The silence that greeted him sent a sudden chill crawling up his spine.
'Fay! Did you hear me?'
Still no sound but he was sure that someone was in the room. He groped in his pocket for his cigarette lighter. A board creaked near him.
He suddenly felt frightened, and he stepped back hurriedly, cannoning into the table. He heard his glass of whisky crash to the floor.
'Fay! What are you playing at?' he demanded hoarsely.
He distinctly heard a footfall, then a chair moved. The hair on the nape of his neck bristled.
He got out his lighter, but his hand was shaking so badly the lighter slipped out of his grasp and dropped on the floor.
As he bent to grope for it, he heard the sound of a lock click back, then a door creaked.
He looked towards the front door, trying to see through the darkness that enveloped him. He could see nothing.
Then the front door slammed shut, making him start violently, and he distinctly heard the sound of footsteps running down the stairs.
'Fay!'
He was thoroughly alarmed now.
His groping fingers found the lighter and he snapped down the lever.
The flame made a tiny light but enough for him to see the room was empty.
Was it Fay who had just left the apartment or an intruder?
'Fay?'
The uncanny, frightening silence that greeted him stampeded him into a panic.
Shielding the flame of his lighter with his hand, he moved slowly across the room to the bedroom door.
'Are you there, Fay?'
He held the lighter high above his head. The flame was slowly diminishing. In another moment or so it would go out.
He moved forward, peering into the dark room. He looked towards the bed. What he saw there made him catch his breath.
Fay lay across the bed, her arms above her head. A narrow ribbon of blood ran between her breasts, crossing her arched ribs and making a puddle on the floor.
He stood paralysed, staring at her, unable to move.
The flickering flame of the Lighter suddenly went out.
CHAPTER III
I
A vivid streak of forked lightning lit up the room with an intense bluewhite light, and the crash of thunder that followed rattled the windows.
In the brief moment of light, Ken saw a flashlight on the bedside table and he snatched it up and turned it on.
The hard circle of light fell directly on Fay as she lay outstretched on the bed.
Ken bent over her. Her half-open eyes stared blankly and fixedly at him. Blood, coming from a small blue- black puncture above her left breast, was now reduced to a trickle. Her lips moved, then a muscular spasm passed over her and she arched her back, her hands closing into tight, knucklewhite fists.
'For God's sake, Fay!' Ken gasped.
Into her blank eyes came an expression of terror, then as suddenly the terror went away, her eyes rolled back and her muscles relaxed. A quiet, gasping sigh came through her clenched teeth, and she seemed to grow smaller, suddenly doll-like, not human.
Shaking from head to foot, Ken stared stupidly at her. He had trouble in holding the flashlight steady.
He put a shaking hand over her left breast, getting blood from her on his fingers. He could feel no heart beat.
'Fay!'
His voice was a hoarse croak.
He stepped back, wanting to vomit, feeling a rush of saliva come into his mouth. He shut his eyes and fought back the sickness. After a moment he gained control of himself and, unsteadily, moved further away from the bed. As he did so, his foot touched something hard and he looked down, turning the beam of his flashlight on the object.
Lying on the carpet was a blue-handled ice-pick, its short, sharp blade red with blood.
He stared at it, scarcely breathing.
This was murder!
