Black Mask Detective (Vol. 34, No. 3 — May 1950)

Joe had crushed out of prison — the same hot-blooded Joe that Lois had sold up the river. And now all that sultry two-timer could do — was crawl in her coffin and wait...

Chapter One Blonde Sky-Bait

Joe Hilton was going to jump from the back of the truck and then roll into the ditch. He picked a curve on the highway, where the truck would have to slow down. It was a moonless night, dark and cloudy. The driver up front in his cab wouldn’t ever know that he’d smuggled a man out of the prison yards.

The driver had picked up a girl hitchhiker a few miles back, and he was making senseless cracks about how a pretty youngster like her was taking a chance when she thumbed a ride. He was telling her how lucky she was to draw a respectable family man like himself, for instance. He was telling her if she was tired, it was perfectly safe to lean against his shoulder, him being married and all.

Yeah, thought Joe. That driver’s about as safe as a C-note in a poker game, girlie. But Joe was glad the girl was up there. If his jump did make any noise, the driver wasn’t likely to notice. His eye wasn’t strictly on the rear vision mirror.

Luck seemed to be with him. There were no cars behind to spotlight the back of the truck. He leaned out on the curve, landed in a crouch on the soft shoulder, and rolled into the ditch.

Now he was fifty miles away from the cell that had been home for two years. Now he’d done the thing that had kept him awake planning, ever since his first night in that little apartment back there that had been leased for the next eighteen years, rent-free. He’d broken the lease at last. He’d crushed out.

He lay there for a few minutes, watching a whole sky full of clouds and stars, drinking it in — the bigness of it, the freedom of looking as long as he wanted. Back there, some punk was around to tell you what you could do and what you couldn’t do. That’s what had made it impossible to stick it out. He’d never been able to take orders from anybody and he’d never been able to take a pushing around, either.

He stood up, remembering his real reason for wanting to be free. Not to stare at the sky and breathe on his own time. He didn’t care how long he breathed, just so he got to Lois Baum.

Ten minutes with Lois was all he wanted. He wasn’t fooling himself that he could last any longer than that. Even with luck, he would have to play it quick and rough the way he had planned.

They’d have him marked as soon as he commandeered a car, stole the driver’s clothes and cash. He didn’t want to kill the driver, so there would be a report. But he hoped to make enough quick, daring moves to keep ten minutes ahead of the law.

He would ditch the first car, steal a second, ditch the second car, switch to a train, get off before his ticket reading, switch to a bus and double back, catch another bus and go on in. Once in the city, there would be no more stalling. He knew exactly where he was going and what he was going to do.

He had it all figured out, right down to the schedule of the last bus out of Belleville for St. Louis. At best, it would take him a week to reach Lois Baum.

It would take him a week to reach her, and only ten minutes, or less, to kill her.

After that, they could come and get him. He didn’t care. Everything would be all right with him the minute he gave her what she had coming. She wasn’t going to get away with it, that was all. She wasn’t going to get away with it!

The girl had soft blonde hair that was as natural as all the looks she was getting from the men who walked past her into the cocktail lounge.

She was dressed in cool green silk, the color of watermelon rind where the pink leaves off. You couldn’t tell at first whether the dress was buff, yellow, or green, but it was mostly green — and her eyes were the same pale, clear shade, almost translucent, wide and lovely under the dark lashes. Her brows were darkened a little, too, which set off her light hair, eyes, and skin.

Interest varied in the eyes of the men who saw her. Whatever they saw first, seemed to catch and hold the attention. Each man who passed was cheated out of the whole enticing picture by not being able to shift his gaze.

She sat stiffly, as unobtrusive as possible, in a heavy, uncomfortable chair of carved oak in the foyer of the May-fair. She looked at her watch often. She wasn’t used to waiting for people and, plainly, didn’t like it.

Finally, he came.

This man didn’t cheat himself. He started with the tip of her toe as he left the revolving door, and timed his vision so that he was looking directly into her eyes when he stood in front of her.

“Darling, I got here as soon as I could. What’s wrong, anyway? You sounded so upset on the phone. But never mind right now. Let’s crawl into dry martinis while you tell me.”

He maneuvered her deftly into the Hofbrau, and they found a table in the corner that was private enough if voices didn’t rise above the wired music.

He chattered away. He always chattered. Hank Irby, glib and gay, could talk anybody into anything. He always could, even though one sometimes had a faint suspicion that he might be talking strictly for his own advantage.

“Your call caught me in the middle of a board meeting. Can’t just walk out on those things, you know. Horrible bore, too. Curtis was spouting off as usual about the coming depression. Did you wait long, Lois?”

Their drinks arrived and the waiter went away.

“It seemed long. Hank, I didn’t want to talk about it over the phone, but he’s out!”

“Out?” Hank sampled his drink, connoisseur-fashion.

“Joe’s escaped. Haven’t you seen the papers?”

“So what, baby?” Hank lifted his glass again. “Don’t be silly. Drink up before the chill leaves the glass.”

“But Hank—”

“Now, now. He won’t get ten miles before the cops nab him. Joe isn’t smart enough to play a thing like that smoothly. You know how he is. He’ll snort around and be dramatic and daring, thinking his muscle makes up for his brains. He won’t even get close, honey. I can promise you that.”

She gathered enough confidence from Hank to drink the cocktail she needed so badly. But she wasn’t really convinced.

“He must have used brains to get out of prison, Hank. They think he hid in one of the trucks, but they’re not even sure which one. He certainly didn’t accomplish that much with just muscle.”

