She lay beside me in the darkness. I could see the glowing tip of her cigarette.
“All right,” I said. “Now tell me the whole thing.”
“Suppose we begin right where we left off? I’m going to destroy him.”
“Why?”
“Because I hate him.”
“And why do you?”
I thought I heard her sigh. “Why don’t you try a wild guess as to why a woman might hate a man after she’s wrecked her own marriage for him and thrown away her reputation and helped him make a fortune, and lived for him twenty-four hours a day for six of the last few years she’d ever have to give anybody—?”
“Take it easy,” I said. “I’m just a bystander. So he left you?”
“Yes.” Then she laughed. It was like glass breaking. “Of course, while I was running his business for him, I should have suggested we set up a pension plan for over-age employees. I’d have nothing to worry about. I could buy a little cottage, get a cat for companionship, and live the full, rich life every woman looks forward to—”
“Knock it off,” I protested. “Who is she? And how do you know it’s permanent?”
“Oh, she’s quite pretty. Honey-colored and virginal looking, with a wide-eyed and appealing sort of defenselessness about her. Like anthrax, or a striking cobra—”
“Come off it,” I said. “How the hell could you lose out to a cornball routine like that? She’d never lay a glove on you.”
”It’s a little trick you do with numbers. She’s twenty-three.”
“Well, what of it?”
“Oh, you
“You’re getting ahead of me,” I said. “He couldn’t marry you because he already had a wife. What happened to her?”
“What happened to her, besides the fact they haven’t lived together for the past eight years, is that she died about five months ago.
“Well, look—I doubt very seriously anybody could hand you a line six years long, so if he was really serious why didn’t he get a divorce?”
“He and his wife were both Catholics.”
“I see. And now that he
“Yes,” she said. “You see.”
“And I see something more. You’ll never get away with it.”
“Yes—”
“Look. He took everything you could give him for six years, and then when he finally could get married he jilted you for somebody else. If he’s killed, it’ll take the police about twenty minutes to figure it out.”
“You underestimate me,” she broke in. “I’m going to take a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars away from him, and kill him. And nobody will ever suspect I did it, for the simple reason they won’t even know it was done at all. Does that satisfy you?”
“No,” I said. “It can’t be done.”
She sighed. “You’re forgetting something I told you. That I know more about Harris Chapman than anybody else on earth. I’m going to destroy him from the inside.”
“Hold it a minute,” I said. “If you knew so much about him, why didn’t you see this fluff-ball moving in on you?”
“See it? Don’t be ridiculous. I saw every stage of it before it even happened, but what do you suggest I should have done about it? Compete with a twenty-three-year-old professional virgin, after he was already tired of me? I saw it, all right; I had a front-row seat. He hired her as a stenographer, and I had the honor and privilege of training her. Sometimes I wake up at night—”
“If it’s that kind of thing,” I said, “why the money angle?”
“Money is important to me. I like success. I poured everything I had into making him one, thinking I was doing it for both of us. Do you think I’m going to move aside now and give it up? Let him hand it all to some simpering and feather-brained little bitch who can’t even balance a check book?”
“Tell me the rest of it,” I said.
“All right. First, about the apartment. We had to have a quiet place where we could work without being disturbed and with no chance of being overheard. The motel simply wouldn’t do. I was registered there under my right name, of course, and it’s imperative that no one ever finds out that I even know you—”
I interrupted her. “What about those detectives you’ve had following me around?”
“That’s a good point. I used another name, and paid them in cash. The fact they know your name is of no significance at all unless you can be traced to me in some way. I’m the one who knows Harris Chapman.”
“Okay,” I said.
“I rented the apartment on a six months’ lease, under your name. I’m Mrs. J. L. Forbes, and there’s nothing to connect me with the Mrs. Forsyth who stayed briefly at the Golden Horn. There’s no reason for you not to use your right name; you have nothing to hide, and you can go right on living here afterwards if you like. No one will notice if you’re gone from time to time, as you will be. It’s handled by a rental agency. The people who have the other apartment won’t be here until some time in December, so we have it all to ourselves and don’t have to worry about being heard through the walls.
“We don’t have much time. Today is the fifth, and he’ll be here the night of the thirteenth. In addition, I have to go to Nassau and New York—”
“Why?”
“Simply to prove I’ve been there. When I resigned and left on this trip, Miami Beach, Nassau, and New York were the three places I was going. If I changed my plans and spent all my time here it might look suspicious afterwards, especially since this is the place Harris Chapman is going to disappear. So I’ll go to both places long enough to send the usual asinine postcards and bring back some souvenir gifts. That means I’ll be gone from here about four days of the eight we have in which to coach you. However, we’ll use the tape recorder and you’ll have the tapes to study while I’m gone.”
“You’re sure he’s coming here?”
Yes. I made all the reservations for him. He goes on one big-game fishing trip every year, for his vacation. For the past two years he’s gone to Acapulco, but this time he’s coming to Florida again.”
“And somewhere along the line I’m going to take his place?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
”Just under two weeks. I think it can be done in twelve days.”
“Describe him,” I said.
“Apart from the fact you’re both about six feet, you don’t resemble each other at all, if that’s what you mean.”
“What else would I mean? You don’t think he’s going to be invisible for those twelve days, do you? He may be a voice on the telephone to the people at home, but down here— But never mind. Go ahead and describe him.”
“He’s thirty-nine. Six feet. A hundred and ninety-five pounds. Gray eyes. Somewhat fair complexion, always with a tan. Brown hair, beginning to gray at the temples except that he touches it up.”
“That’ll do,” I said. “I’m twenty-eight. The height is the same within probably an inch, but I’m fifteen pounds lighter. Blue eyes. Darker complexion. And hair that’s just a shade from being black. Q.E.D.”
“It’s nowhere near that simple,” she cut in impatiently. “In the first place, any police officer could write a book on the general unreliability of descriptions. And secondly, if you’ve had acting experience, you should know what I m driving at. You’re not merely trying to
