I wondered if Maria was stillwaiting for me; I had overslept. I quickly dressed up. I was still in high spirits atthe prospect of spending some time with her. I found myself whistling the jazz tune Ihad heard earlier, as I locked my door and made my waydownstairs.
But when I raised my hand to knock onher door, I heard the sound of voices within the room. I heard aman’s voice, low and muffled. He seemed to be pleading orexplaining something. Then, Maria replied. But I could not hearwhat they were saying. I finally knocked and the voicesstopped.
“Maria!” I called out. “It isme, Philip.”
Butthere was no response.
“It’s Philip,” I saidagain.
But no-one answered me. I didnot know what to make of it. Had she forgotten our earlierarrangement and invited another man to her room?Whydid she refuse to answer me at all, when she knew I had heard hertalking inside, merely moments before?
I feltvery bad. I left and went back to my room, feeling very sorry formyself. There was no doubt that she was in and had heard me. Maybe,I had just been a back-up plan. I was playing second fiddle. Ithurt.
Iremoved my clothes and flung them on a chair. I threw myself on thebed and it creaked. I tried to sleep but I could not. Then, I triedto read an unfinished novel. But it could not hold my interest. Idid not want to think of Maria, yet I found my mind straying toher.
I sworeand got up from the bed. I looked at the glass cabinet. A bottle ofwhisky beckoned invitingly to me. “What the hell!” I said andpoured myself a drink.
I gulpedit. A burning heat flowed from the pit of my stomach to the rest ofmy body. It felt good and I continued hitting the bottle until itwas almost empty.
I felt strangely charged andelated, like I had suddenly found the elixir of life andnothingelsemattered. Then, I saw something on the floor, under the chair whereI had flung my clothes. It was the white paper containingthe Megamix. I went over and picked it up for closer inspection. I wasstrongly tempted.
“Just this once,” said a voicein my head. It sounded like Bobby’s voice.
“No, never again!” I said,shaking my head.
“But why not?”
“Why should I?”
I could not make up my mind. Idecided to finish the bottle, first. It would help me make up mymind. Then I saw Dr. Owolabi standing inside theroom.He looked very disappointed.
“You have done great harm toyourself,” he kept saying and shaking his head.
I woke up to the chirping ofbirds outside, announcing the dawn of a new day. I had a headachethat threatened to split my skull. I lay immobile on the bed, withmy hand on my head. That was when I noticed something strange. Iwas wearing my shoes and clothes, which I could vaguely rememberflinging on the chair the night before! But when did I dress up?Then, another thought occurred to me. Did I sniff theMegamix?
I got up despite my splittingheadache and looked around for the white paper. It was on theground but most of the contents were scattered about.Did I sniffit? I askedmyself. My head was still throbbing. It was like a mad blacksmithhad set up his forge inside my head.
When Igot downstairs for breakfast, I was surprised to see that Maria wasnot around. She was a conspicuous figure at mealtimes, because ofher liveliness. Her mother seemed baffled by this development andshe left the table to go and check. That was the beginning of mynightmare.
I looked towards the bed and myeyes almost popped out of my head, when I saw Maria lying faceupwards andwith that knife buried into her chest. I knew immediately that shehad been murdered. What I was not sure of, was who had murderedher.
I was confused, becauseIdidn't know whetherI had sniffed the Megamix or not. I didn't even know when I put on my clothes and pair of shoes. I hadno idea whether I went back again to her room. But I know that if Isniffed the powder, the possibility that I killed Mariaisvery high. If I could attack Morgan with a bottle under theinfluence of drugs, it is also possible that I may have been the one who attackedMaria with a knife.But, I also wonder about the man who was in her room when I knocked.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I MAKE A DISCOVERY
I was staring at Philip when he finished hisstory.
“Do you still have that powder,Philip? Can I have it?” I asked him.
Hefumbled in his trouser pockets and gave it to me. He had gatheredup all the tiny bits of powder on the floor of his room.
“Is this all?” I askedhim.
“Yes, Mr. Simpson, that’s all,”he replied, meeting my gaze.
“Good,” I said, holding thewhite paper in my hand and looking at it with a lot of interest.“Do you have any recent fingernail scratches on you?”
“No,” he replied. “I’ve checkedmyself. There are none.”
“You know you have to be honestwith me now, Philip.”
“That’s the truth, Mr. Simpson.There are no scratches on me.”
OK,” I said and got up. Iretrieved my wallet from my back pocket. Then, I took out abusiness card. I handed it to Philip. “That’s the address of amedical laboratory in town. I want you to go down there right nowand do a test. Tell them to find out for you if there are any traces of this powderin your system. Say that I sent you. The result will clear theair.”
“I can see what you mean, Mr.Simpson,” he said, looking at the card. “But will these policemenallow me out?”
“You won'tknow if you don't try,” I replied. “It is the only way we can knowfor sure, whether you sniffed the powder or not. You could underthe influence of the alcohol you took, have put on your clothes andfallen asleep. Or you could have sniffed the powder andcommittedmurder.”
“I’ll go to the lab right away,”he said getting to his feet.
I followed him outside to thecorridor and locked my door. I knew if I sat inside