“Maybe not, but it took him two years to figure a way. That’s pretty slow thinking when you get right down to it.”

“I don’t know, Hank. It seems to me that you’ve taken about the same length of time to do something about Melissa.”

His eyes got soft and tender, as they always did when she mentioned it. He reached for her hand and curled her fingers with an absent touch of intimacy.

“Darling, that takes a different kind of figuring. You’ll never know how hard I’ve been working on it. Every minute of the day I’m dreaming of the time I can claim you openly. But I want to get the money in there, too. All for you, honey. Surely, you know I’m making all my plans in that direction!”

She returned the pressure of his hand. When his eyes looked like this, when he talked to her like this, she trusted and loved him. There was only one Hank Irby in the world and she wanted to hang on.

“I guess you mean it, Hank, and it’s all right, really. But I can’t help this funny feeling I have about Joe. If I weren’t alone in the apartment, I might not be so jittery about it.”

“Don’t worry, baby. Tomorrow you’ll read that the police hauled him back for the rest of his sentence, or shot him down trying.”

She puckered her brows with anxiety. She felt safe here with Hank, with other people around, but she wasn’t forgetting the panic she’d experienced just that morning, alone in her apartment.

She had known it was too soon to expect Joe, but her imagination had taken over.

Joe was an expert at breaking in. There wasn’t a lock that defied his skill; there wasn’t a door or a window that he wouldn’t tackle. Lois wasn’t sure how many jobs he had pulled on his own, but she had a mink coat in her closet right now as a souvenir of one of his successes.

Long ago, before meeting Henry, she’d seen a lot of Joe. But Hank had more to offer. He had a respectable air, he had position, he had money — even if the bulk of the fortune was in Melissa’s name. She had decided right then that her future was Hank Irby, that she was through taking the risks of being a burglar’s girl.

Even a good burglar like Joe. She knew how good he was. She knew that the lock on her door couldn’t possibly protect her from him. If he wanted to get her, he would.

And she knew Joe. He’d want to get to her if it was the last thing he ever did. Joe was like that. You couldn’t double-cross him and get away with it.

“I’m scared, Hank!” she said, shivering. “I never should have let you use Joe for the fall guy. We could have found someone else!”

Hank ordered another round of drinks in that smooth, easy manner of his. “Spilt milk, baby. We did pick Joe and it worked like a charm, thanks to your charm. We don’t ever have to think of that little episode again. He’s been tried and sentenced, and I’m still at the bank with twenty thousand to the good. Merton was just a heal who was about to have my accounts investigated before I was ready for it. The fact that he was killed with the gun that you took from Joe — well, it was just one of those things.

“And poor Joe! The fact that he accepted your tale about all the cash Merton kept in his bedroom just proves how dumb he was. And the fact that the cops, through an anonymous tip, happened to catch him in Merton’s bedroom with Merton’s dead body is just another one of those things. That’s old worry, baby. Forget it.”

“I had,” Lois admitted. “I guess you were right about me when you told me I wouldn’t worry about having framed Joe, that I only worried about myself.”

“We all do that, Lois. Except the fools with that awful affliction called a conscience. You’re not getting any stabs of a sickness like that, are you?”

His eyes were suddenly sharp, studying her face.

“You mean am I thinking of making a deal with Joe if he does turn up? Thinking of telling him that it was really you who shot Merton?”

“Yes. I mean something like that. Is that why you’re so much on edge today? Trying to figure an out?”

This time she reached for his hand and it was her eyes that started melting. “Hank, you’re everything to me. You don’t need to be afraid that I’d ever tell anybody what actually happened. I give you my word, dear!”

“Good!” There was an edge of false heartiness in his voice now. “Then just what are you so worried about?”

“I’m afraid that Joe will get into my apartment and kill me. I’ll be afraid to close my eyes at night. I think I’ll drive myself crazy waiting for him, not knowing at what moment—”

Hank laughed with real heartiness this time, his face breaking into amused and indulgent lines.

“Is that all, sweet? Simplest thing in the world to prevent. A good locked door is all you need, as long as you’re careful about not going out alone. I’ll take you home and call for you until he’s caught.”

Her eyes were desperate.

“But Joe can walk through any door!”

“Any door with an ordinary lock, perhaps. But, darling, there’s a little quarter item that you ought to know about. It’s called a bolt and it beats a check-chain all hollow.”

“But Joe—”

“No, he couldn’t. Tell you what. We’ll get out of here and drive to Central Hardware. I’ll get the bolt and put it on for you. I’ll feel better then, too. Your safety means more to me than my own.”

“You’re sweet, Hank.”

“So are you. Let’s get the job done so I can take you out to an early dinner. Melissa doesn’t expect me until ten.”

When Hank had been talking about it, she wasn’t quite sure that she knew what a bar bolt was, but the minute she saw it, she recognized it from some dim reminder of the past. Just a round steel bar with a knob moulded on it. This fitted into a jacket, and you pushed it across the crack of the door and the frame, then turned the knob downward.

Secure. Really locked in. A lock could be picked, or skeleton keys used, but you couldn’t get past the bolt from the outside. Without a blowtorch, or a saw. And that was risky business. It would make so much noise that the victim could call the police before the entry was made.

She mixed drinks in the kitchen while Hank was putting the screw driver away and washing his hands.

“I feel so safe now,” she said. “I can see how safe it is! Darling, you’re so wonderful!”

