Scarlet Imperial (10 page)

She screamed, “Richards! Richards!” She didn’t care if she was shattering the dignity of the Square. Richards had heard her; his head cocked, he was peering into the wet gloom. She kept calling out to him as she ran. She didn’t glance again at the man on the bench; she only knew he was not in her path. She flung herself across the street, against the tall, old doorman.

His face was unbelieving. “What’s the matter, Miss Liza?”

She tried to control her breath. “I was frightened crossing the park. It was so dark. I was frightened.”

He put his arm about her as if she were his daughter. “Now don’t you be frightened. You’re all right.” He took her packages from her limp fingers, pushed open the apartment door. “You must have read about the goings-on here today.” He disapproved. “Enough to make anyone see spooks.”

Franz’s face poked out of the elevator door. Richards said, “You see Miss Liza into her apartment, Franz. Wait and light up for her.”

She said quickly, “That isn’t necessary. No one can get in.” They mustn’t learn of Gavin’s presence. She smiled at them. She didn’t have to make the smile tremulous, it was that. “No one can get past you two.”

She stepped into the waiting elevator. She said, “Good night, Richards. I don’t know what I’d have done if I hadn’t seen you across the street.”

His eyes blinked. “Eleven B is still waiting for that taxi!” He marched back to the door.

Franz slid shut the cage. His dim voice asked, “You heard what happened?”

“Yes. I saw the paper.”

He was apologetic. “It was the man I brought up to—”

“Yes.” She spoke fast. “Mr. Jones, the F.B.I, man—you brought him up too, remember?—he came to the office today and told me.” They were at her floor but she didn’t get out. She had to make it right for Franz, Richards. She had to keep them on her side. “He doesn’t know why the man came to my apartment. You see, I misunderstood the name when Richards called.” Her lies were hurried. She didn’t know what Jones had asked them, their answers. She mustn’t remind them that the name was Keane. “I thought it was someone for George. Then when this man came upstairs he knew he had the wrong person.”

Franz had doubt. “He didn’t come down.”

“No. It was then Mr. Brewer arrived. I guess this man thought it was the F.B.I. He said he was on the wrong floor; he’d leave the back way. It was odd but—” she smiled at him. “Sometimes we do use the stairs for a flight or two, you know. And he was in such a hurry.” She said, “Mr. Jones says he was a thief.” She had said enough.

Franz was nodding understanding. “Thieves work that way. Find out a name of someone. Use it to get in a place.” He gave a little cough. “It was lucky you weren’t alone.” He coughed again. “Richards is angry that it happened here.”

Richards would be alive with anger. That the sacrosanct portals of his house should be soiled by murder. He wouldn’t favor Jones; Jones was a part of it. She said gravely, “It’s upsetting.”

She stepped into the hall. He waited in the cage until she found her key. She smiled goodnight as she pushed open the door, closed herself into darkness.

F
RANZ HAD LEFT TOO
soon. The foyer was dark as swathed in velvet, no light showed beyond in living or game room. Somewhere in that darkness was a man who killed, a man the police called a murderer. A man who wouldn’t stop at murdering her to take the Imp. The man she must keep from taking the Imp.

Absurdly, both were working towards the same end, that the treasure be delivered to Dekertian. They differed only in the choice of middleman. If Towner hadn’t wasted time with Feather Prentiss this day, if Towner, Bry and Gavin would come together. Three men, each strong in his own way. Banded together against the littleness of a messenger, a portly man, a Hester, the egg would be safely delivered.

She flicked the switch quickly. She set down her load, called, “Gavin!” She was afraid to raise her voice, afraid someone else might be in hiding here. She made a light in the living room as she crossed, opened the door into the bedroom corridor. It too was in darkness. He couldn’t have gone out. It wasn’t possible. Cautiously, she stepped into the corridor, lighted it. His bedroom was open. By the corridor light, she saw the smoothed counterpane, the emptiness.

She went slowly back to the living room. The light switch to the kitchen was beyond the game room door. Carefully, she pushed forward, made light. This room too was empty. Her eyes were pulled to the kitchen bolt. It had been withdrawn.

Her feet were quick starting to the back door. The voice spoke from behind her. “It’s you.”

