listening. Over the sighing of the vent in the wall came the heavy breathing of sleep.
Most of the bed was concealed by the jutting enclosure of closet and bathroom, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness he saw a foot—black shoe, white sock, dark trousers cuff above—that extended beyond it. He walked forward softly.
Sergeant Proudy lay on the bed fully dressed, his head still swathed in bandages. A notebook and a pencil, a small camera, and a revolver were neatly arranged on the bedside table by the telephone. For a moment, Barnes wondered if he should not empty the revolver—it seemed to be the sort of thing they did on TV—then decided not to. It was probably against the law, and he did not know how to open the mechanism anyway.
A black attache case stood open on the desk, and an electric razor nestled there among a clutter of other objects. Barnes reached for it, drew back his hand, then imagined himself making calls with a day’s growth of beard. The temptation was too great; he carried the razor into the bathroom and locked the door.
Proudy’s knuckles slammed against it as he was finishing up his right cheek. “Just a minute,” Barnes called. “I’m almost through.” A fusillade of violent rapping startled him. “Please, Sergeant, it’s early. You’ll wake up the guests, and they’ll complain. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“You better be. Who are you? What the hell is that noise?”
“Just a minute.”
“I’ll shoot through the door!”
There had been no hint of humor in the policeman’s voice. Barnes said, “It’s only your electric razor. I thought I’d shave while you were sleeping. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“You got a gun?”
“I’m not armed,” Barnes said. “You can’t even trim your corns with an electric razor.”
“You’d better not be. I’m going to frisk you when you come out. You can forget about wrapping it in plastic and dropping it in the toilet tank, too. I’m on to that.”
Barnes looked. “This toilet doesn’t have one.”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
There was a silicone-impregnated strip of paper for shining shoes. Barnes put one foot on the basin, then the other.
“Come out!”
Something in the policeman’s tone gave Barnes the impression that the revolver he had seen was pointed at the bathroom door. Under his breath he said, “Everything is bathroom doors lately,” and opened the door, still muttering. It was a shock to see he had been correct.
“What’d you say?”
“‘Well, blow me down.’ It’s just an expression.”
“I’ll blow you away if you stay cute. You know who I am?”
“Of course,” Barnes said. “I let you in yesterday.”
“That’s right. That’s exactly right. You know who I am and where I am, and why I’m here. Ain’t that right?”
Barnes shook his head. “How about putting away the gun, Sergeant? I’m not going to do anything.”
“I’ll say you’re not. Turn around and put your hands against that wall. Lean on’em. I’m going to shake you down, and if you so much as wiggle your ass I’ll blow you in two.”
Barnes did as he was told and felt the rapid patting of the policeman’s hands—inside thighs, outside thighs, under arms. His order book was deftly extracted from the breast pocket of his suit coat. He heard the pages riffled, then the slap as the book was tossed on the bed.
“Okay, turn around.”
He turned as instructed. “I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. Put away your gun and let’s sit down.”
“You said you had an electric razor. Where is it?”
“I left it in the bathroom.”
“Switch those lights on again and point to it. All right, go over to it slow.” Sergeant Proudy followed him into the bathroom, the muzzle of his revolver jammed against Barnes’s spine. “Unplug it and drop it in the crapper.” Barnes started to protest, and the revolver made an ominous click. “You do what I tell you. Do it
The razor sank with a soft splash, trailing a column of tiny bubbles. Barnes left the wire hanging out of the bowl. “Is that all right? If it is, how about putting your gun away? You’ve seen I haven’t got one. I’d like to sit down and talk.”
The revolver no longer jabbed his spine, and he heard the shuffle of the policeman’s feet as he backed out of the bathroom. “You’d like to jump me. That’s what you’d like to do.”
“I could have jumped you while you were asleep,” Barnes protested.
“Yeah, but you didn’t. Lost your nerve.
Barnes seated himself gingerly, wondering what the maid would say, how she would report it to the management when she found the bed of an unoccupied room so rumpled and creased.
“I’m putting my gun back in this shoulder rig,” Proudy announced. “You see it? I can get it a hell of a lot quicker than you can get your hanky, and I’m hoping, yeah,