He kissed her lightly and took his drink into the living room, smiling at her teasingly as he relaxed.

“Didn’t know I was handy with tools in addition to my other charms, did you?”

She was at the door, testing the bolt with delight. “It’s a very professional job,” she admitted, “but it seems to be hard to slide. I have to wiggle it a little to get it across.”

“The tighter, the safer. Come over here and sit by me. Lock us in if you like, but come here!”

She was delighted to come. Her morning panic seemed far away, and Joe Hilton turned into a phantom figure. A pathetic ghost out of the past who wouldn’t be able to disturb her future because of a simple slide bolt that had cost a quarter.

She snuggled into Hank Irby’s willing arms.

Chapter Two The Bolt

For the past five days, the papers had carried some small articles of no consequences to the average reader, but Lois Baum practically memorized each one.

Joe Hilton had not yet been apprehended, although the police had been close to him several times. The driver of a car had been slugged behind the ear and left in the woods as naked as a jaybird. He had given a very good description of the escaped convict. The driver of another car had given a fairly accurate description of the brown suit that had been stolen from the first victim.

So far the police hadn’t seen Hilton, but they were close. An arrest was expected shortly. All train and bus stations were being watched. The highway patrol had been alerted. The net had been cast. They were sure they would catch him.

Hank Irby had been sure, too. Only Hank had said they’d have him the next day, and here it was five days. Sometimes fact made fools out of optimists. Lois began to be afraid again, with a new kind of fear.

The law was protection, but Joe was keeping ahead of the law. Hank was protection, too, with all of his ideas for keeping her safe. But Hank had been wrong about Joe, about how long it would take to catch him. Hank might well be wrong about other things.

There was a feeling now that Lois had never felt before. It started in her stomach, really, and moved across her shoulders. It was something she couldn’t predict, couldn’t control once it started. Her hands shook and she jumped at the slightest noise. And at night the feeling moved into her mind and she saw things, unreasonable things, that depressed her and weighed her whole body down with a conviction that she was going to die and there was nothing anybody could do about it.

Lois had lived her childhood out in the country, and, like most girls with rare beauty, she had left home in her teens. But now she found herself thinking about the little farm house for the first time in years. The bolt! That’s where she had seen a bolt before.

Her grandmother, a strange gnarled character older than the earth, had used a bolt on her bedroom door. Didn’t want to be disturbed by a pack of younguns who could never learn to knock. And Grandma didn’t want to be disturbed because she thought she saw and heard things beyond human explanation. At that, the old woman had had an uncanny second sight.

It was awful trying to go to sleep at night. It was awful to wake up in a cold sweat, the spell of those strange dreams still fresh in her mind.

At first she was only faintly puzzled by this reversion to her childhood and scenes of home. She was dreaming of people she hadn’t thought about for a long time. Why? She ought to be having nightmares that showed her Joe’s stricken face at his trial. She ought to be haunted by the dead face of Merton. She ought to be seeing herself as a partner in Hank’s crime, as a partial murderess, going through some awful punishment. Those things were on her mind. She ought to be dreaming of those things.

But she wasn’t. She was dreaming of herself as a little girl, the idol of all the little boys in the one-room country school. For some silly reason, at the moment of the dreaded clammy awakening, she kept seeing a note in a childish scrawl with a dagger dripping blood saying that the sender was going to kill Lois.

It had happened. She’d received a note like that in the fifth grade and terror had caught at her stomach then. The teacher had laughed it off. Children go through that stage, he had said. Pay no attention, Lois. Pay no attention. But she had felt the hatred behind the note and had brooded at home. Grandma, with her second sight, had known it was something unusual and Lois found herself in the bolted bedroom telling about the note.

Grandma hadn’t laughed it off. Grandma had told her a lot of things, but the thing that had been trying to break through Lois’ subconscious was one sentence: If you were going to be killed, my child, you’d know.

People always knew when they were going to die, Grandma believed. Others might laugh at them, but people did get a feeling when the end was near. Maybe they didn’t know what the feeling meant, but they got it just the same.

Grandma had been old and she thought a lot about death. There were some people who thought she didn’t have all her marbles, but on this morning of the fifth day of Joe’s escape Lois began to understand her grandmother for the first time. Maybe there was something to it. Maybe that one little episode which came to nothing was designed to be her warning now.

People got a feeling. Lois had it all right, and now, after five nights of dreaming, she thought she knew what the feeling meant. She had the shivering conviction that death was near, that it was lurking outside, waiting for her.

It wasn’t Joe who frightened her now. It was her own superstitious thinking, her own revealing dreams. Sometimes she awoke with the scent of funeral flowers in her nostrils, with the slick feeling of quilted satin under her cold fingers.

She was going to die and she didn’t want to! She was afraid, and the fear made her feel like a little girl again — a desperate little girl with no one to turn to except Hank Irby. And Hank had been especially busy this last week. They’d had dinner together twice, but both times in her apartment, and she was beginning to hate the place, to feel closed in.

By afternoon, she couldn’t stand it. She called Hank at his office. He had warned her about the switchboard, had told her always to be casual and cold about making an appointment and save what was on her mind until later. Hank was always careful about things like that.

She tried to make it sound like a business call, but her voice quivered and she bit her lips, trying to get it under control.

“What can I do for you?” he asked pleasantly. That meant he wasn’t alone.

“I’ve got to see you!” she blurted. “I’ve simply got to! I can’t help it, Hank. I’m going—”

He cut her off in a crisp voice. She could tell he was angry at her for saying such foolish things, when the switchboard girl might be listening.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course. I’ll take care of it as soon as I can. And thank you for calling it to my attention.”

