Homicide Sanitarium

Murder Role

My back was pushing against the door, but the doorway was shallow and the yellow glow of the street light across the way caught me full in the face.

Adrian Carr saw me; he stopped theatrically. Everything Adrian Carr does he does theatrically. Adrian has never spoken a line on stage, but he has more ham in him than any odd dozen of the actors he hires. And more money than the hundred most successful actors in the business, if there are that many successful actors on the legitimate stage.

His eyebrows went up half an inch and he stood there, arms akimbo under his opera cape. He said, "Trying to avoid me, Wayne?"

I laughed a little, trying to make it sound convincingly uncon-vincing. I said,

"Not you, Adrian. The police."

"Oh," he said, "the police. That I can believe. But an actor trying to avoid a producer . . ." He shook his massive head. "Maybe it's just as well, Wayne. I haven't a part you'd fit."

"You're still type-casting, then," I said.

"If you were casting I suppose you'd hire Henry Morgan to play Othello."

"Want to bet," I asked him, "that he wouldn't do a beautiful job of it?" I looked over his shoulder and there was no one else in sight so I stepped out to the sidewalk beside him.

He smiled, "Touché. I believe Henry would, at that. I chose the wrong example. Ah--what was that line about avoiding the police? They don't jail one for debts nowadays, my boy. Or have you done something more serious?"

I said, "I have just killed my wife."

His eyes lighted. "Excellent, my boy, excellent. I've often thought that you should, but it would have been indelicate to suggest it, would it not? Ah--let's see--I haven't seen Lola for weeks. Did you commit the deed recently?"

"An hour ago," I told him.

"Better late than never, if I may coin a phrase. I presume that you strangled her?"

"No," I said. "I used a gun."

I took it out of my pocket and showed it to him. It was a nickel-plated .32 revolver.

From somewhere, blocks away in the night, came the sound of a siren. I don't know whether it was that sound or the sight of the gun, but I saw a startled look cross Adrian Carr's face. I don't know how my own face looked, but I ducked back into the doorway. The sound got louder.

He laughed heartily as he peered in the direction from which the sound came, and then turned back to me. He said, "It's all right; it just crossed this street two blocks up. Not coming this way."

I stepped back down to the sidewalk. I said, "That was foolish of me; I shouldn't call attention to myself by ducking that way, I know. Probably they aren't after me yet. It's too soon."

He leaned forward and whispered, "Haven't they found the body?"

"I don't think they have."

"Where did you shoot her?"

"In Central Park," I told him.

He clapped me on the shoulder with a heavy hand. "Perfect, my boy, perfect.

I can't think of a more fatal spot. Ah--you did a good job? You're sure she's dead?"

"Very sure. The bullet went into her right breast, but at an angle. It must have gone through her heart. She died instanta-neously."

"Capital. Shall we have a drink to celebrate? I was going home, but--"

"I could use one," I admitted. "But at some quiet place where I'm not known."

"Around the corner at Mike's?"

"I don't know it--so they don't know me. That'll be fine."

Mike's turned out to be a place whose neon sign proclaimed it to be The Hotspot, but despite that boast, it was quiet. There was a juke box in the rear, silent at the moment.

We sat at the bar and ordered martinis. Adrian Carr said, "You live near here, Wayne. Why not call up Lola, if she's home, to come around and have a drink with us?"

"Why?" I asked. "You don't like her."

"I admit that. But she's good company. And she's beautiful. Just maybe, Wayne, she's the most beautiful woman in New York."

I said, "I don't think I'll call her, Adrian."

"Why not?"

"She's dead. I killed her tonight." I glanced at my wrist watch. "An hour and a quarter ago. In Central Park. With a gun. Remember?"

He nodded. "Of course, Wayne. It had slipped my mind. As one grows older--How old are you, Wayne?"

"As an actor, twenty-eight. Thirty-seven, off the record."

"A callow youth. At forty-nine one begins to mellow. At any rate, I'm beginning. And how old is Lola now? Wait, let me figure it out. She was--ah--twenty-two when she was with Billy Rose and that was ten years ago. I knew her pretty well, then."

"I know that," I said, "but let's not go into it. That's past, long past."

"And let the dead past bury its dead. How wise of you, Wayne. But--" he held up an impressive forefinger--"the present. Do you mind when I talk to you like a Dutch uncle?"

"Yes," I said.

"I know you do. But don't you see that that woman has ruined your career as an actor? You might have gone places, boy. You still might. I can't give you the role I know you want, but--"

"Why not? In words of one syllable, Adrian, why not?"

"Damn it, Wayne. I know your arguments about type-casting, and maybe you're right. But then, too, maybe I am, and I'm the one of us who does the picking.

I'm the one who loses my shirt if that play isn't cast right."

"I haven't read the play. Heard only a bit about it. Just what does the role take?"

"You've heard enough about it, my fine friend. You're acting the lead role to the hilt, or trying to. Try to tell me you don't even know it's a Bluebeard theme, a man who kills his wife."

"I knew that," I admitted. "But still I ask, what does the role take?"

"A nice touch. A touch you haven't quite got, Wayne. I'm sorry." He made wet circles on the bar with his martini glass. "Remember Arsenic and Old Lace and how howlingly funny it made murder seem? Well, this--although it's a different theme--starts out with the same light approach, but we're experimenting. The whole thing is a gradual change of pace--starts like a comedy drama and ends in sheer horror, with a gradual build-up in between."

"Do you think that will carry?"

"I don't know. It's a hell of a gamble, to be honest with you.

But I like it. I'm going to give it every break, including the best casting I can do--and friendship ends there, Wayne. I'm sorry."

"I understand that," I told him. "I don't want it unless you think I can handle it.

But it happens I can. I lied to you before. I have read the play. Lola's a friend of Taggert; he lent her a carbon of it and I read it. I think it needs a stronger third act, but I like the first two. The first is definitely good: this mild-mannered guy, a little off the beam, trying to convince people he's killed his wife and not being believed--I can handle that. You still don't believe I killed Lola tonight, do you, Adrian?"

"Let's drop the gag, boy. You've milked it, but it's wearing thin. What I don't think you can do, and do right, is the second part of it--from the point in the middle of the second act where the other characters--and the audience--begin to wonder."

I said, "This has just been the first act--of tonight. I can make you begin to wonder."

"Look, boy, I'd like to give you the part."

I put my martini glass down on the bar, and turned a little on the stool to look at him squarely. I waited until I caught his eye.

I said, "Adrian, I am pulling your leg--about the part in your play. I won't be able to take it."

"I'm glad you feel that way about it, Wayne. Because--well, I did hate to turn you down. Got another engagement?"

"I may have," I said. "With a chair, Adrian. You see--I wasn't kidding about the other thing. I killed Lola tonight."

