little silver dish, and beside it was the record player. Phonograph records were scattered around on the rug, and in the middle of them, alongside a low couch, a girl in a long blue robe sat on the floor and swayed gently back and forth as she listened to the music.
I saw her in profile with the candlelight softly touching her face and the cloud of dark hair that swirled about it. She was almost unbelievably beautiful, and she was drunk as a lord.
I remained very still outside the door, thinking coldly of Diana James. Mrs. Butler was like hell in Sanport.
Chapter Four
Had she thrown that curve deliberately, or had it just been a mix-up? She’d lied right at the beginning, because she didn’t want to tell me any more about the thing than she had to. Maybe she’d lied again.
But maybe it had just been an accident. Mrs. Butler must have come back from Sanport unexpectedly, without her hearing about it. It made sense that way. We wanted the money. To find it, we had to search the house. So there was nothing she stood to gain by getting me to come up here to try to shake it down with Mrs. Butler in it.
Was there?
I couldn’t see anything. But the next time I took anybody’s word… I was still burning.
Well, we could kiss off any chance of finding it now. The thing I had to do was get out of there as fast as I could, before daylight. If I waited too long, somebody might spot me leaving. Once I got off the grounds I’d be all right. I could walk into town and hang around until there was a bus leaving for Sanport. And when I got back there I’d break the news to Diana James as to what I thought of her and her information.
I remained standing there, sick with rage at the idea of having to give up. Somehow it seemed I had already come to consider the money as mine, as already found and safe in my pocket, and now that it was snatched away I was wild with a sense of loss, as if somebody had robbed me. Why didn’t I lock her in a closet and go on with the search as soon as it was light?
No. That would be too dangerous. Discovery was almost certain. The maid would come back. She might have visitors. I’d be caught. I discarded the idea, but I did not leave.
There was no danger. Not from her. She was too plastered to notice anything, or to do anything about it if she did see me. If I walked in and started talking to her, she’d probably just think I was another form of the jimjams. I could see the half-empty bottle, and the glass that had fallen over on its side. She wasn’t a noisy drunk, or a sloppy one. It was just the opposite. The thing that tipped you off was the exaggerated dignity, and the slow, deliberate way she moved, as if she were made of eggshells.
The record ran out to the end and ground to a stop as the machine shut itself off. It was deadly silent with the music gone. She made no attempt to put on another record. She was still swaying a little, and I could see her lips moving as if she were singing to herself or praying, but no sound came out. Then, very slowly, she turned the upper part of her body a little and collapsed against the low divan beside her. Her face was pressed into the covering, the dark hair aswirl, and one arm stretched out across it.
I started to turn away. It was time to get out of there. Then I stopped suddenly and swung my head around, listening. What I’d heard wasn’t repeated. It didn’t have to be; I knew what it was. It was that step, the same one that had creaked under me. Somebody was coming up the stairs.
There was another room opening off the hall, but the door was closed. He’d hear me open it. I didn’t have all night to make up my mind. I slid inside, leaned over Mrs. Butler, and blew out the candle. I’d already seen the closet door partly open beyond her.
When the blackness closed in I kept the picture of the room in my mind long enough to turn ninety degrees to the right, slip past the end of the divan, and grope for the door of the closet. I touched it, eased it open, and stepped inside. Clothes brushed against my back. They smelled faintly of perfume in the hot, dead air.
There was no sound. But the hallway was carpeted. Whoever it was could be anywhere out there. I waited, keeping an eye to the crack in the door. A beam of light appeared in the doorway of the room and swung around the walls. It hit a mirror and splashed, then swept on. It dipped, catching the pile of phonograph records and the whisky bottle, and came to rest at last on the sprawled figure of the girl. It remained fixed, like a big eye, while whoever was holding the flashlight walked on into the room. It was so still I tried to quiet the sound of my breathing.
He was squatting down now, and seemed to be changing hands with the light. Then I saw why. Just for a second the gun passed through the beam, steadying up against her temple. The cold-blooded brutality of it made me come out of the closet without even stopping to think.
I was driving, the way they teach you to get up a head of steam in the first three strides. But I forgot the end of the divan. My legs hit it, and I went the rest of the way in by air. He was under me and trying to turn when I sifted down on him, and from then on it was confused, and rough. When nothing crunched, I knew he was no flyweight himself, and as we rolled across and demolished the record player I could feel the tremendous surge of power in the arm about my neck. The light had gone out when it hit the floor, so we were in absolute darkness, and I didn’t know what had become of the gun.
The arm was pulling my head off. I broke it up by getting a knee into his belly and starting to move it down to where he didn’t like it. He scuttled away from it and landed a big fist on the side of my face. It rocked me. I could feel it going all the way down to my toes and back up again like a shock wave. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and swung blindly in the dark. I missed. I heard him scrambling away. He was on his feet. He crashed into the doorframe, and then he was gone down the hall.
I sat up dizzily and dug my own flashlight out of my pocket. He might or might not leave the house, and it made a lot of difference now who had the gun. I held the light out from my side and snapped it on, shooting it around the floor. The gun was lying in a hash of broken phonograph records, and his light was on the floor the other side of what was left of the player. I picked up the gun, checked the safety, and put it in my pocket, conscious of the heavy way I was breathing. It had been short, but it had been rugged.
I squatted on the floor to get my breath. Whoever he was, he was probably gone by now. I had the gun, so it wasn’t likely he’d tackle me again. I could leave, provided, of course, I didn’t run into half a dozen more on the way out.
I thought of Diana James. She was cute. She just needed somebody to search this old vacant house. There was nothing to it. And if the first sucker she sent got killed, she could always find more. Well, she was going to get a sucker’s full report when I got back to Sanport.
I stood up. I’d better get started. Flicking on the light again, I looked down at the girl. Her shoulders had fallen off the divan and she was lying on the floor beside it with her head on an outstretched arm. She was going to have an awful headache in the morning, I thought, when she tried to figure out how she could have wrecked the room this way. It would be a rough way to wake up.
I got it then. If I left, she wasn’t going to wake up.
That guy had come here to kill her. He’d wait around until he saw me shove off, then he’d finish the job I had interrupted. He didn’t need the gun. She was asleep; he could kill her with anything. He was good when they were asleep. You could see that.
Well, what was I supposed to do? So I didn’t have the stomach to sit there and see her butchered in cold blood; so now I was the protector of the poor? The hell with it. If I hung around here until she sobered up, she’d probably have me arrested for burglary. And I could just tell the cops how it happened, couldn’t I? They didn’t get many laughs in their work. Housebreaker saves woman’s life. Hey, Joe, come listen to this one.
Then a very chilling thought caught up with me. Suppose they found her in here murdered, tomorrow or the next day? Maybe nobody on earth knew that other guy was here. But there was one person who knew damn well I’d been here, because she’d brought me here. And if she ever leaked, I’d be in the worst jam I’d ever heard of.
I had to do something. Time was running out. I squatted there in the dark, thinking swiftly. I began to
see it then. It was the answer to everything.
Here was where I went in business for myself.
All I’d accomplished in this thing so far was to get shoved around. I’d been played for a sucker by a smooth operator who’d told me about 10 percent of the whole story, but now the program was going to change.
We were all looking for that money. And the only person that really knew whether or not it was in this house was Mrs. Butler. She was the key to the whole thing. I didn’t believe now that it was here, but she knew where it was, or where it was last seen. So what I wanted was Mrs. Butler. If I left her here she’d be killed, but if I took her with me I’d have the exact thing I needed: information.