She banged the receiver on the hook and began to pace the room, crying with jerky sobs of exasperation and self-pity.

It was all Hank’s fault! She wouldn’t be in this terrible state of nerves, afraid of her own shadow, if it hadn’t been for Hank. He had planned Merton’s death, had talked her into using Joe for the sucker. She’d never been afraid of Joe before. It was all Hank’s fault that she was afraid of him now.

And Hank knew what a state she was in. How could he sit there in his safe comfortable office and brush her off that way? Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you for calling it to my attention. Thank you, Miss Zilch. Good-by, Miss Zilch.

She hated Hank! She wouldn’t see him again. She’d die before she’d listen to that smug voice refusing to accept her trouble as his trouble. Big, strong Hank! He’d spent a quarter for a bolt, a quarter for her life.

She began to laugh, to mumble out aloud: “Here she is, folks. Step right up. For a quarter, for one-fourth of a dollar, you may take a look at the corpse of the lovely, of the beautiful Lois Baum, the little lady who knew she was going to die. Just a quarter, ladies and gentlemen. Step right up. Step right up!”

Then she stopped the foolishness. She clamped her teeth together and went into the kitchen with purposeful steps. She poured herself a stiff glass of scotch and made her decision.

She was through with Hank and his endless promises that he’d get rid of Melissa and marry her. She was through listening to him, through letting him laugh at her fears. She’d forget the whole thing. She’d spend the afternoon dressing. She’d give the crowd a treat. She’d dress up for death as she’d never dressed up before!

The idea appealed to her and she sipped at the scotch, planning her outfit. Something gay, she decided. Perhaps the ice-green print, with the full skirt. Something that would billow around her as she fell.

That picture was such a sorrowful one that quiet tears began dropping across her cheeks.

The shrill sound of the telephone bell set her whole body to trembling and when she answered it, the sound was scarcely audible. Hank’s voice now, soft and comforting as a mother’s touch.

“Darling, I ducked right out of the office to call you. I was so worried at the way you sounded! You are all right, sweet? Tell daddy what’s the matter.”

She forgot her anger, forgot the moment when she had been sure that Hank wasn’t interested in her plight. This was comfort; this was something to cling to.

“I’m so frightened, Hank! And I’m driving myself crazy just staying in like this.”

“Sure, baby, I know. Tell you what. I’ll run over for awhile and see what I can do. Just sit tight, honey. I won’t be long.”

She took a shower and slipped into the ice-green print, humming a snatch of a tune. She wasn’t crying now. She wasn’t dressing for death. She was dressing for Hank Irby, the man she loved, the man she intended to marry...

Midnight. The hour when most people decide it’s time to go to bed. Lights in houses begin to wink out and the city gets darker than it was. Halls of apartment houses begin to take on the hush of deep night, and dark shadows fall over gangways and doors.

Hank had left at eleven after spending hours with her, talking, laughing, and calming her fears with his sensible masculine logic.

He had led her about by the hand, pointing out the room’s safety features. She lived on the eighth floor of the building and the windows couldn’t possibly be used for entry. The door into the hall was the only outer door she had; this door was locked and bolted. She had a telephone.

What could happen to her? Granted, she couldn’t stay locked in forever — but Joe couldn’t stay at large forever, either. The police were bound to catch him if he came to the city. Then life would be back to normal again. What does a week or so of caution amount to? Nothing to ruin the whole future, nothing to be so gloomy about!

And the feeling, the bad dreams? They didn’t mean a thing, baby. Just nerves, like battle fatigue. Then Hank had chattered away glibly about the mental reactions of the boys in the service. It made Lois feel better to realize that she wasn’t going crazy after all, that other people had felt this way.

Then Hank began to talk about Melissa, about his plan for a little accident that might happen to her at their summer cottage, when summer came.

It didn’t sound bad to Lois. It wasn’t any worse than the talk about Merton had been. They weren’t people to her. They were just cardboard figures who had to be pushed out of the way before she could have what she wanted.

She felt hopeful, very much herself, after Hank left. She sat there in her ice-green dress with the full skirt and continued to drink highballs in slow sips. Hank had advised that, too.

Get sleepy, baby. Scotch is better than a pill. You need a good night’s rest. You’ll get it, if you just listen to old Doc Hanky-Panky!

It was working. She was getting pleasantly numb, and the tight, drawn feeling across her shoulders was beginning to go away. The past days seemed like a nightmare that had never happened.

Then, at midnight, she heard it. The stealthy turning of her doorknob, a faint sound that was more ominous because of its quietness.

Her stomach quivered; the tight steel bands jumped across her shoulders again. She crept on tiptoe into the reception hall, in a panic to see if she’d remembered to slide the bolt after Hank left. They’d been drinking a lot. Had she forgotten? Oh, dear Lord! The bolt was tight — she’d have to wiggle it to get it across...

A board creaked under her own foot and her heart began to pound against her ribs, choking her.

But the bolt was fastened. She had remembered! She stood there trying to keep still, and her heart kept pounding. She could see the knob on the inside twisting, ever so slowly. Then she saw the lock give, heard the door being pushed inward. The steel bar stopped it, and she stared at the little quarter item in fascination, telling herself that it would hold, that Joe couldn’t get to her.

