in his head, something he could tell me.
I wondered how hard it would be to make him talk.
I hefted the wire snips, and stood up. How close to the door could I stand without being seen against the glass? And which side would be best to stand on? Here on the left or on the other side, where I could be behind it when it opened?
Probably here. He might sense something and he'd be armed. I might not be able to get out from behind the door fast enough.
I sat down and waited. And gradually, I felt my head turning toward the right, toward the door of the inner office. It was closed and the office was dark, and of course he wasn't there. He wouldn't be sitting in there in the dark. He hadn't expected me to do what I had, so why would he be there?
I thought that one over, and my head kept turning toward the door. And finally I got up and walked over to it, and turned the knob.
It was unlocked.
I pushed it open slowly.
I ducked back and flattened myself against the partition, and then I moved away from it and stepped inside and flicked on the flashlight.
The beam moved across the desk. He was bent forward a little on his elbows; his hands lay on top of each other carelessly; and the chair was drawn close to the desk, holding his body against it. He wouldn't be talking that night or any other. He was through talking for all time.
21
I knew what had happened before I looked at his head. He had pulled the chair up close to the desk and put his elbows on it, because he had wanted to count something, money, and that was the natural way to do it. He had sat there counting, his suspicions lulled by the fact that the money had been paid quietly, without argument. And then the person-the man or woman-who had handed it over so readily
I moved the flashlight. I couldn't see his face; his chin was resting on his chest, and his hat was pulled too low. But I could see his head, even with the hat on. Part of it was oozing right out through the crown of the hat. He'd never known what hit him.
I wasn't sorry he was dead. I'd seen good men killed for no reason, and he hadn't been good or even fair. He'd meant to collect from both sides, from one for keeping quiet and from the other-from me-for talking. I might have foreseen that he would try that. The murderer had.
I walked around the desk and opened a drawer. There was nothing in it but a pipe, a can of tobacco and a half-empty pint of cheap whiskey.
If there was anything significant in the thin file of letters, the dog-eared ledger, or the several dozen receipted and unreceipted bills, I didn't know what it was. Probably there wasn't anything. I felt his pockets as best I could without moving him. I found a few pads of matches, a wallet containing his credentials, and six dollars, a package and a half of cigarettes and a fully-loaded.32 automatic.
I put those things back where I'd found them, and looked down at the desk. There was nothing on it but a day-to-day calendar. The date showing was the following day.
I didn't think anything of it for a moment. I turned away and looked around the room carefully, trying to find-I don't know what I was trying to find.
I looked down at the calendar again, and then it came to me. It wasn't a mistake. This was one day that Eggleston wouldn't have slipped up on.
I flipped back one of the little white leaflets. There was the date, today, and scrawled across it were two notations:
Mrs. Luth. 5:45
P. Cos 8:00
I pulled it loose from the staples and tore it into shreds. I went through the expired calendar slips and tore off a dozen or more of them. I dropped them into the sink, burned them into ashes and flushed them down the drain. One missing slip might mean something. A number of missing ones wouldn't.
The phone rang, and I jumped. I moved back from it automatically, and then I lifted it up, let it bang against the desk and held the receiver against my ear.
I waited. And whoever was calling waited. At last there was a whisper, 'Mr. Eggleston?'
I couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman. You can't tell with whispers. 'The same,' I whispered back.
'I can't talk very loud, Mr. Eggleston.'
'I'm in the same position.'
That sounded like him, I hoped.
'I'm sorry I couldn't keep our appointment, Mr. Eggleston. Personally. Was it all right?'
'I'm afraid it isn't,' I whispered. 'I'm afraid I'll have to insist that you come down.'
'That's impossible.'
I didn't say anything.
'Why is it necessary for me to come down?'
'I think you know why.'
'You got the money, didn't you? You were taken care of?'
It wasn't going to work. I wasn't going to get him or her to come down. That left only one thing to do. Startle that whisper into a recognizable voice.
'Yes,' I said, in a deeper whisper. 'I'm all taken care of. I'm sitting here with the top of my head bashed in. Dead.'
That didn't work either. There was a short silence. Then the receiver at the other end of the wire went down with a bang.
I pushed Eggleston's body back from the desk and searched it thoroughly. I might as well, I knew now, because I couldn't leave it here. The time of death couldn't be fixed exactly; thirty minutes or an hour would be about as close as the police could come to it. And that, since the real murderer would have a foolproof alibi, left me the only suspect.
There was a chance that the elevator boy wouldn't remember my loitering around the lobby. There was chance that he couldn't describe me if he did remember. But I, a man on parole, a man with a criminal record, couldn't take those chances. Someway I'd have to get the body out of the building. Hide it. The river would probably be best.
My search produced nothing but a few keys, some coins and another partly filled package of cigarettes. I dropped them back into his coat pocket, and stood back studying him. He'd bled very little, and that had been absorbed by his hat and hair. He wasn't bleeding at all now. There were no stains to clean up. Nothing to do but get him out of there.
That was all.
I tested the outer door and found it unlocked; I could have walked in instead of climbing. I glanced at the snipped chains of the transom. They would be discovered and arouse comment, but without the body they didn't mean anything. In time, of course, Eggleston's absence would arouse inquiries. But by that time, I hoped, I would have the riddle of Dr. Luther solved. I would know what Eggleston had known and, hence, who had killed him.
But that was something to work out later, when, perhaps, I had more to work on. Right now Eggleston's body had to be got out of there.
I opened the door, glanced out, and let it close again. Going back into the other office, I picked the body up in my arms, carried it to the door and pulled it open with my fingers. It was still clear outside. The other offices were quiet and dark.
I let the door close behind me and walked swiftly down the corridor to the turn. I stuck my head around it; all clear there too. I broke into a trot; moving as rapidly as I could with the dead weight I was carrying.