He stared at me for what must have been ten seconds before his face changed and he started to laugh, that hearty booming laughter that one always associates with Adrian Carr.

He clapped me on the shoulder again and I almost lost my precarious balance on the bar stool.

He called out "Mike!" and the bartender shambled toward us behind the bar.

Adrian said, "Two more martinis, Mike, and use that special vermouth you've got.

You didn't on those last two ones, did you?"

"Sorry, Mr. Carr, I forgot. Coming up."

"And have one with us, Mike, while you're mixing them. Mike, I want you to meet a pretty good actor who's trying to pretend he's a pretty bad actor. Wayne Dixon, Mike. He just killed his wife."

I reached across the bar to shake hands with Mike. I said, "Glad to know you, Mike."

"Likewise, Mr. Dixon."

He put ice in the mixer glass and three jiggers of gin. He said, "Always wanted to kill mine, Mr. Dixon. How'd you do it?"

"With a gun," I said. "You've got a nice place here, Mike. I live only five or six blocks away. How come I never discovered it?"

"Dunno. Been here three years. But then there are a lot of bars in a radius of five or six blocks in New York. Yeah, we run a nice place. Quiet tonight, though."

"Way I like it," I told him. "And if you start that juke box I'll shoot you."

He looked back at it and frowned. "Me? No. Got to have one for the customers who want it, but me, I never touch the thing. I like music. Say, there's one good record on there, though, if you get in the mood. An early Harry James, before he went commercial."

"Later, maybe. Which one?"

"That one he plays straight trumpet solo and blue as they come. Sleepy Time Gal."

Something twisted inside me; I hadn't been set for it. It had been Lola's favorite tune. I could still hear her humming it in that low throaty voice. Mike put the glasses in front of us and filled them from the mixer. He'd guessed short, but that didn't matter because he filled his own last and a bartender always drinks them short.

He said, "Here's to crime."

I wanted to down mine at a gulp, but I took only a sip. I had to stay sober. I thought, one or two more--that's my limit.

Adrian Carr said, "Mike, you've met Mrs. Dixon, Wayne's wife. Been here with me--ah--two or three months ago. Remem-ber, I introduced her to you as the former Lola Harcourt, used to be with Billy Rose. Blonde and svelte--you can translate that as gracefully slender, Mike--and still fairly sober. . . ."

"Sure," Mike said. "Sure I remember her. She's the best looker ever was in here. No kidding, Mr. Dixon, is that really your wife?"

"She was," I said.

"Oh. Divorced?"

I said flatly, "Dead. I killed her tonight. Remember?"

He grinned. "Oh, sure."

Carr glanced at me. "Did Lola mention running into me that night, Wayne?

First time I'd seen her in a year or so. I was sitting in my car waiting for a green light, to cross Fifth Avenue, and she saw me from the sidewalk and came over and got in beside me. I bought her a couple of drinks here and then dropped her off at your place. She said you weren't home so I didn't drop up."

I laughed a little. "That sounds like a lot of explanation for something so innocent, Adrian. But yes, as a matter of fact she did mention it. That's when I first heard about the Bluebeard play. It was later that she borrowed a copy of the script from Taggert. How's he doing, by the way?"

"Not too well, I'm afraid. He was so head over heels in the hole that the advance I gave him on this play didn't do him too much good. Of course if it goes over, he'll be all right. But you know how that is. One play out of ten really makes any money. And even if this one has a fairly good run, I have a hunch it won't ever hit the movies. The theme, you know. The movies don't like to be flippant about murder."

"Having read it," I said, "I think you're right, Adrian. It'll run a few months, though. And it'll mean a lot of prestige to the actors with the fat roles."

He nodded thoughtfully. He said, "Wayne, I've just been thinking, seriously. I want to talk to you. Let's go over and sit in a booth, eh?"

"About Lola or about the role?"

"Both."

"Okay," I said.

We crossed over and Adrian Carr hung his opera cape and top hat beside one of the booths and we sat down across from one another. Under the cape, Adrian was in impeccable full dress; his shirt front gleamed immaculately white, adorned by chastely small star sapphire studs.

He called out "Mike!" and I caught Mike's eyes as he looked toward us. "Just one, Mike," I said. "I'll skip this round."

Then I looked across at Adrian. I said, "Let me talk first, will you? Let me say for you what you were going to say about Lola. If I say it for you--well, that's going to be different than if you do. Can you understand what I mean, Adrian?"

"I can, Wayne. Maybe it's better that way."

"You were going to tell me I should leave Lola, divorce her. That she's no good for me. That her thoughtlessness and her extravagance and her drinking and running around have held me down, have spoiled my chances on the stage--or anywhere else."

He nodded slowly, not quite looking at me.

I said, "You were going to tell me she is both petty and vicious."

"And, Wayne, I don't know which is the worse of those two."

"I do," I said. "I know now. I used to wonder."

Trouble --On the House

I stopped talking as Mike brought Adrian Carr's martini. Adrian said, "You're sure you won't have another, Wayne?" and when I said I was sure, Mike went away.

I said, "You were also going to tell me that she isn't faithful to me. Maybe you were going to tell me she's in love with some-one else. Were you?"

"I'm not sure of that last, Wayne. Her being in love with some-one else. But--"

"Let's skip it, Adrian. I've said it all for you and saved you from being a Dutch uncle. And there are two things wrong with it. First, I know it all already and I loved her anyway. Call it chemistry or call it insanity or call it what you like, but I loved her in spite of all that."

"Loved?"

"She's dead, Adrian. I killed her tonight, remember? That's the other thing that's wrong with all the things you were going to say--the tenses. I used the present tense because I was quoting you, what you would have said. You still don't believe that I killed her, do you?"

"Damn it, boy, I wish you'd quit that line. You're beginning to give me the creeps. Keep it up much longer and I'm going to phone Lola and ask her to join us, just to be sure."

He stared at me for a long moment. He asked quietly, "You are acting, aren't you. It is a gag, isn't it?"

I laughed and I could see the tension go out of his face. I said, "I did make you wonder, Adrian."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You did, at that. Just made me wonder. You didn't convince me."

"I don't want to convince you," I told him. "This is only the second act, for one thing. And for another--well, skip that. I didn't really want to convince you."

"You talk strangely tonight, Wayne. How much have you been drinking today?"

"Two highballs this afternoon, hours ago. And two martinis with you, just now. That's all. I'm sober. I think I'm soberer than I've ever been in my life. Maybe that's why I'm talking too much. . . .You're still wondering a little, aren't you, Adrian?"

He chuckled. "I guess I am, a little. You wore me down. The old Nazi and Communist technique--tell a lie often enough and people will begin to believe it, no matter how obvious a lie it is. Tell me about ten more times and I'll probably call the police."

