At a quarter to six, taking certain precautions that seemed fundamental, he was parked on the cross street at the end of the block on which Rudolph lived. Soon afterward, right on his weekly schedule, Rudolph passed the intersection in his car. Falling in behind, Gaspar followed as far as the turnpike entrance. Sure enough, Rudolph picked up his ticket at the toll gate and took the ramp that would point him east. Satisfied, or as nearly so as he could be, Gaspar drove back to town.
Approximately twenty-four hours thereafter, about one o’clock of the following morning, he was getting out of his car on a mean street some six blocks from the house of La Roche. He had chosen this place to leave the car because it was a block of rooming houses in front of which a variety of other cars were invariably parked at night. His own, he reasoned, would be less conspicuous in company. Moreover, it was remote enough from the scene of projected action to minimize the chance of disastrous association, just in case someone did happen to take notice of the car as a stranger.
Afoot, Gaspar navigated the dark streets, trying to exercise proper care without giving the impression of skulking. However, the houses he passed were dark. He saw not a single pedestrian, late abroad, on his way.
His caution, while commendable, seemed to be superfluous. The backdoor key was readily at hand in the right pocket of his coat. In the inside pocket, a dead weight that was at once comforting and threatening, was a short length of lead pipe.
A fat shadow, he slipped from the cross-street at the end of the La Roche block into the alley that ran behind the La Roche house. Minutes later, having paused briefly to reconnoiter, he was moving silently past garbage can and trash burner up a concrete walk to the back door. He paused there again, leaning forward with a large ear near the door. Silence within. Beyond the hedge where the Fitches dwelled, silence. Silence within and without and all around. Silence and thick, black darkness.
The key slipped smoothly into the lock. The lock responded smoothly to the key. Moving with swiftness and quietness that was surprising in one so bulky, Gaspar entered a kitchen and closed the door behind him. He stood by the door without moving until his eyes had adjusted to the deeper interior darkness, then moved across the floor toward the outline of a doorway. Suddenly, beside him, there was a terrifying whirr in the shadows, like an aroused rattlesnake, and his heart leaped and fluttered wildly before he realized that the refrigerator, with devilish malice, had chosen that moment to come alive. When he had his breath back, he moved on into a small dining room and turned right through another doorway into a hall. Following his directions, he stopped at a door on his right, behind which he detected a gentle snoring such as might be indulged in by a lady who had drunk mildly to excess. Without further delay, he opened the door and entered the room.
A tiny nightlight made a meager glow. The luminous face of a clock leered at him through the darkness from a bedside table. On the bed, a prone and ample mass stirred and muttered. Another gentle snore followed.
Now! thought Gaspar. Now!
The length of lead pipe at the ready, he moved toward the bed.
Behind him, the silence was split by the merest whisper of sound. Then his head exploded with a clap of thunder and a blinding bolt of pain, and he was swallowed by the absolute night at the end of his particular world.
* * * *
Rudolph came in the door from the attached garage and went directly to Winifred’s room. He crossed to the bathroom and turned on the light above the lavatory. As he washed his hands, he spoke to Winifred, who was sitting up in bed against the headboard. She was gently stroking a cat that lay purring in her lap.
“Well,” said Rudolph, “that’s done.”
“Did you have any difficulty, dear?” she asked.
“Oh, no. I was careful not to be seen, of course. It was simply a matter of leaving him at the mouth of a dark alley on a side street. It’s a very rough neighborhood, the haunt of thugs and criminals and undesirable people of all sorts. He was, I’m sorry to say, exactly the kind of man who would be likely to frequent such a place. I emptied his pockets, and I’m sure, considering the blow on the head and all, that it will pass as an accidental killing in a routine mugging.”
“My dear, you’re so clever.”
“Not at all. Very little cleverness was required to deal with Mr. Vane. He was quite a dull fellow.”
“Did you find his car?”
“No, but it scarcely matters. Wherever it’s found, there will be reasonable explanations for his leaving it there. It’s sufficient that he didn’t leave it nearby.”
“It’s a shame that the ten thousand dollars can’t be recovered.”
“No matter. A paltry sum, surely, to invest in our continued security and happiness.”
Rudolph emerged from the bathroom and began to pull on his coat, which he had removed.
“Must you return tonight?” she asked.
“I’m afraid I must. My weekend has been intolerably disrupted as it is. Besides, it is better to sustain the fiction that I didn’t come back here.”
“Yes. Of course, dear. Imagine that stupid man thinking that his dirty spying would make the slightest difference to us!”
“I’m
