slacks, a white knit pullover. She shook out her hair, slipped on white wool moccasins and hurried back to the kitchen. She set the food to cook. Chops again, the secretary’s dinner. She would eat with Gavin, keep him under observation. She took a bridge table from the game room closet and carried it to his room. He came in from the bath as she was setting it up.
He grinned, “Only nicked myself three times. Pretty good for left hand shaving.”
“I told you not to.” He looked more like the blue-eyed man now, in the new pajamas and robe, his hair combed damply, his face clean-shaven. He was the blue-eyed man, looking her up and down as he had yesterday in the office. With approbation, not suspicion.
He said, “You’re improved too. Why do you wad your hair back and wear those specs?”
She kept the table between them. “I’m a secretary. Get in bed. I’ll bring the dinner.”
“The way you boss me around I’m beginning to suspect you of having been a nurse.” But he climbed in bed.
“I’m just trying to get you well enough to be on your way.”
“Am I that unwelcome?” His eyes were amused.
“No.” She was matter of fact. “I know you want to be on your way.”
She went to the kitchen, turned the chops, took a table cover, napkins, silver and dishes back to his room. He was hidden in the evening paper. She said quietly, “Let’s forget it until after dinner.”
He laid the paper down.
“Why don’t you turn on the radio?” The small bed cabinet was at his hand.
He turned the dial. “I didn’t use it today. Afraid someone might hear it and know your apartment was occupied.”
She left him fiddling with it. He was silent while she carried in the plates. She pulled up the armchair opposite him.
He said, “The radio says it’s a regular nor’easter.”
“Yes.” She began to eat. As if the food had taste. As if eating were more important than listening for Towner’s call.
Dinner was uninterrupted. Neither tried for words. He rested at last against the pillows with his cigarette and coffee. He wouldn’t try to go out tonight, even the exertion of dinner in bed had left him wearied. He should have a doctor. He wouldn’t dare; not until he could leave here. The police would question any doctor who came now.
He was watching her under his lids through the pale gray of cigarette smoke. She didn’t want him to study her. He’d been too close last night.
She said, “Jones came to the office today,” and flared, “I don’t like him. He’s a machine, not human.”
“What did he offer?”
“He insisted I go see Hester.”
“Why?” His eyes were too intense.
She took a long drink of the hot black coffee. “Because—” She went slowly—“Because Hester came to this country following someone. Jones is trying to find out who and why. That’s the reason Hester wasn’t arrested. He was followed but not arrested.” She didn’t know how much to tell. “Hester was a thief.”
“Indeed?”
She asked it flatly. “Did you kill Hester?”
“Yes.” He put down his coffee cup.
She didn’t take her eyes from him.
“I had to kill him. If I hadn’t he’d have killed me.”
She said, “You could have knocked him out, turned him over to the police, couldn’t you?”
His smile was sardonic. “You don’t knock out Hester’s kind. It’s kill or be killed.”
“Last night you said he wasn’t dead.”
“I didn’t want you to know he was dead. I knew you wouldn’t understand. Nor did I want you mixed up in it.” He turned the cigarette in his fingers. “I’d never have had you ask him up to your place if I’d known he was coming to kill me. I thought he wanted to talk over a deal. Instead he pulled the gun. I shot first.” He pushed the cigarette into an ash tray.
Disbelief remained with her. “There wasn’t any blood.”
“Internal. What little external was padded by his overcoat.”
She remembered. “I only heard one shot.”
“He didn’t shoot
He grinned, “Only nicked myself three times. Pretty good for left hand shaving.”
“I told you not to.” He looked more like the blue-eyed man now, in the new pajamas and robe, his hair combed damply, his face clean-shaven. He was the blue-eyed man, looking her up and down as he had yesterday in the office. With approbation, not suspicion.
He said, “You’re improved too. Why do you wad your hair back and wear those specs?”
She kept the table between them. “I’m a secretary. Get in bed. I’ll bring the dinner.”
“The way you boss me around I’m beginning to suspect you of having been a nurse.” But he climbed in bed.
“I’m just trying to get you well enough to be on your way.”
“Am I that unwelcome?” His eyes were amused.
“No.” She was matter of fact. “I know you want to be on your way.”
She went to the kitchen, turned the chops, took a table cover, napkins, silver and dishes back to his room. He was hidden in the evening paper. She said quietly, “Let’s forget it until after dinner.”
He laid the paper down.
“Why don’t you turn on the radio?” The small bed cabinet was at his hand.
He turned the dial. “I didn’t use it today. Afraid someone might hear it and know your apartment was occupied.”
She left him fiddling with it. He was silent while she carried in the plates. She pulled up the armchair opposite him.
He said, “The radio says it’s a regular nor’easter.”
“Yes.” She began to eat. As if the food had taste. As if eating were more important than listening for Towner’s call.
Dinner was uninterrupted. Neither tried for words. He rested at last against the pillows with his cigarette and coffee. He wouldn’t try to go out tonight, even the exertion of dinner in bed had left him wearied. He should have a doctor. He wouldn’t dare; not until he could leave here. The police would question any doctor who came now.
He was watching her under his lids through the pale gray of cigarette smoke. She didn’t want him to study her. He’d been too close last night.
She said, “Jones came to the office today,” and flared, “I don’t like him. He’s a machine, not human.”
“What did he offer?”
“He insisted I go see Hester.”
“Why?” His eyes were too intense.
She took a long drink of the hot black coffee. “Because—” She went slowly—“Because Hester came to this country following someone. Jones is trying to find out who and why. That’s the reason Hester wasn’t arrested. He was followed but not arrested.” She didn’t know how much to tell. “Hester was a thief.”
“Indeed?”
She asked it flatly. “Did you kill Hester?”
“Yes.” He put down his coffee cup.
She didn’t take her eyes from him.
“I had to kill him. If I hadn’t he’d have killed me.”
She said, “You could have knocked him out, turned him over to the police, couldn’t you?”
His smile was sardonic. “You don’t knock out Hester’s kind. It’s kill or be killed.”
“Last night you said he wasn’t dead.”
“I didn’t want you to know he was dead. I knew you wouldn’t understand. Nor did I want you mixed up in it.” He turned the cigarette in his fingers. “I’d never have had you ask him up to your place if I’d known he was coming to kill me. I thought he wanted to talk over a deal. Instead he pulled the gun. I shot first.” He pushed the cigarette into an ash tray.
Disbelief remained with her. “There wasn’t any blood.”
“Internal. What little external was padded by his overcoat.”
She remembered. “I only heard one shot.”
“He didn’t shoot
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