"Would you, really?"

"I don't . . . know. Look, boy, if by any one chance out of ten million you were telling the truth, you're being a damn fool. You shouldn't sit around telling people you did it and waiting for the police to come and get you. Look, boy, if you did and it is a--what's the phrase I want?--a rap you can't beat, you'd better get out of town fast. Head for--well I wouldn't suggest where and I wouldn't want to know where. And if you're broke, I've got a little over two hundred dollars with me. You're welcome to it and you can send it back some day, if and when."

I leaned across the table and tapped his arm. I said, "Adrian, you're a good joe. But I don't want or need any money. Tell me, do you really think by now that I killed Lola?"

"Of course not. But on the thousandth chance --"

"A minute ago it was one chance in ten million; you're coming down. I know you'd like it better if I recanted, but I'm going to be cussed about it. That's my story and I'll stick to it a while. I killed Lola tonight. Now what are the odds? One in a hundred?"

"Cut it out, Wayne." His voice was sharp.

"All right," I said amiably. "I won't say it again, but I won't recant it either.

Settle for that? And now--about this part in your Bluebeard play. Can I handle it?"

I saw him sigh with relief. Then he smiled. "That's just as good as recanting, isn't it? I mean, you wouldn't be interested in that if--"

"Not unless I had a special reason. But let's skip that. Yes, I want the part.

You haven't actually signed anyone else for it, have you?"

"No. Taggert wants Roger Deane. What do you think of Deane?"

I said, "He's good. He could do it nicely."

Adrian Carr chuckled. "Won't even run down a rival. You'd make a hell of a criminal. You won't even say Deane's getting old. He is, you know."

"Across the footlights, with make-up, he can look thirty."

Carr gestured helplessly. "So you think I should get Deane?"

"I didn't say that. I say he's good, because he is good. I want you to think I'm better. I'm sweating blood to make you think I'm better. Listen, Adrian, I know you won't give me a yes here and now, because I know you always give your playwright and director a say in things. If Taggert wants Deane for his play, you wouldn't hire me without giving him a chance to argue you down first. And Taggert is going to direct this thing for you, as well as having written it, isn't he?"

"Yes, Taggert's going to direct, too. I'll take you to see him tomorrow--or have you both over at my place. Mind you, I'm not saying yes myself. It's just that--well, I'm willing to consider you. I'd like you to read a few of the lines--the high points--for me and Taggert. Okay?"

"Almost," I said. "I want to see Taggert tonight. Sure, it's almost midnight but he's a night-owl. Goes to bed at dawn and sleeps till after noon."

"What's the rush?"

I said, "You're not saying yes, but I've got you sold. Right now. Tomorrow you might weaken. You might forget the beautiful his-trionics I put on for you. You might forget you just offered me two hundred bucks to help me skip to Mexico.

Besides, I'm an impatient guy; I hate to wait."

He laughed. "Also you're the highest-handed buccaneer who ever hit me for a role. What makes you think he might be home?"

"Maybe he isn't. A nickel finds out. I've got one. I'd you phoned him, though, Adrian. I know the guy only slightly."

Carr sighed and slid out of the booth. "I'll phone him," he said. "God knows why I let you bulldoze me like this, Wayne. Maybe you've got me a little scared of you."

"Just so it gets results," I told him.

He stood there. He asked, "What's that smear on your coat just under the lapel?"

"Blood," I said. "I tried to sponge it off when I washed up in the subway station. It wouldn't all come out."

He stood there looking down at me for what must have been ten seconds.

Then he grunted, "Third act, huh?"

"Is there blood in the third act? I don't remember."

"There will be. I'm going to tell Taggert to put some in. It's a nice touch."

I said, "I've known nicer. But it's always effective."

As he turned to walk toward the phone, I asked, making it very casual, "Are you going to phone Taggert or the police?"

He glared at me and I grinned at him. Then without a word he turned and walked to the phone booth at the back of the bar.

I sat there and sweated, wondering which call he was going to make.

He came back and I knew by his face that it was all right. Adrian Carr is two-thirds ham, yes, but he can't act. If he'd called the police, if he'd really believed me at last, it would have stuck out all over him.

He said, "Taggert's home and going to be there. He was working on the third act. Said to come over any time."

"Good," I said. "Want to go right away?"

"Let's have one more drink. I said we'd be there around one, and he said fine, he'd have the rewrite on that third-act curtain ready to show me. So we'll give him time to finish it."

I glanced at my watch; it was five minutes after twelve.

"If I'm going over there," he said, "there's something I might as well take--some scene sketches I got today from Brachman. He's going to design the settings for us. Taggert will want to see them."

"Nobody in the business works as closely with a playwright as you do. You give him a real break, don't you?"

He shrugged. "Why not? Particularly in this case. Taggert isn't just a writer; he's directed and acted and knows the stage inside out. Besides, in a way he's got more to lose than I have."

"How?"

"If the play flops I'm out a piece of change; but I've got more. But Taggert's broke and in a hole; the one chance out of ten of this play's going over is his one chance out of ten of making a comeback. He's had two flops in a row--and he isn't prolific."

"He gets his advance, anyway."

"He's had it and it's gone; he was in the hole more than that. After me for more, but I'm not a philanthropist. You want to wait here while I go the couple of blocks home and get those sketches? I'll bring my car around, too; this is a bad neighborhood to catch taxis in."

"Okay," I said. I didn't want him to get suspicious again and think I was sticking close to him to keep him from calling copper. Give him every opportunity, and he'd figure it was all right not to.

He took the last sip of his martini and slid out of the booth. He put on his top hat and tapped it down with a resonant thump. He said, "Exit, throwing his cape about his shoulders," and exited, throwing his cape about his shoulders.

The bartender came over to collect Carr's empty glass. He asked, "Another for you?" and I shook my head.

He stood there looking down at me and I wished for that moment that I'd gone with Adrian. Then, almost reluctantly, he walked away and went behind the bar.

I kept thinking what a damned fool I was, wondering whether it was worth it, what I was going through.

There were easier ways. There was Adrian Carr's two hundred dollars--and almost a hundred of my own in my pocket--and the open road and a job in a hamburger stand somewhere in Oklahoma or Oregon. Never again, of course, to act.

And there was the gun in my pocket. But that was too easy.

I heard the heavy footsteps of the bartender walking toward the back, toward the juke box. I heard the snick of the slide as a slug went into the machine. I heard the soft whir of the mecha-nism starting, the needle hitting the groove.

He'd said, "Say, there's one good record on there, though. Trumpet solo and blue as they come. Sleepy Time Gal. "

It was.

