them in his pocket also. All the other items I placed on the coffee table. He wore no rings. I left his watch on his wrist. The gun, a small .32, was on the rug near the phonograph. I put it in another coat pocket.
I rolled him in the tarpaulin and pulled him out into the kitchen, beside the back door. I cut two strips off the canvas to use for ropes, doubled him into the fetal position, and bound him. I was shaking badly now, and my stomach was acting up again. I leaned against the sink, poured a drink of whisky from the bottle in a cupboard, and downed it. In a minute I felt a little better.
I filled a pan with water, located a sponge, and scrubbed at the blood stain on the living-room rug. It took nearly ten minutes and four pans of water. I knew a lot of it had gone through to the pad beneath, and that the rug would show a water stain when it dried, but I could take care of that later. I’d have the whole rug shampooed. I washed the pan, and the sink, and turned out the kitchen light. It was a relief to get away from him.
She was just getting up from the bed. I took her in my arms. “I’m all right now,” she said. “I’m sorry I broke up that way.”
“Everything’s under control,” I told her. “He had the room key. That was the only thing I was worried about. What time is your flight?”
“I’m wait-listed at five-fifteen, and confirmed at six-thirty.”
I looked at my watch. It was five minutes to two. She’d have a long wait, alone, at the airport, but it couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t stay here. She seemed to be in full control of herself, and rational. She put on some lipstick, and her hat, and I closed the overnight case and found her coat, gloves, and purse. I dropped the Dauphine room key in my pocket. There was horror in her eyes just for an instant as we went out through the living room.
“The car’s about a block away,” I said. “I didn’t want any more traffic in and out of here than we had to have.”
She made no reply. I turned out the lights and locked the door. When we got to the car, I lit her a cigarette. She remained silent all the way up Collins Avenue. I reached over once and took her hand. It was like ice, even through the mesh of the glove.
I parked about a block from the Dauphine. Turning to her, I took her face between my hands, and asked, “I’ll be about ten minutes; are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied, in that same quiet, beautifully controlled sort of way.
I walked up past the Dauphine and entered the driveway at the exit end. There was an extensive parking area here, going back along the side of this wing of the building. About two-thirds of the way back there was a doorway. I entered it, and was in one of the ground-floor corridors. I took the key from my pocket. It was No. 226. At the end of the corridor there was a self-service elevator and a stairway. I took the stairway. In the corridor above, I began checking the numbers—216—214—I was going the wrong way. I went back around the corner. A waiter came past, carrying a tray. I swung the key absently, and nodded. He smiled, and went on. 222—224—Here it was. The corridor was empty now. I unlocked the door, slipped inside, and closed it.
The curtains were drawn over the window at the other end of the room. A light was burning on the night table beside the bed, and the bathroom lights were on. One of the three matching fiberglass suitcases was on the luggage stand, unopened, and the others were on the floor beside it. I didn’t like the look of that. He’d been up here approximately ten minutes without unpacking anything, so maybe he’d been on the phone. He might have called Coral Blaine to tell her he’d arrived. We hadn’t believed he would, because of the late hour. But if he had, had he mentioned the letter from Marian?
Well, there was nothing I could do about it at the moment, and I had plenty of other armed hand grenades to juggle without
I rolled him in the tarpaulin and pulled him out into the kitchen, beside the back door. I cut two strips off the canvas to use for ropes, doubled him into the fetal position, and bound him. I was shaking badly now, and my stomach was acting up again. I leaned against the sink, poured a drink of whisky from the bottle in a cupboard, and downed it. In a minute I felt a little better.
I filled a pan with water, located a sponge, and scrubbed at the blood stain on the living-room rug. It took nearly ten minutes and four pans of water. I knew a lot of it had gone through to the pad beneath, and that the rug would show a water stain when it dried, but I could take care of that later. I’d have the whole rug shampooed. I washed the pan, and the sink, and turned out the kitchen light. It was a relief to get away from him.
She was just getting up from the bed. I took her in my arms. “I’m all right now,” she said. “I’m sorry I broke up that way.”
“Everything’s under control,” I told her. “He had the room key. That was the only thing I was worried about. What time is your flight?”
“I’m wait-listed at five-fifteen, and confirmed at six-thirty.”
I looked at my watch. It was five minutes to two. She’d have a long wait, alone, at the airport, but it couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t stay here. She seemed to be in full control of herself, and rational. She put on some lipstick, and her hat, and I closed the overnight case and found her coat, gloves, and purse. I dropped the Dauphine room key in my pocket. There was horror in her eyes just for an instant as we went out through the living room.
“The car’s about a block away,” I said. “I didn’t want any more traffic in and out of here than we had to have.”
She made no reply. I turned out the lights and locked the door. When we got to the car, I lit her a cigarette. She remained silent all the way up Collins Avenue. I reached over once and took her hand. It was like ice, even through the mesh of the glove.
I parked about a block from the Dauphine. Turning to her, I took her face between my hands, and asked, “I’ll be about ten minutes; are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied, in that same quiet, beautifully controlled sort of way.
I walked up past the Dauphine and entered the driveway at the exit end. There was an extensive parking area here, going back along the side of this wing of the building. About two-thirds of the way back there was a doorway. I entered it, and was in one of the ground-floor corridors. I took the key from my pocket. It was No. 226. At the end of the corridor there was a self-service elevator and a stairway. I took the stairway. In the corridor above, I began checking the numbers—216—214—I was going the wrong way. I went back around the corner. A waiter came past, carrying a tray. I swung the key absently, and nodded. He smiled, and went on. 222—224—Here it was. The corridor was empty now. I unlocked the door, slipped inside, and closed it.
The curtains were drawn over the window at the other end of the room. A light was burning on the night table beside the bed, and the bathroom lights were on. One of the three matching fiberglass suitcases was on the luggage stand, unopened, and the others were on the floor beside it. I didn’t like the look of that. He’d been up here approximately ten minutes without unpacking anything, so maybe he’d been on the phone. He might have called Coral Blaine to tell her he’d arrived. We hadn’t believed he would, because of the late hour. But if he had, had he mentioned the letter from Marian?
Well, there was nothing I could do about it at the moment, and I had plenty of other armed hand grenades to juggle without
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