In the eyes of the man who called himself Agnew was a flickering of fear that was barely discernible before it was gone. He leaned forward slightly toward the automatic, apparently trying to convince himself that such a vulgar element had actually been introduced.
“I do hope you don’t intend anything indiscreet,” he said. “I’d never rest easily, I assure you, if I were, as a victim, even incidentally responsible for the execution of a beautiful woman.”
She smiled, nodding her head in a slight gesture of acceptance without disturbing the stillness of the rest of her body.
“It’s the worst kind of mistake to compliment the wrong woman.”
“I accept your judgment, but I don’t see how it pertains.”
“It’s simple. I mean that I’m not Mrs. Fenimore. My name is Ellen Melton. I’m Mrs. Fenimore’s secretary.”
“I see.” He leaned back and made a tent of his fingers, looking at her over the tips. “A prerogative of the rich. She sent you to handle the matter for her. I apologize for my mistake.”
“It’s not the only one you’ve made. Nor the worst.”
“Is that so? I’m becoming deeply ashamed of myself. Tell me the worst at once.”
“Gladly. Your worst mistake is trespassing.”
“Perhaps I’m dull. Again I don’t understand.”
“Let me clarify it. I’ve known Mrs. Fenimore for quite a long time. In fact, I knew Maria Melendez. I know about her all the facts that you know, and many others besides. I was on the west coast with her. When she returned here after the death of her father, I couldn’t bear to be separated from her. Especially after I’d discovered who she really was. She told no one she was coming here, of course, and none of us had known her true identity. By methods that were no doubt similar to yours, I traced her. She had assumed, naturally, a way of life that could not possibly afford to recognize the old way. Besides, she had married and wished to remain married. She was living quietly, as she now does, avoiding publicity and never permitting her picture to appear in print. Wisely, when I arrived, she accepted me. I have a position that requires of me precisely nothing. I am paid a salary that is twenty times the normal salary of a secretary. I live exceedingly well and have many pleasures. All this in spite of the fact that Mrs. Fenimore would like to see me dead.”
“Now I understand clearly.” His lips formed what was very close to a sneer, a common expression he would ordinarily have scorned. “You are yourself a blackmailer. An unpleasant word, I know, but surely one that you and I can use between us.”
“Use whatever words you like. I have no fear of words. I’m determined, however, that my position shall not be jeopardized. Mrs. Fenimore is practical. She accepts our relationship as being the most tolerable and least dangerous one possible, especially since I have intelligence enough to be conservative in my requests. But I remember her as Maria Melendez. Maria Melendez was a dangerous woman, and she is not dead, after all, as we previously said. She is still alive, still dangerous. Alive and dangerous in Mrs. Fenimore, who can be forced only so far. She accepts me, but she would not accept you. Not both of us. There is no accommodation for another blackmailer, and you can see, of course, that your position makes mine extremely vulnerable. Whatever action she took against you, I would surely be included and destroyed incidentally. I’m trying to tell you, Mr. Agnew, that you are about to spoil a good thing. You are, in brief, a trespasser.”
“I can see that you have some justice to your claim. I admit it.” The suggestion of a sneer was gone from his lips now, and he watched her intently. “Tell me, Miss Melton. Since Mrs. Fenimore did not send you here, how did you learn of our appointment?”
“Perhaps you’ll remember that I answered the telephone when you called. I listened on an extension while she talked with you.”
“Well, really! Eavesdropping? That’s a crudity I’d not have believed of you.”
“My life is precarious, and my position is delicate. I resort to all sorts of crudities to preserve both. I’ve already left a note for my employer, telling her that the appointment has been cancelled.”
“Quite right, too. We can’t permit the niceties to interfere with self-preservation, can we? That, in a way, is my argument now. However, I concede your prior claim. I’ll withdraw my own.”
But he was lying, of course, as she knew perfectly well, and when he lifted his glass as if to pledge his word, she shot him three times with the small blue automatic. The explosions made very little noise, and so did he. He gasped and coughed and sighed and lay back in his chair as if he were suddenly very tired. Rising, she put the automatic in her purse, retrieved the martini glass from the floor, walked into the bathroom. She washed the glass in the lavatory, wiping it dry on a hand towel and carrying it in the towel back into the living room. She replaced it on the table from which Agnew had taken it, returned the towel to the bathroom, and then, without looking at the body in the chair, she went out of the room into the hall and back to the lobby by way of the stairs.
But she did not leave the hotel at once. Crossing the lobby, she entered a cocktail lounge and sat at a tiny round table and ordered a
