over with a thud on the carpet I jumped wildly to the left, cannoning into a chair, sending that over too.
Lassiter fired and the slug whined close, then he came blundering forward, cursing savagely. He was on top of me before I could get out of his way. His left hand grabbed my sleeve. I jerked away, stepped sideways and hit out. My fist scraped along the side of his jaw at the same time as his gun went off. The flash scorched my face and scared me half silly. My punch made him reel back. He must have got snarled up with an armchair for he went over with a crash that shook the room.
I bolted over to the window, dragged back the drapes and let in the moonlight. Headlights of a fast moving car made two fingers of light in the dark road. The police siren was screaming now and I could see the red spotlight on the roof of the approaching car. I shoved my foot through the window and kicked out the glass.
The police car pulled up with a screech of tortured tyres. Two policemen spilled out of the car, guns in hand, leaving the car doors hanging open.
One of them vaulted over the gate and ran up the path. I could hear Lassiter cursing as he disentangled himself from the chair. I had intended to bolt out of the window and into the garden, but I saw now it was too late. The cop running up the path would be certain to see me as I dropped into the garden. I stepped back and got behind the window drapes.
I stood motionless, my heart hammering, and waited. Lassiter came blundering to the window and leaned out. He was so close to me I could smell the stale tobacco smoke in his clothes.
‘He went this way!’ he bawled. ‘He can’t have got far.’
Then to my utter relief, he swung a great leg over the windowsill and dropped into the garden.
‘I can’t see him, sarg,’ one of the policemen called.
I didn’t wait to hear Lassiter’s cursing. Moving quickly, I made my way in the darkness across the room and into the hall. I groped my way up the stairs until I reached the landing, then I paused to listen.
More sirens howled in the night. More cars screeched to a standstill outside the house. I could hear Lassiter’s bull voice shouting, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I flicked my cigarette lighter alight. A door faced the head of the stairs. I crossed the landing, turned the handle and stepped into Hartley’s bedroom.
The curtains were drawn. I shut the door and flicked down the light switch. The lights came on. There was blood on the white carpet. A .38 automatic lay on the blue cover of the bed. The blood told me this was where the Filipino had been shot and the gun on the bed was the murder weapon. I took out my handkerchief and dropped it over the gun, lifted it and sniffed at the barrel. It reeked of exploded gunpowder. I felt I needed a gun so I shoved it into my hip pocket. Then turning off the light I pulled aside the curtain and looked down into the garden.
The moonlight made the close cut lawn look white. Three policemen, guns in hand, were moving cautiously in a line away from the house. There was no escape that way. Then I heard the front door slam open and a tramping of feet in the hall.
I tiptoed across the room and eased open the door.
‘Get some lights on here,’ a voice growled.
I could see the beams of several flashlights stabbing into the darkness below. There was a short pause, then the lights flashed up.
A short, thickset man, his face brick red, a black fedora set squarely on his head, stood over the dead Filipino.
Lassiter stood by the front door; his brutal face was shiny with sweat.
‘You’re sure he went by the window?’ the short man asked without looking at Lassiter.
‘Yeah. I saw him go. He can’t get far,’ Lassiter snarled. ‘He kicked out a wall plug and fused the lights, Lieutenant.’
I guessed then that the short, thickset man was Lieutenant Joe Carson, ex-Police Captain Bradley had mentioned.
‘The captain will love this,’ Carson said. ‘If we don’t pick up this guy, you’ll be back pounding a beat.’
Lassiter moved uneasily.
‘We’ll pick him up all right,’ he said savagely.
‘Why didn’t you bring some men with you, you dope?’ Carson asked, moving away from the Filipino.
‘How was I to know he’d start a shindig like this?’ Lassiter snarled. ‘I was on my way home. When they told me he was going out to see Hartley I thought I’d look in and see what was cooking. I caught him robbing the safe.’
‘Then you let him go,’ Carson said and walked into the lounge.
Lassiter made a grunting noise, took out a soiled handkerchief and wiped his face, then he followed the Lieutenant into the lounge.
Two patrolmen, guns in hand, came up the steps and stood guard at the front door. More sirens wailed. A car pulled up outside, a car door slammed and three men came into the hall. The patrolmen stiffened to attention and saluted the tallest of the three who I guessed would be Police Captain Mathis.
Carson came out of the lounge.
‘We haven’t found him yet,’ he said to the tall man. ‘All the roads are being watched. He left his car. His name’s Chet Sladen: he’s a writer for Crime Facts.’
Mathis, lean faced with a black moustache in odd contrast to his chalk white hair, took out a cigarette pack and put a cigarette between his thin lips.
‘Crime Facts?’ he repeated. ‘You sure?’
‘I’ve read some of the stuff the guy’s written myself.’
‘We’ve got to be careful, Carson. That rag has plenty of influence. Why should he knock Hartley off?’
‘Search me,’ Carson said, shrugging. ‘Lassiter caught him taking money out of the safe.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
Lassiter came out of the lounge.
‘I saw him, Captain. It’s my bet he’s digging into the Van Blake murder. Maybe Hartley caught him poking his snout into the safe and Sladen lost his head and shot him.’
‘What makes you think he’s digging into the Van Blake murder?’ Mathis asked, his voice sharp.
‘Mrs. Van Blake had a visit from him tonight. He’s been talking to Bradley,’ Carson said. ‘He called on the Golden Apple club.’
‘You’d better let me have a detailed report in writing,’ Mathis said. ‘The Commissioner will want to hear about this.’
‘Yes, Captain,’ Carson said.
Mathis turned on his heel and went to the front door. He looked back over his shoulder.
‘You’d better find Sladen,’ he said, ‘or there’ll be trouble.’
He went down the steps into the night.
‘While we’re waiting for the doc,’ Lassiter said, ‘I’ll take a look upstairs. The guy didn’t have a gun. Maybe he left it in one of the upstairs rooms.’
Carson grunted and walked back into the lounge.
I moved quickly across the landing and into Hartley’s bedroom.
I heard Lassiter come up the stairs.
II
With my back against the wall, the window drapes concealing me, I waited.
I heard Lassiter pound across the landing and go into the next door room. He spent a few minutes in there, then I heard him come out and go into another room.
I was in a bad state of nerves. From where I stood I could see into the garden. The three patrolmen were still moving aimlessly about and there was no out there for me that way. My only hope now hung on the fact that Lassiter seemed convinced I wasn’t in the house. I hoped his search wouldn’t be thorough.
The door jerked open and I heard him come in. The light snapped on, then I heard him grunt. He went out again, leaving the door open.
‘Hey, Lieutenant! Will you come up?’ he called.
I moved the curtain aside. He was leaning over the banister rail, his back turned to me. But even as I