The knob twisted again and the lock clicked back into place. Then there was a soft tapping on the panel. Fingers drummed enticingly, saying:

Wake up, Lois. Wake up gently and come to the door, still half-asleep, and let me in before you realize what you’re doing. This is a lover’s knock, like a pebble thrown at a window. Come and open the door, thinking it’s a pleasant rendezvous. This is a friendly sound, Lois.

That’s what the softness of the knock was saying to her. She felt like screaming at the hidden figure on the other side of the door. Just a panel between them! A painted gray panel between her and the death she had been waiting for...

Chapter Three Dress Up for Death!

At last the knocking stopped, and the shadow that had been across the crack of light, between the door and its frame, moved silently away.

She touched the bolt with damp fingers, like a religious person touching a holy relic in gratitude. Then she went back to the living room and sank into a chair, pressing her hands over her heart, as if holding it would quiet the violent pounding.

Joe had made it to her apartment. Joe had come, as she had known he would. Joe wasn’t as stupid as Hank thought he was!

She went to the front windows and stared down at the street, turning out the lamp so she couldn’t be seen looking through the slats of the Venetian blind.

There was a couple, parked in a car across the street, saying good night the long way. There was the usual traffic. There was a man walking a dog.

Then he came out of her building and stood there like anybody else, waiting for a break in the stream of cars, so he could get to the other side of the street.

He dipped his head into cupped hands to light a cigarette, then threw the match aside and looked up briefly at the windows. She drew back instinctively, even though she knew he couldn’t see her.

Joe Hilton! She’d know the tilt of his shoulders from any angle, the audacious shape of his jaw.

She watched until he walked on down the next cross street into the darkness.

What now? What was his next move? That brief, backward glance at her window had seemed to say: Don’t go away, Lois. I’ll come again.

He knew about the bolt now. Did he also know some trick of the trade for breaking it? Had he gone off after some tool that he needed, with some plan for a second try?

She left the windows and crossed the room to the phone, staring at it. She turned the lights back on. She felt better in the light.

She could call the police. She could tip them off and they’d have him in ten minutes. But she wasn’t supposed to be mixed up with Joe Hilton. They would ask questions.

How did she know Hilton was the man she saw? What had Hilton been to her? Where had she gotten the mink coat in her closet? If Hilton took the risk of gunning for her, there must be a reason for his grudge. What’s Hilton got against you, lady? Maybe we ought to check and see just where you fit into the pictures Hilton drew at prison.

She backed away from the phone, her face pale, just as though the instrument had barked out the questions she didn’t want to answer.

She couldn’t call the police!

But she couldn’t stay here and wait for Joe to come back and break the bolt, either! Joe had looked so solid, so sure of himself down there in his stolen clothes. Joe was coming back; his eyes had flicked the message up to her. Joe had gone through a lot to get here. He wouldn’t give up now.

It was one in the morning when she looked up Hank’s number. She’d never called him at home before. He would be in bed, asleep probably. He would be with Melissa.

Well, let Melissa find out! So what? Her days were numbered, anyway. And let Hank be angry. What did she care? She certainly wasn’t going to stay here and be caught by a fool of a convict with murder in his heart. She wasn’t going to bet her life on a quarter bolt, when Joe had gone off to manage a way of breaking it!

She dialed and a woman answered.

“Mr. Irby, please.” She remembered to make it sound cold, crisply businesslike.

The reply was even colder.

“I’m sorry. He has retired. Is there any message?”

Damn her, anyway! Who did she think she was? Mrs. Henry Irby. Ha! Mrs. Corpse next summer, that’s who she was! She felt secure tonight, didn’t she? My big, strong man has gone to sleep, but anything you have to say to him, you can say to me. Any message? That was a laugh.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Irby tonight,” said Lois firmly. “It’s very Important.”

“I’m sorry,” Melissa persisted.

Then Lois could hear steps. She heard Hank say: “What’s wrong, darling?” It sounded just the way it sounded when he said it to her.

“Just some woman for you.” Melissa gave a twist to that as she said it, implying that it would be a horrible bore for Hank. There was an intimacy in her voice that infuriated Lois. There was a cozy, possessive quality in the statement that seemed to stem from perfect understanding.

“Well, you run along and get comfy, sweet. I’ll see what it is. Secretary must be in a jam, or something.”

The receiver barked as it changed hands and Lois heard a sound that might have been a kiss. Then she heard Hank saying, smooth as sint: “Yes? This is Mr. Irby.”

“No kidding! Well, this is your secretary, Mr. Irby. Just calling to find out how things are, Mr. Irby. And I must say, Mr. Irby, that things seem quite lovey-dovey at your end... Has that old crow left the room yet?”

His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.

“Good grief, Lois! Are you out of your mind? I told you never to call here, under any circumstances!”

“So you did, old Doc Hanky-Panky. And you told me a lot of other things, too. Does Melissa know you’re going to break her neck next summer?”

“You’re drunk, Lois!”

“Oh, no I’m not. I’m just getting sober, Hank — for the first time in two years. I’m just getting wise to you.”

“Please, Lois. Sleep it off. I’ll come by first thing in the morning.”

He must be holding the phone as a crooner holds a mike. She could scarcely hear him.

“That’s what you think. I’m through, Hank. Joe was here, trying to get in, and I know he’ll be back. I’m not going to wait for that. I’m calling the police. I thought I’d give you a chance to do something about it first, but you don’t rate a chance. I’m going to tell everything I know.”

“Lois, you can’t! Don’t be a fool, Lois. You know what we’ve got waiting for us.”