I was set for it, but again something twisted inside me. I couldn't take it, not tonight. The trumpet wasn't a solo at all; it was a trumpet plus Lola's voice, singing inside my head. Once on our honeymoon singing it to me and switching the words a little, running in a little patter: "Sleepy time gal--you don't like me to be one, do you, darling? Maybe some day I'll fool you and stop turning night into day. I'll learn to cook and to sew; what's more, you'll love me, I know . . ."

Only she never had, and now she never would.

And all of a sudden the hell of a chance I was taking just didn't matter any more at all, and I didn't want to hear any more of it. I couldn't take any more of it. I stood up and walked--I kept myself from running--back to that juke box. I wanted to smash my fist through the glass and jerk the needle out of that groove, but I didn't let myself do that, either. I merely jerked the cord that pulled the plug out of the wall.

Then there was sudden silence, a silence you could almost hear, and the bright varicolored lights quit drifting across the glassed-in bottom half of the juke box and it stood there, dark and silent and dead, as though I'd killed it. Except that this time somebody could put the plug back into the wall and it would come to life again.

They should make people that way. People should come with cords and plugs.

But now I'd done it. I hadn't liked the way that bartender had looked at me before; what was he thinking now?

I took a deep breath before I turned around, and I strolled up to the bar as casually as I could.

"Sorry as hell," I told him. "My nerves are on edge tonight. I should have asked you to turn that off, but all of a sudden I just couldn't take any more of it and--well, I took the quickest way before I started screaming."

I knew it wasn't going to sell. If he'd looked angry, if he'd glow-ered at me, then it would have been all right. But his face was quiet and watchful; not even surprise showed on it.

I sat on one of the bar stools. I made another try. I said, "Guess I can use another martini. Will you make me one?"

He came down behind the bar and stood opposite me.

He said, "Mister, I used to be a cop. I was on the force eight years before I bought me this tavern."

I said, "Yes?" with what I tried to make sound like polite disinterest. It was still his move.

"Yeah," he said. "Look, that gag about your killing your wife. You said you shot her?"

"I strangled her with a knife," I told him. "What's the matter with your sense of humor, Mike? Don't you know all actors are a little crazy?"

"A little crazy I don't mind. All Irishmen are a little crazy. But a psycho--you've been making like a psycho, mister. You damn well could have killed someone tonight. I don't like it."

I leaned my elbows on the bar. I felt the pitch of my voice trying to rise and I fought it down. I said, "Mike, get this straight before you make a fool of yourself.

Adrian Carr's got a role open for a murderer. He thought I couldn't handle the part.

I've been putting on an act for him and I've got him sold. Ask him when he gets back. And how's about that martini? I can stand one now."

"You were putting on an act then--or are you now?"

I said, "Mike, I'd walk the hell out on you if it wasn't that Adrian's coming back here to pick me up. But if you don't like my company I can wait for him out front."

"Murder's nothing to joke about."

I let my voice get a little angry. I said, "Nobody was joking about it. Can't you get it through your head I was acting a part? Is an actor joking about murder when he plays the part of a murderer on stage--or at a tryout for the part? Maybe you think it wasn't good taste; is that it?"

He looked a little puzzled; I had him on the defensive now. He said, "You weren't acting for Mr. Carr when you jerked that juke box plug."

"I told you my nerves were on edge. I apologize for touching your damn juke box. Now let's settle it one way or the other--do I get a drink or do I wait for Adrian outside?"

He wasn't quite sold, but I'd talked the sharp edge off his suspi-cion. He reached for the gin bottle and the jigger. He put them on the bar and then put ice in the mixer glass. He put a jigger of gin and brought up the bottle of vermouth. But he moved slowly, still thinking it out.

He put the drink in front of me and leaned on the bar, watch-ing me as I took the first sip. He'd filled the glass fairly full but I managed to drink without slopping any out, keeping my hand steady.

I was starting to say something foolish about the weather; I had my mouth open to say it when I saw his face change.

He said, "What's that stain on your coat?"

I tried to grin; I don't know how the grin looked from outside, but it didn't seem to fit quite right. I said, "Catsup. I tried to sponge it off, but didn't do such a hot job. Don't worry, Mike, it isn't blood. Not even mine."

He said, "Look, mister, I'm just a dumb ex-cop, but I don't like the look of things. Is your wife home now?"

"She might be. I haven't been home this evening. Are we going to start this all over again?"

"You're in the phone book?"

"No, it's through a switchboard. I can give you the number, but why should I?

Quit acting like a dope."

I could see it didn't go over. Maybe it was the smear on my coat, maybe it was the grin that hadn't fitted my face when I'd tried it, maybe it was just everything put together.

Mike walked to the front end of the bar and around it. Before I realized what he was going to do, he was at the front of the tavern, turning a key in the door.

He came back, but on my side of the bar. He said, "Stick around. I'm going to make sure. Maybe I'm making a dope out of myself, but I'd rather do that than let a psycho loose out of here."

I made one more try. He was already walking toward the phone. I said, "This is going to cost you money, pal."

It did stop him a second. Then he said, "No, it won't. I heard you say you did a murder. That's reasonable grounds, even if you didn't have a blood stain on you.

Just sit tight."

Date With Death

If it hadn't been for that bright idea of his of locking the door I could have walked out. I could have got away; he was twice my size but I was faster, I think.

But he hadn't left me that choice.

I did the only thing left to do. I took the revolver out of my pocket. I said,

"Don't go near that phone," and pulled back the hammer. The click, which sounded almost as loud as a shot in that still room, stopped him suddenly. He turned around slowly.

He licked his lips again. "I can make you turn around," I sug-gested, "and tap you with the butt of this. But I might hit too hard. I've never sapped anyone before.

And I'd be afraid of hitting too easy. Any better ideas?"

He hesitated, then said, "There's a closet off the back room. Key's on the ring."

"Turn around and walk there, slowly."

He did and I followed him. He stepped inside and turned around facing me, his face rigid and white. I don't think he expected to live through his experience. He thought this was the payoff.

I closed the door, found the right key, and locked it. I called through the panel, "I'm going to stick around till Adrian gets back. It may be a long time. Don't get the idea of hammering on that door for a long time or I'll put bullets through it."

He didn't answer and I went back to the front of the room. I unlocked the front door and sat at the bar again. I drank the rest of my martini at a single gulp. I caught sight of my face in the mirror back of the bar and realized I'd better get calmed down and straightened out before Adrian came back, or before another customer came in.

I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths. Again I heard the far siren of a police car, but it wasn't coming this way; it died out in the distance.

I sat there and it seemed like a very long time. It seemed as though I'd been sitting there for hours. I looked at my watch and saw that it was twelve thirty-five.

