in a half-crouch, almost simian, taut and quivering.
His stare settled on me. So indignant, so furious. He looked me up and down, disbelieving that such a meek, puny creature could be responsible for his downfall. He made a sound. Like a groan. But not quite a groan. A protest. A sound that said, 'It isn't f a i r. . '
'Listen, Joshua,' he said hoarsely, 'I want you to know something…'
None of us moved, intent on what he was saying, waiting to hear what he wanted me to know.
'I think you — ' he said, then suddenly whirled into action.
He was so fast, so fast!
He pivoted on his left foot, turned, clubbed down with the edge of one hand on Detective Al Irving's gun arm. We all heard the crack of bone. Knurr completed a full turn, a blur, and bulled his way past Glynis and Lou, all shoulders and elbows.
Then he was into the main cabin, running.
Stilton was the first to recover.
'Watch the woman,' he yelled at Lou, and took up the chase. I went rushing along at his heels.
Godfrey Knurr hurtled down the wharf, swerved left on to the pontooned walkway. It tilted and rocked under his pounding feet.
A young couple was approaching, chatting and laughing. He simply ran into them, through them, over them.
They were flung wailing into the fetid water.
Stilton and I charged after him. I didn't know what I was doing, except that I didn't want Percy to be alone.
Knurr smashed through the gate and headed for the south staircase leading up to the rotunda. Stilton had his gun in his hand, but there were people on the promenade, strollers and cyclists. They scattered when they saw us coming, but Percy didn't want to risk a shot.
Godfrey Knurr went leaping up the steps, two at a time.
I remember that his derby flew off and came bouncing 438
down. By then we were straining up the stairs. I thought I was fast, but Percy was stronger, he was closing on Knurr and I was falling behind.
We all, the three of us, went thundering through the arched corridor, a crypt. Two pedestrians, hearing and seeing us coming, flattened themselves in terror against the stained wall.
We came into the rotunda. Knurr circled to his left, running frantically, hoping to gain the exit. His unbuttoned coat flapped out behind him.
Now Percy Stilton had a clear field of fire. He stopped, flexed his knees, grasped his massive revolver with both hands, arms extended, elbows slightly bent.
'Hold it right there!' he yelled.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Knurr rounded the fountain basin and came racing back towards us. His hair was flying, the bearded face twisted, bright with rage.
'Hah!' he shouted, raising one hand high in a classic karate position, fingers together, the palm edge a cleaver.
'Oh for God's sake!' Percy Stilton said disgustedly, sighted carefully, and shot the Reverend Godfrey Knurr in the right leg. I saw the heavy slug pucker the trouser a few inches above the knee.
The blow spun Knurr around. He pirouetted as gracefully as a ballet dancer. His momentum and the force of the bullet kept him turning. His arms flung wide. A look of astonishment came to his contorted features.
He whirled, tilting, and fell backwards over the rim of the ruined fountain. He went down heavily. I heard the sound of his head smacking cracked cement. His legs and feet remained propped up on the basin rim. His head, shoulders, and torso were flat within.
We walked up to him cautiously, Stilton with his gun extended. Knurr was beginning to bleed, from the wound in his leg and from a head injury. He looked up at us dazedly.
'Idiot!' Stilton screamed at him. 'You fucking idiot!'
439
Godfrey Knurr's vision cleared.
He glared at me.
I turned away, walked away, went over to one of the scarred pillars and pressed my forehead against the cold concrete.
After a moment Percy came over to me, put an arm across my shoulders.
'Josh,' he said gently, 'he wasn't a nice man.'
'I know,' I said dully. ' S t i l l. . '
8
There was a party at the house in Chelsea. The last had been such a success they all wanted another.
It was a marvellous party. All the tenants were there, of course, and a boisterous bunch from the music world, Madame Zora Kadinsky's friends. Captain Bramwell Shank had invited a few cronies from his seafaring days aboard the Staten Island ferry. They were cantankerous old coots who spent most of their time at the two card tables set with food and drink.
The party was well begun, noisy with talk and laughter, when I arrived. At the last minute I had run out and bought a two-pound box of chocolate-covered cherries at the local drugstore. I presented it to Mrs Hufnagel and got a warm kiss on my cheek in return. Madame Kadinsky insisted on introducing me to all her friends. I didn't remember any of their names, which seemed to be composed solely of consonants.
As we moved about the apartment, my eyes were searching for Cleo. After the introductions were finished, I 440
finally saw her in the kitchen, talking to Adolph Finkel. Or rather, he was talking and she was listening, a bemused expression on her face. They both held paper cups of wine.
I observed her a few moments before I approached. She looked so clean to me. Physically clean, of course, but more than that. There was an innocent purity about her.
She seemed untouched by violence, or even by evil. I could not conceive of her acting through malice or hate, greed or envy.
She was wearing a loose chemise of challis wool in a sort of forested print. She was without makeup; her face was clear and serene. How could I ever have thought her plain?
She was beautiful! That high, noble brow; the lovely hazel eyes; a dream of a nose; lips delicately sculpted. Her teeth were not large and prominent at all; they were jewels, sparkling. The chestnut hair fell free, gleaming. And when I remembered that elegantly slender body, now hidden within the billowing chemise, I felt a surge of blood to my face, my breath caught, and my knees turned to water.
I waited a moment longer, until my respiration had returned to normal, then I went towards the kitchen. Cleo looked up, saw me approaching. Her eyes widened, her face became animated, she glowed.
'Josh!' she cried happily. 'Where have you been? '
'Out of town,' I said. 'How are you, Cleo? Finkel, good to see you again.'
'Bigg,' he said.
Cleo, speaking in her soft, shy whisper, began telling me how concerned she had been — all the tenants had been concerned — because no one had seen me or heard me moving about since Thursday morning, and they feared I had met with some misadventure.
I assured her I was in good health, all was well, and I had a great deal to tell her about matters we had previously discussed.
Adolph Finkel had listened to this intimate dialogue with some discomfiture, his pallid features becoming more and more woebegone. I thought tears might flow from those weak eyes. He looked mousier than ever, the dull hair a tangle, a doomed smile revealing the discoloured tombstone teeth.
'Well, Bigg,' he broke in suddenly, 'I guess the best man won.'