His voice was louder now. He was excited. She had touched him where it hurt. He hadn’t been upset about her skin, but now it was his own skin. He had yelped.

“I know what we’ve got waiting, Mr. Irby,” scoffed Lois. “You can forget the act. She ought to be comfy by now, so you just run along.”

She banged the receiver down on his sputtering, and then sat staring at the dead phone, at the only thing that offered her an avenue of escape. Calling the police was no good; calling Hank had been worse.

She paced the room, trying to stop the panic that was rising, the feeling of utter desolation. She was going to die and nobody cared. She’d even lost Hank now!

It had been foolish to snap at Hank that way, but she hadn’t known what she was doing. She couldn’t think — she just couldn’t think!

She slumped into a chair and dug her fingers into her skull. If she could only think of something, anything, to prevent this awful moment that was going to come to her. But the fear had been with her too long; her mind was frozen. There was this new sensation now of being alone, absolutely alone, and not knowing what to do...

When the phone rang, she gave a small scream, far back in her throat. She felt as if a hand had reached into the silent room to touch her.

She lifted the receiver with icy fingers. It almost slipped out of her grasp.

“Darling, are you there? Speak up.”

She managed a weak, “Yes.”

“I’m in a pay booth now, Lois. I’m sorry, but you know I can’t talk in front of Melissa. Tell me calmly, dear. What do you want me to do? I’d cut off my right arm for you and you know it. Do you want me to come over?”

His voice again. The one that belonged to her, not Melissa, the sound that kept her from being alone.

“I... I don’t know, Hank. I can’t think. There isn’t much time. He’ll be back. I just want to get away from here, to be safe...” Her throat knotted with the effort of talking. “I can’t think, Hank. I just can’t think!”

“Have you called the police yet?”

“No.”

“Good! Are you sure Joe isn’t in front of your building now?”

“He wasn’t a few minutes ago. He walked away, up Kensington.”

“All right, darling. You’ve had enough of this. Will you do just what I tell you to?”

“Yes,” she cried. “Yes, Hank. Only... only the bolt isn’t going to work the next time.”

“I know. Forget the bolt. Call a cab right now and go to Skinner and Clayton. I’ll drive over and meet you there. Unless you’d rather I came all the way down for you?”

“No, Hank! There won’t be time. I’d better leave right now, while he’s gone. I’m sure he’s gone after something...”

“Sure, baby, sure. Duck out now, then. I’ll be waiting. And Lois...”

“Yes?”

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

“Yes, Hank.”

She didn’t feel a thing as she rang for a cab. She’d thought she never wanted to see Hank again, but now she knew that anything was better than being alone. She knew she couldn’t stand it alone. This way, she might have a chance.

The cab arrived in five minutes. As soon as the buzzer sounded, she looked out the windows. Just as normal as living — the white car waiting, the little lights on the top blinking, the driver on his way back to wait for her. Nothing menacing below. No tilted shoulders, no shadowy figure dipping his head to light a cigarette.

She left the lights burning, as she always did, and ran out to the self-service elevator, her full skirt swishing about her beautiful legs. She broke a thumbnail pushing the elevator button, but the cage finally arrived and then she was sinking toward the street, toward her flight to safety.

She ran to the cab and stumbled in, without looking around. The driver closed the door, rounded the car, and settled himself leisurely behind the wheel. He turned half around to smile at her.

“What’s the matter, lady? You seen a ghost?”

“No,” she gasped, her lungs bursting. “But I’m terribly late for an appointment. Hurry, please!”

“Sure thing.” He started the motor, then turned around again, grinning.

“I could hurry better if I know where to.”

“Skinner and Clayton.”

He made a U-turn and they were off. She pulled great gasps of air into her shaking frame and settled back against the cushions. She had escaped!

“Mind going through the park, lady? It’s quicker.”

“Surely,” she said. “Make it the quickest way.”

“You bet. But I always ask. Lot of people think you’re trying to pull a fast one the minute you get off a straight street. But I been hackin’ in this town for ten years and I know her upside down.”

Lois was composed now. The driver’s habitual monologue was having a therapeutic effect. It was just any night in the year to him. A safe night, a night that he expected to live through.

She got there before Hank, but it was a well-lighted corner with a movie, a drug store, a hamburger stand, street car tracks and a cab stand. It was safe; it was far away from Joe Hilton. She paid her driver, gave him a generous tip, and let him go. She stepped inside the hamburger stand so she could watch through the plate glass window. She was just considering coffee when Hank’s blue convertible pulled up.

As soon as he had settled her on the seat beside him, she dropped her head to his shoulder. She closed her eyes. She was so tired! If she could just stay this way for a little while — not moving, not thinking.

He drove the car away from the lighted area into the dark rim of the park. Then he stopped and turned to face her.

She caught a glint of his eyes from the dash light.

“No, Hank!”

“I’m afraid so, sweet. You sort of loused me up tonight. I don’t like your nervous system. When you crack, you crack wide open. God help me, you’re the most beautiful thing that ever lived, but I have to be practical. You’d tell the police someday. I can’t take a chance on that, Lois. Your beauty wouldn’t do me any good in jail.”

“I wouldn’t, Hank! Please! I wouldn’t. Look at me, Hank. You know how you feel about me—”

His lips curled in derision and he moved his arm across the seat, resting his hand on her shoulder.

“All right, Lois. But Melissa knows now, too. That was stupid of you. You’re just a little country jake, scared to death because you did wrong. Hell! Your beauty isn’t that important to me.”