Adrian had left half an hour ago. He lived only three blocks away; he should be back before this unless he had misplaced the sketches he went back to get. Or possibly he'd had to go somewhere for gasoline for his car. Or something.

I wanted another drink, but I didn't want to chance going behind the bar.

Someone might come in.

Someone did. A man, about fiftyish, and a woman of about thirty-five in a mink stole. I glanced at them as they came in, and then pretended to pay no attention to them.

They sat at the bar, the man two stools away from me and the woman on the other side. After a minute the man asked me, "Where's Mike?"

I jerked my thumb vaguely toward the back. "Back there," I said.

Maybe it was the sound of voices that gave him the idea, but he chose that moment to start thumping on the closet door. Not too loudly, and he didn't yell; I guess he was too scared for that. He was just thumping tentatively to see if he'd get any reaction.

I slid off the stool quickly and went into the back room. I stood in front of the closet door and called out, "Are you all right, Mike?"

The thumping quit. It was so quiet in that closet that I could hear the scrape of his clothes against the wall as he hugged one side of the closet and crouched down, hoping I'd miss if I fired shots through the wood.

I stood there a second as though listening to an answer and then went back into the tavern. I strolled back toward the stool I'd been sitting on.

I said casually, "Mike drank a bit too much; I think he's being sick. If you're friends of his why don't you help yourselves and leave the money on the ledge of the register?"

I didn't think they'd take the suggestion seriously and they didn't. The woman said, "Let's go to the place in the next block, Harvey."

The man nodded and said, "All right, dear."

He turned and looked at me a moment as though he wanted to ask a question.

He wanted, I could guess, to ask what Mike was being sick at his stomach had to do with that thumping on a door back there, but decided not to ask. He was a mild-looking little man; he didn't want, I could see, to ask a question that just might lead to an answer he didn't like.

I met his eyes and his dropped first. He took the woman's elbow and helped her down off the bar stool and they went out.

I took a deep breath and went back to the closet door again. I called out, "Do that again, Mike, and it'll be the last time. Get me?"

There wasn't any answer, and I went back to the bar. I held my hand out in front of me and it was shaking badly. I put it down flat on the bar to steady it and looked at my wrist watch. Twelve forty-five. Adrian had been gone for forty minutes.

I thought, I'll count to a hundred slowly, and if he isn't here I'll phone his place. I turned around to face the door and started counting, as slowly as my patience would let me, probably about one count a second.

I got to seventy-nine before the door opened and someone came in. But it wasn't Adrian Carr. It was a policeman in uniform. This is the payoff, I thought, here and now. I'm not going to shoot it out with him. If he says, "Are you Wayne Dixon?" it means he came here for me because Adrian sent him. And if he does, I'll go along quietly. It was a thousand to one shot anyway, what I had in mind doing.

And if he says, "Where's Mike?" it'll probably mean that he met the two people who went out of here a few minutes ago and that they'd told him about that suspicious thumping on the door and the story I'd told about Mike being sick.

He asked, "Where's Mike?"

I jerked my thumb casually toward the back room. "Back there," I said.

He stopped halfway between the door and the bar. "Oh," he said. "Well, tell him his brother looked in, will you, fellow? I got to make the next call-box. Tell him I'll drop in again later."

He went out, and I started to breathe normally again. When I felt able to get down off the stool without falling, I did. And I quit worrying about taking further chances. I went around behind the bar and poured myself a stiff drink of bourbon. I drank it neat and felt the warmth of it trickle from my throat downward.

Then I went back to the phone and called Adrian Carr's number.

The phone rang twice and Adrian's voice answered.

"This is Wayne," I said. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, hello, darling," he said. "Where are you?" The "darling" was enough of a tipoff; Adrian didn't talk that way. If it hadn't been, the "Where are you?" was enough too. He knew where I was.

I asked softly into the transmitter, "Cops?"

"Well, I'm afraid I'm going to be late, dear," he said. "Do you want to wait for me there?"

"No," I said, urgently, "not here, Adrian. There's trouble at this end, too. But look, what the hell are you standing up for me for? Why don't you tell them the truth?"

"A couple of hundred reasons, which I can't explain now. I'll give them to you later. You want to go on to the party, then?"

"How long will you be tied up?" I asked him.

"Another hour, possibly. But it's an all-night party. It'll keep. Shall I pick you up somewhere?"

I said, "You're mad, Adrian. But there's a little all-night restaurant on Seventy-second, south side, west of the park. I'll be there. If you change your mind, send the cops for me instead."

"Fine. 'Bye, darling."

I put the receiver back and went over to the bar for one more stiff drink. I made plenty of noise getting it so that Mike would know I was still around and wait a while before he tried hammering again. Then I left, quietly, so he wouldn't know I was gone. I didn't want him loose yet.

I walked over to Central Park West and north to Seventy-second Street. I took a seat on one of the benches along the edge of the park, from which I could watch the door of the restaurant I'd told Adrian about. I lighted a cigarette and tried to look as though I'd just sat down to rest a minute.

It must have been an off night; they weren't doing much busi-ness. After I'd been watching ten minutes I saw a policeman stroll in and out again, but I knew he wouldn't have been looking for me. If there'd been a tip-off from Adrian, there'd have been more than one of them. Three or four, probably; Adrian would have told them I was armed.

I was on my third cigarette when I saw Adrian's car drive up and park in front of the restaurant. He seemed to be alone in the car and he got out of it alone and walked to the door. I saw him look in through the glass and hesitate when he didn't see me, but he didn't look around or make any signals. He went inside.

No other car had driven up. I crossed the street and went in. Adrian had taken one of the little tables for two along the side, facing the door. He'd hung up his hat and cape, and--in full dress--he looked as out of place in that little greasy spoon of a restaurant as a peacock in a chicken yard.

He looked up as I came in and called out, "Hi, Harry."

I sat down across from him. I asked, "What's the Harry stuff?"

"Well, I didn't want to call you by your right name. Suppose it's been on a broadcast or--"

"Adrian, the guy behind the counter there knows me by my right name. He's going to wonder."

Adrian stared at me wonderingly. "You mean you actually eat in a place like this?"

"Occasionally. At least as often as I eat at Lindy's. But forget the gastronomics. What's with the cops?"

"Dropped in just after I got home to pick up the sketches." He leaned forward across the table and dropped his voice. "Lola's body was found in the park at a little after midnight. She had identification on her. They went to your place and--"

"Wait," I said. "Here comes Jerry."

The waiter had finished serving his customers at the counter and was going to our table. He said, "Hi, Mr. Dixon. How are things?"

"Swell, Jerry. Two orders of ham and eggs and coffee."

I saw Adrian open his mouth to say something and I glared him into silence until Jerry, whistling, had gone to the grill back of the counter. Then he said petulantly, "Why did you order ham and eggs, Wayne? I can't eat--"

"I'll eat both orders," I told him. "I'm hungry. What about the cops? You said they'd gone to my place and that was as far as you got."

