worrying about that one. I rumpled the bed, and reached for the phone. The front office should know he’d been out; they’d probably called the cab for him. Play it that way.
The operator answered.
“Desk, please,” I said.
“Yes, sir.” Then she added quickly. “Oh, Mr. Chapman, would you like me to try that Thomaston call again
I breathed softly in relief. “No. Just cancel. I’ll call in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
The night clerk came on. “Desk.”
“Chapman,” I said, “in two-two-six. There haven’t been any messages for me?”
“Uuuuh—let’s see. No, sir, not a thing.”
“Okay,” I said. “I won’t want to be disturbed until about noon. Would you notify the switchboard not to put any calls through?”
“Yes, sir. And just hang the sign on the doorknob. The maids won’t come in.”
“Thank you,” I said. I got the DO NOT DISTURB sign off the dresser, switched off the lights, and peered out. The corridor was clear. I draped the sign on the knob, made sure the door was locked, and walked along to the stairs. I met no one. When I was on the sidewalk in front I breathed freely again. One more hurdle was past.
I swung the car around, went back down Collins Avenue, and took the North Bay Causeway, headed for the airport. She sat perfectly erect and composed beside me, but she spoke only once during the whole trip.
“I took advantage of you,” she said musingly. “God forgive me for that. I’m sorry, Jerry.”
“What?” I asked. “What do you mean, you took advantage of me?”
She made no reply.
Just before we reached the terminal, I pulled to the curb and parked. It was ten minutes to three.
“What day is this?” I asked quickly.
“Thursday, November fourteen. That isn’t necessary; I tell you I’m perfectly all right.”
I had to be sure. She was on her own from here on. “Tell me your schedule.”
”I leave here at five-fifteen or six-thirty. Either way, I’ll be back in my room in New York before noon. I check out of the hotel tomorrow at one p.m. and fly to New Orleans. I’ll be in Thomaston Saturday morning. From then on, it’s exactly as we have it written down.”
“Right,” I said.
“You’ll make certain about the tapes, won’t you? And under no circumstances are you to try to call me.”
“Don’t worry about the tapes. Or about anything. I can handle it. We’ll say good-bye here. Then I’ll swing in, drop you at the terminal, and run. Okay?”
“Yes.” She turned, her face lifted to mine.
I kissed her, holding her very tightly for a moment, and whispered against her cheek. “I’ll just be going through the motions until I’m with you again. That’s all I’m going to say now. Break. And let’s go.”
I swung in, stopped in front of the terminal, and helped her out. She lifted a hand, turned, and went inside.
* * *
It was three-thirty-five when I backed into the driveway beside the apartment. The house beyond the high and shadowy wall was dark, and the streets were deserted. I stopped short of the garage doors, cut the ignition and lights, and got out. I unlocked the trunk, and eased it open. Letting myself in at the front, I went through to the bedroom, and changed into fishing clothes. I went out into the kitchen, without turning on the lights, and poured another drink. I dreaded this part of it.
I wasn’t even sure I could do it, except for one thing— I had to. I weighed a hundred and eighty and he a hundred and ninety-five. But I was in fairly good condition. I eased the kitchen door open, pulled him through it to the edge of the concrete slab, and bent my knees to get my arms round him. Three minutes later the trunk was closed again and I was draped across it, trembling and sweaty and sick at my stomach. They say madmen don’t know their own strength. Neither do desperate ones.
I slipped back into the kitchen, closed and locked the door, turned out the light in the bedroom, and went out the front. I opened the garage
The operator answered.
“Desk, please,” I said.
“Yes, sir.” Then she added quickly. “Oh, Mr. Chapman, would you like me to try that Thomaston call again
I breathed softly in relief. “No. Just cancel. I’ll call in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
The night clerk came on. “Desk.”
“Chapman,” I said, “in two-two-six. There haven’t been any messages for me?”
“Uuuuh—let’s see. No, sir, not a thing.”
“Okay,” I said. “I won’t want to be disturbed until about noon. Would you notify the switchboard not to put any calls through?”
“Yes, sir. And just hang the sign on the doorknob. The maids won’t come in.”
“Thank you,” I said. I got the DO NOT DISTURB sign off the dresser, switched off the lights, and peered out. The corridor was clear. I draped the sign on the knob, made sure the door was locked, and walked along to the stairs. I met no one. When I was on the sidewalk in front I breathed freely again. One more hurdle was past.
I swung the car around, went back down Collins Avenue, and took the North Bay Causeway, headed for the airport. She sat perfectly erect and composed beside me, but she spoke only once during the whole trip.
“I took advantage of you,” she said musingly. “God forgive me for that. I’m sorry, Jerry.”
“What?” I asked. “What do you mean, you took advantage of me?”
She made no reply.
Just before we reached the terminal, I pulled to the curb and parked. It was ten minutes to three.
“What day is this?” I asked quickly.
“Thursday, November fourteen. That isn’t necessary; I tell you I’m perfectly all right.”
I had to be sure. She was on her own from here on. “Tell me your schedule.”
”I leave here at five-fifteen or six-thirty. Either way, I’ll be back in my room in New York before noon. I check out of the hotel tomorrow at one p.m. and fly to New Orleans. I’ll be in Thomaston Saturday morning. From then on, it’s exactly as we have it written down.”
“Right,” I said.
“You’ll make certain about the tapes, won’t you? And under no circumstances are you to try to call me.”
“Don’t worry about the tapes. Or about anything. I can handle it. We’ll say good-bye here. Then I’ll swing in, drop you at the terminal, and run. Okay?”
“Yes.” She turned, her face lifted to mine.
I kissed her, holding her very tightly for a moment, and whispered against her cheek. “I’ll just be going through the motions until I’m with you again. That’s all I’m going to say now. Break. And let’s go.”
I swung in, stopped in front of the terminal, and helped her out. She lifted a hand, turned, and went inside.
* * *
It was three-thirty-five when I backed into the driveway beside the apartment. The house beyond the high and shadowy wall was dark, and the streets were deserted. I stopped short of the garage doors, cut the ignition and lights, and got out. I unlocked the trunk, and eased it open. Letting myself in at the front, I went through to the bedroom, and changed into fishing clothes. I went out into the kitchen, without turning on the lights, and poured another drink. I dreaded this part of it.
I wasn’t even sure I could do it, except for one thing— I had to. I weighed a hundred and eighty and he a hundred and ninety-five. But I was in fairly good condition. I eased the kitchen door open, pulled him through it to the edge of the concrete slab, and bent my knees to get my arms round him. Three minutes later the trunk was closed again and I was draped across it, trembling and sweaty and sick at my stomach. They say madmen don’t know their own strength. Neither do desperate ones.
I slipped back into the kitchen, closed and locked the door, turned out the light in the bedroom, and went out the front. I opened the garage
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