His hands were coming toward her throat, and she twisted, struggled, scratched him, and kicked her way out of the car.

She ran. She ran down the road through the black fringe of the park, toward the lighted area, toward the cab stand. Her purse, miraculously, was still clutched in her hand.

He followed for a few steps and she stumbled. He could have caught her then, but he stopped. She heard him laughing.

“All right, you little fool. Have it your way. I reach toward you and you think you’re being killed. Tell that to the cops if you think you can make it stick. I wasn’t going to hurt you, damn it! I just wanted to shake some sense into your silly head. You’ll realize that when you calm down — or you’ll get all upset and call me for help again. And don’t worry. I’ll know what to expect and Melissa won’t beat me to the phone next time.”

Talk. Hank and his endless talk. He never seemed to get tired of it. She scrambled to her feet and kept running toward the lights.

He had meant to kill her! She knew it. She had seen it in his eyes. But he was careful, always careful. She had thwarted his initial attempt, and now he felt that the act wasn’t prudent. She was out of the car now, too close to the street. He had tried to talk himself out of it.

His laughter, gloating and exultant, rang in her ears as she climbed into a cab and gave her address.

It was safe enough to go back. The driver would take her all the way up to her door for a tip. Then she’d get behind the bolt and stay there! She wouldn’t open the door for Hank or anybody else. And if she heard a saw scraping at her steel bar, she’d call the police.

She just wanted to go to bed and sleep, sleep, sleep. She was so very tired, so very sick of herself and everybody else.

Chapter Four A Guy Named Joe

The cab driver took her key and opened the door for her. He smiled in gratitude for the tip, touched his cap, and left with a pleasant goodnight.

She closed the door and leaned against it, wiggling the bolt across and jamming the knob down.

It still gave her a feeling of security, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she walked into the living room.

Then she stopped, heart jumping crazily.

Joe Hilton was sitting in her lounge chair, smiling at her!

She wheeled, raced for the door.

The bolt stuck. She tugged at it — couldn’t make it move!

Joe walked calmly out to the hall, covered her mouth with his hand and dragged her away from the door.

“Whoever sold you on a bolt should have told you all the angles, girlie. Don’t ever shoot it until you’ve looked the joint over. If you’d have done that, you’d be out there with the cab driver by now, screaming your lungs out for help!”

He took his hand away from her mouth and pushed her into a chair.

“Joe... Joe, you’ve got to listen to me!”

His face hardened.

“Do I?” He had her bottle of scotch beside his chair and he poured himself a drink with his eyes snapping. It would be an angry drink, intensifying his emotions. It was always that way with Joe.

“Seems to me I listened to you once, my friend! That’s enough. That’s all. You know what I’m here for!”

Her fingers fluttered over the folds of the ice-green print, with the full, floating skirt. The prettiest dress she had. The material felt so soft, felt like the quilted satin of a coffin that her hands had pressed against in her dreams. The flower-scent of her clammy awakenings assailed her nostrils again, and she thought of her grandmother.

“May I have a drink, Joe? I need it. I just left Hank. He tried to kill me, too.”

He poured her a generous slug and handed it to her with a flourish. Joe had been in love with her once and he still had a flare for drama. But she didn’t miss the dark, bitter hatred in his eyes. He couldn’t pretend like Hank. The hatred was there, so it had to show.

“Well, what do you know! The rich boyfriend turned heel. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know.” Her thoughts were all a jumble now. “He put the bolt on for me...” She was going back to the beginning, trying to understand about Hank.

Joe grinned. “Yeah. Cute trick, that! It stopped me. I thought for a minute you were going to be smart and stay behind the bolt. Didn’t your boy tell you that the minute you left the place, you left it wide open for me? Didn’t you know that I wouldn’t have stood a Chinaman’s chance the other way?”

“I didn’t think. I couldn’t think! I thought you’d gone after some tool.”

“And he let you think that?”

“Yes.”

“Then he wanted me to get you, girlie. That’s all I can say. He’d know damn well that I’d have had to break the door down to get in!”

“Stop calling me girlie.”

“What the hell should I call you? Angel? Sweetheart? You double-crossing little tramp! Do you know what it’s like to be locked up for two years? You and your high-powered boyfriend I Pinchbottle scotch, boneless ham in the ice box, chicken, fancy cheeses! Do you know what I’ve been living on? I even had to bum my smokes, to hoard butts like a guttersnipe!”

“Joe — listen. Hank did it! Hank killed Merton and planned the rest!”

“Sure. Sure, he did! And you went along with it, hands up. You stole my gun. You told me where to be at what time. You smiled and looked at me out of those pale, fish eyes...”

She covered her face, sobs racking her body. “I know, Joe. I know! I’ve got it coming. I think I’ve known that all week. I’m dressed. I’m all dressed up...”

His eyes narrowed. He jogged a cigarette out of his pack, dipped his head to light it.

“All right, Lois. Cut the act. People get smart when they’re slammed in the jug for a murder they didn’t do. Even jerks like me get smart. In fact, I think I’m going to be smart enough to knock off my other pigeon before the law swoops down.”

She lifted perplexed, tear-filled eyes.

He pulled out a gun and waved it.

“Pick up the phone.”

She did.

“Call Hank. Tell him you’re lost without him. Tell him you’ve got to see him. Tell him anything.”

“He won’t come.”

“Don’t be stupid. He’ll come all right. But if you tell him I’m here, I’ll plug you on the spot.”