"They went to your place and you weren't there, so they're trying to locate you. They found an address book of yours and they've been checking among your friends."

"Mine?" I asked, "or Lola's?"

He looked at me blankly. "Why do you ask that? Yours, I presume. They had a little brown leather notebook about four by six--"

"Good," I interrupted him. That was my notebook; it had been lying on my desk near the telephone. I knew which names were in it and which weren't.

Adrian went on: "Mostly they were looking for you, through your friends.

They asked me first if I'd seen you tonight and I said I hadn't. And then--"

"That's the bad part, Adrian," I told him. "After you left Mike's, Mike got onto me. I had to lock him up in a closet in his back room. He's out by now, and he'll tell the cops fast that I was in his place and that you were with me. They'll know you were lying when they were at your place. I should have told you that over the phone so you could have changed your story. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to do some fast talking the next time they call on you."

He waved that aside. He said, "I can talk fast. And I've got connections. I can't get away with murder, but I can get away with lying to the cops for a couple of hours--if I think up a good story why I lied to them. Can you give me one?"

I shook my head slowly. "Why did you lie to them, Adrian? I don't even know that."

"I'm not too sure myself," he said. "All right, then, don't worry about that. I'll figure an out for myself. What about you?"

I said, "I've got a hundred to one chance. It was a thousand to one when I figured it out--just before I met you. If I've got you on my side --for another hour or so anyway--that cuts it down to a hundred to one."

"Not very good odds."

"No," I admitted. "Not very good. I don't like them at all. But the alternative gives me less of a chance--no chance at all."

"You haven't an alibi?"

"Not a ghost of one. Damn it, Adrian, three people know we left home to take a walk in the park half an hour before I killed her. And a paraffin test will show I fired the gun. Adrian, barring a miracle, I'm strapped into that chair now."

"And what's the miracle?"

"I can't tell you, Adrian. It sounds silly, but--if you want to help, and God knows why you should--you'll just have to string along with me for the next hour or two. If you don't, that's okay. I don't blame you. I don't think I would, if I were in your shoes. If you don't, my chance goes back from one in a hundred to one in a thousand, but I'll carry on."

"What do you want me to do?"

"That's the sad part; I won't even tell you. Because if we're separating now, you'd better go right to the cops and tell 'em how you lied to them the first time.

They'll know by now anyway, from Mike. And you're in deep enough; I don't want you to have to do any more lying for me by saying you don't know where I am."

Adrian sighed. "And what makes you think I wouldn't string along a little longer? Want me to write it out and sign it? You're not going to commit another murder, are you?"

"I don't think so."

"All right, then. What are we waiting for? Oh, the ham and eggs." He made a face.

I got up and said, "Forget the ham and eggs. I can eat ham and eggs in jail, maybe. Come on."

I dropped two dollar bills on the counter as I went past Jerry and said,

"Forget the grub, Jerry. We just remembered something important." And I got out before he could say anything.

We got in Adrian's car and he started the engine and asked, "Where to?"

I said, "Carry on as though those cops hadn't dropped in on you. Just what we were planning to do before."

"You mean go to Dane Taggert's? What for?"

"What we were talking about in Mike's. You're looking for a Bluebeard for your play. You said I'd have to have Taggert's okay for the part, didn't you?"

Adrian killed the engine. He said, "Don't try to kid me you're interested in a part and a murder rap at the same time, Wayne. It doesn't make sense and the gag is wearing thin."

I said, "That's exactly what you told me a little over an hour ago--only about a different matter. You said then that the gag about my having killed Lola was wearing thin. It's got a little thicker since then. Hasn't it?"

"Yes, but--"

"But you want to know what I really have in mind. Just take my word for it that this gag might get thicker, too. I hope it will. But maybe it won't. If you don't want to play--and I've said already I won't blame you --I'll get out and trot along."

I opened the door of the car. Adrian sighed and said, "All right, all right. But look--how much of a hurry are you in to get there?"

"Only my life depends on it." Then I relented a little. "You didn't ask that; you asked how much of a hurry I'm in. None, as long as we get the role business settled before the cops get me. I can spare half an hour, if that's what you mean."

He started the car again. He drove across Central Park West and took the southeast fork inside the park; he cut east and then north to where there's a wide parking place near the lake. He parked the car and turned to me.

"Let's get one thing straight, Wayne," he said. "There's no gag left about that first gag? You did kill Lola?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then--are you sure you know what you're doing, boy? Let me give you some money, and get away from here before they catch you. I had another three hundred cash at home; I've got five hundred you can take now. Are your fingerprints on file?"

"No," I told him. "But what am I going to do? Get another chance at acting somewhere? I'm no good at anything else. No, Adrian. Thanks for your offer of the money, but I'm going to take my chances here."

"All right, then. I'll help with a lawyer. And it looks like I'm going to have to do some awfully fast talking--or I'll need one for myself too."

"Adrian," I said, "you're a good guy; that much I know. But why are you doing all this? Being a good guy or even a good friend--and we haven't seen an awful lot of each other recently at that --doesn't include taking chances like you're taking."

"Because--because Lola needed killing if any woman ever did. Because I don't blame you, boy. I--Sometimes I think I knew her better than you did, because you were blinded by being in love with her. I wasn't. I almost hated her, and yet--you don't mind my talking about this now, do you?--there was an attraction, a purely physical attrac--"

I said, "Stop. I'm afraid I do mind you talking about it. Let's skip anything that was, or ever was, between you and Lola. It doesn't matter now."

"All right, we'll speak of her abstractly. Wayne, you don't know, being blinded by loving her and being too close to her, what that woman was capable of, what she was under that beautiful exterior of hers. Or maybe you do at that. Maybe you found out tonight for the first time. Is that right?"

I said, "You're righter than you know, Adrian."

"Then--let's do this. Let's go to the best lawyer I know. Right now. We'll wake him up in the middle of the night. We'll talk it over with him and then you give yourself up, taking his advice on what to say and what not to say. If you're guilty, I doubt if he's going to be able to get you a habeas corpus, but he can--"

"No, Adrian," I said. "Listen, can you make a car backfire?"

"Can I-- Are you crazy?"

"Can you?"

"You'd have to disconnect the muffler or something, wouldn't you?"

"I don't think so, Adrian. Your engine's still running, isn't it? Try turning the ignition off and on and goosing the gas pedal at the same time. I mean it. Go ahead and try it. I want to know, for sure."

He turned and stared at me a moment in the dimness of the car, and then he leaned forward and turned the ignition key. There was a loud backfire.