She swirled. For the moment her eyes were blinded with terror. A man in a brown topcoat, a brown hat, a gun pointed at her. And then she saw it was Gavin. Her gasp was of relief; the issue of breath that followed of greater fear. It was Gavin and Gavin was a killer. He moved slowly forward.

She couldn’t stir, not until he slid the gun back into his pocket, flung his hat on the table. He sank down as if exhausted. He said, “I was afraid it wouldn’t be you.”

Her voice was husky. “You were going out.”

“If I had to.” He unbuttoned the coat. He had a towel about his shoulders. “Ever since I read the evening paper, I’ve been ready.”

She asked, “You unbolted the door?”

“Yes.” She went over and bolted it. If someone other than herself had entered the apartment, Gavin wouldn’t have hesitated. He would have used the gun and gone. He would have killed. She wasn’t frightened for herself now. She couldn’t be allowed fear. She had to keep him here until Towner had the Imp. Even if the purpose was the same, she didn’t dare change Towner’s plans. She didn’t dare reveal Towner’s part in this until he gave the word.

She returned to Gavin. “Have you eaten anything?”

He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “I had a glass of milk at noon.”

“You go back to bed.” She must keep him there. She must get him to sleep before orders came from Towner. “I’ll fix some dinner for you.”

He was too enervated to protest. The ordeal of waiting had drained him of his small energy. He let her lead him to the bedroom, put him in a chair.

She kept talking as if she were an Aunt Hortensia. She turned down the covers, prattling, “You made the bed so beautifully I thought perhaps Clemence had been in. Though it isn’t her day.”

He said in that weary voice, “I didn’t want any evidence of me in the apartment.”

“It’s all right. No one knows you’re here.”

He murmured, “I didn’t think it was you. You moved so quietly.”

Her whisper was stark. “I was afraid.”

His eyes flashed open then. She shouldn’t have said that. It was said and he was again the animal backed against the wall. “Of what?” Even his voice had tightened to alertness.

She shook her head. “Let’s get you to bed. And some food. I’ll tell you everything then.” She went to the door.

“Where are you going?” He was suspicious.

She forced a smile. “To get the things I brought you. Pajamas.”

She took time to remove her hat and coat, her rubber boots while she was in the foyer. Time to take a breath. When she returned to the living room with the box she saw he had followed. He was in the doorway, his hands thrust in his pockets. “Wait till you see my shopping.” The gayness of her voice hid her uneasiness.

She passed him and went into his bedroom. He was behind her. Without turning, she opened the box on his bed, keeping her words casual. “I thought I’d better get you some other things. Until you can get back to your luggage. It’s too bad I couldn’t buy a suit but I know a man can’t just walk in and buy a suit and walk out with it as a woman can a dress. I tried to get a jacket as near as possible your trousers.”

Her throat was tired but she kept talking. “Here’s pajamas and a robe. Change while I start the food.” She tore open the package. “Toothbrush. Shaving things. Sulfa for your shoulder.”

He said, “You’re a wonder.” His smile was wan but it was an attempt. He rubbed his chin. “I can take a hint.”

She shook her head. “No. Not for me. When you go out. Don’t attempt it until you feel better.” She went to the kitchen, lit the oven, put on water for the frozen vegetable and the coffee. She wasn’t hungry, Gavin wouldn’t be, but there must be a pretense of eating.

She hurried to her room. She didn’t know what tonight would bring; she must be dressed for quick movement. Not girdle and high heels. Not a secretary. A girl who could eel her way out of a tight place. She put on purple wool slacks, a white knit pullover. She shook out her hair, slipped on white wool moccasins and hurried back to the kitchen. She set the food to cook. Chops again, the secretary’s dinner. She would eat with Gavin, keep him under observation. She took a bridge table from the game room closet and carried it to his room. He came in from the bath as she was setting it up.

He grinned, “Only nicked myself three times. Pretty good for left hand shaving.”

“I told you not to.” He looked more like the blue-eyed man now, in the new pajamas and robe, his hair combed damply, his face clean-shaven. He was the blue-eyed man, looking her up and down as he had yesterday in the office. With approbation, not suspicion.

He said, “You’re improved too. Why do you wad your hair back and wear those specs?”

She kept the table between them. “I’m a secretary. Get in bed. I’ll bring the dinner.”

“The way you boss me around I’m beginning to suspect you of having been a nurse.” But he climbed in bed.

“I’m just trying to get you well enough to be on your way.”

