keeping my eyes averted I lifted the body and staggered with it to the bath. It was as much as
I could do to lower it into the bath, but I did it somehow. Then I pulled the shower curtains
and shoved the trolley back into the bedroom.
By that time I was all in. I flopped down on the bed. I thought I was going to pass out. I
was shaking like a leaf, and there was an awful swirling going on inside my head. I fought
against it. It went away after a moment or so. I got a grip on myself. I didn’t dare waste a
moment. I got on the trolley and covered myself with the sheet. Then I took off my hat and
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lay down, pulling the sheet over my head.
I lay there, waiting. My head was beginning to ache now, and every now and then a shiver
ran through me. I began to think I would be spotted before they even got me out of the room.
I was in two minds whether to get up and hide in the bathroom when I heard the door open.
I turned to stone, holding my breath, trying to control the hammering of my heart. The
trolley began to move. The guy pushing it was whistling under his breath. He sounded as if he
hadn’t a care in the world.
That short ride down the corridor was the worst experience I’ve ever been through. Even
lying in a fox-hole with the scream of falling bombs in my ears was nothing to this.
“What have you got there, chum?” a voice asked.
I felt my blood congeal. I knew by the voice it could only be one of the cops.”
“This is just up your street,” the attendant said. “It’s a corpse.”
“Aw, hell. Don’t you cure ‘em in this hospital?”
“Not often. I guess the head doc draws a commission from the undertaker. He certainly
keeps him busy.”
“What is this? A man or woman?”
“A woman. She died of peritonitis. I guess the doc left his glove in her or something. I’ve
never known a guy as absent-minded as he is.”
The cop laughed and the trolley began to move again. It bumped over a step, and then I
heard the faint swish of closing doors. A moment later I felt a downward movement and
guessed we were in an elevator.
The attendant continued to whistle under his breath. The elevator bumped to a gentle
standstill, the doors swished open and the trolley began to move again.
“Hi, Joe,” a girl’s voice said.
“Hi, sugar, how’s it coming?”
The trolley stopped.
“Who’s that?”
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“Mrs. Ennismore. Room 44,” the attendant said. “You’re looking cute this evening.”
“That’s opposite Ricca’s room, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. There’re two cops up there, keeping an eye on him.”
“There are ? I bet the matron had a fit, didn’t she ?”
“Riskin handled her. That guy’s smart. I wouldn’t want him after me. He’s got Ricca
fooled. Ricca imagines he’s getting away with this loss of memory stuff, but he isn’t. I heard
Foxy tell Doc Summers he’ll be good and ready to slap a murder charge on him tomorrow.
I’d like to see his face when they march in and pinch him.”
“Who did he murder?”
“Some dame. He must have been nuts. He nearly killed himself as well. Listen, sugar, how
about going for a ride with me in the elevator? It might break down between floors if we’re
lucky.”
“If you’re lucky, you mean.”
“Lemme get rid of this stiff and let’s try it.” The trolley began to move again. “You wait