"Couple more times," I said. "I want to see how close together you can space them, doing it on purpose that way."

"You want to draw the cops here?"

"I'll take a chance on that. You want me to give myself up anyway."

He tried it; the explosions were only about a second apart.

I said, "All right, let's go."

"To Taggert's? You're really going to follow through with that silly business of wanting the role in the Bluebeard play?"

"Yes."

Backfire

Adrian shrugged, and backed out of the parking place. He drove on across the park and over East Seventy-second past Third Avenue. He parked in front of a remodeled brownstone front halfway down the block.

"This it?" I asked.

"Sure. Haven't you been to Taggert's place before?"

"I've seen him around," I said. "I've never been in his home up till now."

Adrian started to get out of the car. Then he said, "Wait a minute, Wayne. I've been thinking while I drove. I think I've got your angle, now. It threw me for a while.

You're going to try an insanity plea, aren't you? That's the reason for this build-up of keeping after a Bluebeard role just after you've killed your wife. That's why you locked Mike in his closet. That's why you tried the backfires, or had me do it. That's why you've been telling everyone you killed Lola, but not going to the cops.

You--you aren't really crazy, are you?"

I said, "I sometimes think that maybe I am, Adrian."

He clapped me on the shoulder. "That's the boy. If that's your story, stick to it. I'll ride along for a little while yet. Not too much longer, or I'm going to have to cop an insanity plea myself."

I didn't say anything, and we got out of the car. He led the way to the door and pushed a button in the hallway. The latch of the lock clicked almost right away, and we went in and walked up two nights.

Dane Taggert was standing in the doorway of his apartment. He said, "Took you fellows long enough to get here."

Adrian said, "I went home to get those scene sketches to show you, Taggert.

How goes the rewrite on the third-act curtain?"

We were inside by then. Taggert said, "Finished, but don't know whether you'll like it or not. Let's have a drink first. Rye and sparkling okay? Sit down; I'll get it."

Adrian sank into a chair, and I wandered over to the radio. It was a big Zenith console, the kind with four wave bands. It wasn't playing but I looked at the setting.

It was on short-wave and the dial was turned for police calls. I moved it out from the wall a little and reached in behind. The tubes were warm; it had just been shut off.

Taggert must have heard me move the set; he stepped to the doorway of the kitchen, an open bottle in one hand.

"Nice set you've got," I told him, moving it back. "Is it good on police calls?"

His eyes missed mine and went to the dial. He said, "Very good. I sometimes get story ideas from them. I still do an occasional detective short."

"Tubes are warm," I said. "You must have been listening in before we came."

"For a few minutes. How do you want your highball, Dixon? Strong?

Medium?"

"Medium will do, thanks."

I sat down across from Adrian and felt his eyes on me curious-ly, but I paid no attention until Taggert came in with the drinks on a tray. I took one and sipped it.

Taggert said, "About that third-act curtain, Adrian. What do you think of the idea of--"

"It stinks," I said.

They both turned to stare at me. Their eyes took in the gun--the nickel-plated, .32 revolver--that was in my hand, resting on the arm of my chair with the muzzle pointed between Carr and Taggert. Then their eyes came back to my face. I wouldn't know, being behind it instead of in front, but I think my face was pretty deadpan, and I kept my voice that way too.

I said, "I've got one idea for a third-act curtain. It's corny as hell. Why don't you have your wife-killer shoot the rest of the cast and then himself?"

Adrian cleared his throat. He said, "It's been done, Wayne. Othello. Roderigo, Iago, Othello."

"Not quite the same," I said. "Othello himself doesn't kill either Roderigo or Iago. My plot is different." I saw Taggert start to get up and I said, "Sit down, Taggert. I'm not kidding." I cocked the revolver.

Taggert had sunk back in the chair. He looked sideways at Adrian. He asked,

"Is this a bad joke, Adrian, or is he ... crazy?" There was a little sweat, not much, on Taggert's forehead.

Adrian was staring at me intently. He said, "I'm not sure."

I said, "You had the police short-wave on, Taggert. You know there's a pick-up order out for me. Let's take the gloves off. Even this one."

With my free left hand I took a man's right leather glove from my coat pocket and tossed it to the floor in front of me. I asked Taggert, "Ever see it before?"

He shook his head slowly.

I explained, to Adrian rather than to Taggert, "Lola had it in her purse, along with the gun. This gun."

Adrian stared at me, bewildered. I said "You're on the outside of this, Adrian.

Taggert knows what I'm talking about, but you don't. I'll straighten you out. Don't move, Taggert.

"Tonight Lola suggested we take a walk in the park. It puzzled me a little, because it's a cool night, not the kind that makes you want to take a walk at eleven in the evening. But Lola wanted to--and she was sober tonight and very nice to me, so we went for the walk.

"There was hardly anyone else in the park at that hour. We were near the lake and suddenly Lola wanted to walk over to the bridle path--through a dark spot. She didn't give a reason; maybe she had one ready if I'd argued but I didn't argue. We were behind a big clump of bushes, concealed from the drive--if there'd been anyone on the drive. Out on Central Park West, a little past the bridle path, a car began to backfire."

I had them both now. They were staring at me and Adrian's eyes were wide.

I said, "It was nice timing. I remembered afterward that Lola had been glancing at her watch fairly often. Lola must have dropped a couple of steps behind me without my knowing it. After the first time the car backfired, she said 'Wayne' and I turned and there--it was just light enough to see her--was Lola with a pistol in her hand aimed right at me. She had a glove--that glove--on the hand that held the pistol. Shall I let that be the second-act curtain, Adrian, while we have another drink?"

Adrian was leaning forward. He said, "Go on. And don't corn it up."

I said, "I did corn it up, then and there. I guess Lola wasn't used to murdering people; she didn't move fast enough. And, for some reason, I did move fast enough.

I had my hand on the gun, over hers, before she pulled the trigger.

"And then we were fighting for the gun, and Lola was plenty strong. And she must have been scared and thought she was fight-ing for her life, because she fought like a demon for that gun. She almost got it aimed at me again once, short as that struggle was. But it was turned back, pointing at her, when it went off.

"And the car, out on the street fifty feet away, backfired once more after the shot. I just stood there, too stunned to move or to know what had really happened.

It didn't make sense; Lola couldn't have gone suddenly insane, because the fact that she'd had the glove along--a man's glove, by the way--and the gun proved she'd planned it.

"But first I was mostly worried about having killed her. I sup-pose I did silly things. I pulled off the glove and rubbed her hands I started to run for help and ran back because I didn't want to leave her there alone. And I touched her again and knew for sure that she was dead."

I looked at Taggert. I said, "One thing I remember out of that frantic first few minutes after I killed her. I heard the sound of footsteps on the cinders of the bridle path and I turned around and said, 'Hurry! Someone's hurt!' But no one came.