“But, Joe—”

“But nothing. Get him over here. Fast!”

She did it. What else could she do? What did it matter now? She told him she thought the police were watching the building, that she might be forced to tell the whole story about Merton.

He said: “Sit tight, darling. We’re going to have to figure an out together. I’ll be right there. Don’t talk to anybody.”

While they waited, Joe sat down with the gun in his lap, not looking directly at her. He fiddled with the gun, taking out shells. Then he jangled the loose shells in his hand like dice.

She tried to keep the sound from getting on her nerves. She thought about a path through the woods back home, about the cold well water, the dogwoods flowering in the spring, the smell of the white clover.

Joe began to twist the carriage of the revolver.

“Ever hear of Russian roulette, Lois?”

“What?... What, Joe?” She tried to bring her senses back into the room.

“Russian roulette. You play it with a gun like this one. Quite a game! There’s one live bullet, see? The other chambers are empty. You spin the wheel, then put the gun to your temple and pull the trigger. If you’re lucky, you hit a blank. If you’re not lucky, you kill yourself.”

“Please, Joe. Don’t be dramatic.” She slipped back into the woods at home.

“I’m not going to suggest playing. But I’m a sort of a gambler. When Henry comes, I’m going to give you a chance, just for fun. I’ve left one bullet in here. You don’t have to spin the wheel. The bullet is right where it belongs. I’ll give you the gun and you’ll have one shot. Two men, and one shot. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?”

She didn’t seem to be listening.

“Look, Lois! This is the only gun I have. I stole it last night out of a salesman’s car. I’ll wait in the bedroom when Hank comes, and leave the gun with you. You’ve got one bullet. You can give it to Hank, or you can let me have it! Don’t you understand?”

“I understand, Joe.”

But her voice was flat and lifeless.

When the knock came, he put the gun into her hands, turned his back and walked toward the bedroom — slowly — deliberately giving her time.

Dramatic. Poor dramatic Joe.

She laid the gun on the coffee table and went to the door. She unfastened the bolt and admitted Hank.

“You look tired,” she said.

There were circles under his eyes, halfway down his cheeks, but his pupils glittered like ice.

“Yeah, yeah. Skip it. What’s new with Joe? Have you seen him again?”

“I’m sure he’s near.” There wasn’t a trace of panic in her voice.

“That’s what I figured. But you were wrong about the cops, baby. They’re not out in front, but they will be. I tipped them off. I’ve got this planned so it will fit around Joe’s neck, pretty as a necklace!”

She wasn’t listening, really. Hank always talked too much. She was listening to voices of people she had known before Hank, people who had been good to her, people from a long time ago.

He didn’t hesitate or drag it out. His shot caught her right through the heart and she pitched forward, no shock or surprise on her face. None at all. Just an expression of tranquillity that he had never seen before.

He stood there staring, watching with fascination as the green silk skirt fluttered gracefully and fell into artful folds about her lovely limbs. Lord, she was beautiful! Even dead, she was beautiful!

Joe caught Hank from behind. Fingers ground into his windpipe, strangling him. A knee ground into his back. He dropped his gun and clawed the air.

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Irby! I knew you’d do my killing for me if I could get you over here. You’re good at doing my killing, aren’t you, pal? You’re good at a lot of things, but not good for much right now. You called the cops, didn’t you? You thought you’d let her have it and frame me again. Darling! You call a dame darling, and then plug her in the ticker!”

Joe increased the pressure of his hands and Hank’s face turned an ugly blue. Joe dropped his hold and reached for the gun on the coffee table. He kicked Hank’s gun under a chair and watched the man writhing on the floor.

Then the cops started banging. Joe gave Hank a tap behind the ear and sat there waiting, thinking about triangles.

But it hadn’t been a triangle, not really. It had been sucker fun. Joe had been too proud to try to hold Lois after she fell for Hank. But being pushed around was different.

He’d be able to rest now if they sent him back, which they probably would.

The cops were in, and they were mad.

“All right, Hilton, drop that gun!”

Joe did and raised his hands.

“All right, Louie, I’ve dropped the gun. Just be sure that you don’t blast until I speak my piece.”

“Blast, hell! You’ll get the chair for this. You really mowed ’em down!”

“No,” said Joe. “No, I didn’t. But Mr. Irby, the sleepy-head there, can pick them off like clay pigeons.”

“Irby? Not Henry Irby, the banker?”

“No less. You’ll have to pardon his blue face. He’s all right, but he choked a little on something.”

“Hilton, you’re on your way out this time. They’ll pack you fuller of juice than a Florida orange! They’ll—”

“Can it, copper! Do you think I’d shoot off my mouth if I couldn’t prove it? I just ask one thing — a simple test. The bullet from Lois Baum will fit that gun under the chair. If you’ll stick the barrel under your nose, you’ll still smell something. Cordite. All I want is a paraffin test. You’ll find out that my hands are as clean as a baby’s kiss. But the pinkies of that prominent citizen lying there ought to be loaded. Get it?”

The cops handcuffed him and dragged him to his feet.

“Thank you Mr. Hilton. So nice of you to tell us our business!”

Joe looked back over his shoulder, just once. They were picking up Hank Irby’s gun with care, so as not to smudge prints. They were picking up Hank Irby. You didn’t have to tell them their job.

Lois looked like a little doll, all dressed up in green for some big occasion. She looked peaceful in death, somehow. Almost as if she had known and didn’t mind.

Joe shrugged and walked out.