“Am I that unwelcome?” His eyes were amused.

“No.” She was matter of fact. “I know you want to be on your way.”

She went to the kitchen, turned the chops, took a table cover, napkins, silver and dishes back to his room. He was hidden in the evening paper. She said quietly, “Let’s forget it until after dinner.”

He laid the paper down.

“Why don’t you turn on the radio?” The small bed cabinet was at his hand.

He turned the dial. “I didn’t use it today. Afraid someone might hear it and know your apartment was occupied.”

She left him fiddling with it. He was silent while she carried in the plates. She pulled up the armchair opposite him.

He said, “The radio says it’s a regular nor’easter.”

“Yes.” She began to eat. As if the food had taste. As if eating were more important than listening for Towner’s call.

Dinner was uninterrupted. Neither tried for words. He rested at last against the pillows with his cigarette and coffee. He wouldn’t try to go out tonight, even the exertion of dinner in bed had left him wearied. He should have a doctor. He wouldn’t dare; not until he could leave here. The police would question any doctor who came now.

He was watching her under his lids through the pale gray of cigarette smoke. She didn’t want him to study her. He’d been too close last night.

She said, “Jones came to the office today,” and flared, “I don’t like him. He’s a machine, not human.”

“What did he offer?”

“He insisted I go see Hester.”

“Why?” His eyes were too intense.

She took a long drink of the hot black coffee. “Because—” She went slowly—“Because Hester came to this country following someone. Jones is trying to find out who and why. That’s the reason Hester wasn’t arrested. He was followed but not arrested.” She didn’t know how much to tell. “Hester was a thief.”

“Indeed?”

She asked it flatly. “Did you kill Hester?”

“Yes.” He put down his coffee cup.

She didn’t take her eyes from him.

“I had to kill him. If I hadn’t he’d have killed me.”

She said, “You could have knocked him out, turned him over to the police, couldn’t you?”

His smile was sardonic. “You don’t knock out Hester’s kind. It’s kill or be killed.”

“Last night you said he wasn’t dead.”

“I didn’t want you to know he was dead. I knew you wouldn’t understand. Nor did I want you mixed up in it.” He turned the cigarette in his fingers. “I’d never have had you ask him up to your place if I’d known he was coming to kill me. I thought he wanted to talk over a deal. Instead he pulled the gun. I shot first.” He pushed the cigarette into an ash tray.

Disbelief remained with her. “There wasn’t any blood.”

“Internal. What little external was padded by his overcoat.”

She remembered. “I only heard one shot.”

“He didn’t shoot me. I don’t know who shot me.” He intended to find out. His mouth was a straight line. Then he smiled at her. “You want to know. Of course you do. I left our friend Hester on the stairs while I went for the freight elevator. By foot, yes. That risk had to be taken. I couldn’t carry him down fourteen flights. No one saw me. I brought the elevator up, hauled him in, took the car down to the first floor. When I opened the alley door someone let me have it.”

Her eyes were tight on his face.

“Someone sent Hester to do the job. But if I got away from Hester and tried to skip out the back, someone was there to take care of me.”

She nodded.

“I dropped. If someone shoots at you, you drop, make him think he’s hit the target. I waited a while, then I hauled Hester back into the elevator, took it to the basement and dumped him.” He wasn’t speaking of someone he’d killed; he was speaking of an inanimate burden. “I couldn’t walk back up. I took the elevator to the eleventh, climbed only the three flights.” He grimaced. “I wasn’t feeling my best. If you hadn’t handled that G-man, I’d have had to get rid of him too.”

She said it. “You can’t go on shooting everyone who gets in your way. With Hester it was self-defense. But no one would believe more than one was self-defense.”

“Do you think I care what anyone believes?” His eyes were bright, metallic blue. “I’m interested in one thing, taking care of me.”

“But the law—”

“The law. What law? Do you still believe there is immutable law? If there is, it’s kill or be killed. I learned that when I was a kid in Galway. Kill the oppressor. I learned it better in France, Germany, points north, south, west.”

“That was war,” she countered.

“What’s war? A word the law invented. To legalize killing. Go out and kill.” His voice tightened. “Kill what? Kill men, stupid. Sure and God said, Thou shalt not kill. But this is higher law, stupe, this is legal law. Kill. If you want to live, kill.”