57th Street stop.
    The rain still dribbled. On York Avenue, Kenneth walked slowly, looking everywhere for enemies, as he had done on Friday night. But he didn’t think Reynolds would have allowed the police to come, really. Reynolds wanted his dog back. At 59th Street, Kenneth turned west, intending to make a circle to the north and approach the spot on York Avenue from uptown at, say, ten minutes past eleven. On 59th Street, Kenneth actually passed a pair of strolling cops. The cops paid him no mind.
    But now Kenneth imagined cops converging in a ring on the York Avenue spot. It wasn’t true, he told himself, but no harm in imagining, because it made him more cautious. If he saw a single figure that looked suspicious in that area, he intended to walk away.
    But so far no one looked suspicious. Kenneth could not trust his wrist-watch, so he peered into a bar, then a grocery store—closed but he could see the clock on the wall—and saw that it was five minutes past eleven. Kenneth crossed to the east side of York and walked downtown. The high fence, sunk into a cement base a few feet high, came into view, then Kenneth was walking along it, limping as little as possible. His small gray eyes darted in every direction. Reynolds should have come and gone. Kenneth tried to count the pikes off, but there was no need, because he saw the pale bundle from a distance of ten feet. He reached out and took it, not even coming to a complete stop. The bundle was thicker, perhaps because Reynolds had put more paper around it against the rain. Kenneth carried it with his right hand inside his raincoat. He crossed 60th Street, then 59th Street, looking for a taxi. He passed only two people on his side of the Avenue, a young man whistling and walking fast, a woman who did not glance at him.
    At 57th Street, Kenneth found a taxi.
    “Hotel George,” Kenneth said. “University Place. Just below Fourteenth Street.”
    He was safe. The clicks of the taxi’s meter were counting off the fractions of miles between him and the danger uptown. Kenneth put the bundle in his lap while he paid the driver, then put the bundle back under his raincoat. He walked into his lobby. Again all was tranquil.
    “You’ve been out in the rain,” said the black elevator operator as they rode up.
    “A little walk,” said Kenneth non-committally. Kenneth disliked chumminess.
    Kenneth went into his room and again double-locked his door with the button on the inside. Then he removed his shoes, also his socks, which were damp, and put on other socks. An idea had come to him in the last minutes, a