“They’ll be here in a minute,” I said, trying to make my voice tough. “You know what to
do,” and I waved the gun at her.
She sat as still as a waxwork; her eyes growing bigger, and her face the colour of old
parchment. She didn’t look pretty any more.
Then there came a rap on the door.
For a long moment of time nothing happened. I looked at the blonde and motioned to the
door with my gun. She stared at me, horror mounting in her eyes.
The knock came again: louder this time.
“Go ahead,” I whispered, sure now she wasn’t going to do it. I was right. She suddenly
gave a wailing scream and slid off the chair on to the floor.
“Open up!” a voice bawled, and a shoulder thudded against the door panel.
IV
There, was no future for me now. Once in their hands, with Hame in charge of the
investigation, I was as good as dead. But that didn’t worry me. All I could think of right at
this moment was the money in the suitcase. If I couldn’t have it, then I was determined Hame
wasn’t going to have it. Nothing else mattered to me now except how to keep that suitcase
away from him.
The voice again bawled through the door panels. “Open up, Farrar! We know you’re in
there!”
Once again a shoulder crashed against the door which creaked, but held.
I went to the window and looked out. Running the whole length of the building below the
window was a footwide ledge. Leaning out, I could see the ledge terminated about thirty
yards away to my right by a bulging piece of floral carving, overlooking the corner of
Roosevelt and Ocean. If I could reach that bulge I would have excellent cover from a shot in
the back.
I looked down. Three hundred feet below me the promenade teemed with people, staring up
208
at me. It made me feel a little sick as I looked at the narrowness of the ledge, but it was either
that or to be shot down when they broke into the room.
Again the shoulder crashed against the door. I swung my leg over the window-sill and got
out on to the ledge. I held on to the framework of the window, groped inside and hauled up
the suitcase.
A tremendous roar of excitement came from the crowd below, but I didn’t look down. I
stood for a second or so, staring straight ahead, my heart hammering and my knees weak. It
would have been bad enough to take that walk without the suitcase, but with it, pulling me off
balance all the time, it was going to be a nightmare.
Bracing myself, my shoulder rubbing the face of the building, I began to move forward.
I put one foot directly before the other, like a tight-rope walker, not attempting to move
fast, and keeping my eyes fixed on the bulging corner stone ahead of me.
I crept past a window, moved on, aware of an urge to look down. I struggled against it,
knowing if I did, I was done for.
Ahead of me was another window, then wall space, then the corner stone. When I was
within six feet of the window a man’s head appeared. I stopped short, my breath whistling
through my clenched teeth.
He was a fair, tanned man in a fawn sports jacket and a bottle-green shirt. He gaped at me,
his mouth falling open. Very slowly, so as not to disturb my balance, I slid my right hand into
my hip pocket and pulled out Benno’s gun.
“Mind you don’t fall,” the man said in a horrified strangled croak. “Hadn’t you better come
in here?”
“Get back and shut the window,” I said, and pointed the gun at him.