Whoever had been on the bridle path turned around and went back to the street--

when he heard my voice instead of Lola's. He got in the car--the car he'd made backfire a few times--and drove off. But that part of it I figured out afterwards, while I was walking around wondering what to do.

"And I finally figured it, Taggert, and I waylaid Adrian and had him bring me here. I hadn't meant him to know that Lola was really dead; I knew he'd think I was acting. But that didn't matter, since he played along anyway."

Taggert wet his lips. He didn't wear his voice quite straight when he asked,

"What makes you think I was the man in the car or that he was an . . . accomplice of Lola's, if she really tried to kill you?"

"It makes sense that way," I told him. "She was in love with you. She couldn't divorce me because she had no grounds--in New York State--and anyway I still have some insurance I took out a few years ago during a prosperous period. A big chunk of insurance, Taggert, enough for you and Lola to take a chance to get."

I said, "And the plan was worthy of a detective story writer, Taggert, because it was so simple. You'd know how easily compli-cated plots and plans go astray.

This one was so simple as to be foolproof once Lola had pulled the trigger. But even this went haywire--because she didn't pull the trigger soon enough. Am I right?"

Taggert said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Adrian said, "Maybe I'm being stupid, but--I'm not sure I do, either. How was Lola to get away with shooting you?"

I said, "The story was so simple that even the cops would believe it: We were held up in the park. I tried to jump the hold-up man and was shot. And Lola had fainted. If no one had found her in half an hour or so, she'd have come to and screamed.

"They couldn't have disproved that story with a sledgeham-mer; it was so simple. There'd be no gun anywhere around that Lola could have used; there'd be no nitrate marks on her hand; my wallet and probably her purse would be gone.

Taggert's back-fires would have covered the sound of the shot; nobody would have thought anything of it. If there'd been people around, in the park, Lola wouldn't have done it tonight; there would have been other nights. The sound of the car backfiring had another purpose too, probably; it could have let Lola know that there was no one going by on the sidewalk immediately outside the park at that point.

"When he heard the shot in the park, Taggert would have come in--as he started to do, until he heard my voice--got the gun and the glove and my wallet and Lola's purse, and ditched all of them on the way home. Maybe he even had an alibi rigged, just in the remote chance that the cops would doubt Lola's straightforward story and go nosing around."

I shrugged my shoulders. "As simple as that, except that Lola didn't pull the trigger quickly enough."

Adrian said, "I'll be damned. When I told you Lola was vicious, I didn't guess she'd--"

"I told you you didn't know the half of it, Adrian."

"But, Wayne," he asked, "how can you prove it?"

I stood up and backed around the chair I'd been sitting on until I was behind it, with a little more distance between me and them. I rested the gun on the back of the chair, still pointing between them.

I said, "I can't, Adrian. I can't prove it in a thousand years, so I told you what the third-act curtain was going to be. I shoot both of you. And myself."

Adrian's face started to turn the color of the white window curtain just behind him. He said, "Me? But why? Surely, on account of ten years ago--"

"It's been more recent than that, Adrian. Taggert is the most recent, but you weren't ancient history. Maybe she even tried to blackmail you a bit, Adrian, and that's why you were so glad to learn I'd killed her that you were willing to help me beat the rap or make a getaway. Anyway--"

I turned my eyes back to Taggert. His face didn't look much better than Adrian's.

I said, "Adrian's right, Taggert. I can't prove a thing. I'm not too sure I want to bother. But you might talk me out of this, with a pen and a paper and full details--

including things like where you and Lola bought the gun, and little details you'd have a lot of trouble changing your mind about if you decided to claim the confession was under duress."

Taggert said, "You're crazy, Wayne. I didn't have anything to do with whatever Lola did or tried to do tonight. Even if you're telling the truth about that."

"Okay," I told him, "that's fine with me. I didn't think you would, so--"

"Taggert!" Adrian Carr was leaning forward in his chair. "Taggert, you fool!

He means this. And what are you confessing to if you write it? Accessory before the fact to a murder that never came off! With a good lawyer--"

I said, "Don't argue with him, Adrian. I'd just as soon he didn't. Taggert, get up and turn that radio on. Loud. A regular program, not the short-wave band."

I had to swing the muzzle of the gun dead center on his chest and let him see my finger pretend to tighten slowly on the trigger, before he got shakily to his feet.

He backed over to the radio and turned the switch; I thought he was going to try to do it without looking away from my face, but he didn't. He turned to face the console to push the button for a broadcast station, and I looked quickly at Adrian and winked.

A little of the color came back into Adrian's face after that wink and I saw him let out his breath slowly. The radio started to blare as the tubes warmed. Taggert turned back and began to edge toward his chair, and Adrian started to look scared again, though not quite so convincingly this time. But he didn't really ham it up; there was enough of the real stuff left to carry over.

I waited till Taggert was back standing in front of his chair, and I didn't bother telling him to sit down; that was up to him. I asked, "Any last words, either of you?"

"You can't get away with this," Taggert said, but he didn't sound as though he was convincing even himself. His voice slid upward almost to a question mark.

I said, "I'm not expecting to. All three of us are going out the same door, remember?"

Adrian started to say something, but I was afraid he might say the wrong thing. I said, "You're first, Adrian, because you came first with Lola, and besides I want to save Taggert for the last. Are you ready?"

I lifted the gun and sighted it. The radio came to the end of a number and the announcer's voice cut in with a commercial. I said, "As soon as the music starts again." I lowered the gun a few inches.

The announcer's voice shouted on--it was a shout, with the radio that loud.

The commercial went on almost interminably, but it finally ended.

I lifted the gun again, but this time Taggert yelled, "Wait! Don't. I'll--I'll write it."

I said, "Don't bother. To hell with you. I'd rather--" but Adrian came in, begging me to let Taggert write and sign. Weak and shaky inside, I let myself be talked into it. Taggert was sold by now; he was almost pathetically eager in wanting to get to the desk and write out that confession. I let him, finally.

He signed it and I said, "Hand it to Adrian," and I kept the gun on him while Adrian read it rapidly. Adrian said, "It's fine, Wayne. It's all here. The only sad part is they can't send him up for long. A little while in jail--and if this play goes over he'll have money when he comes out. They can't do much to him."

I said, "There's one thing I can do." I put the gun back in my pocket and took the four steps that took me to Taggert, who was still standing by the desk. He made only a half-hearted effort to get his hands up and went down and out cold with the first punch I threw. There wasn't much satisfaction in that, but there wasn't anything more I could do about it.

I picked up his phone and called the police.

While we waited, Adrian said, "Damn you, Wayne, did you have to scare me to death after we got here? Couldn't you have tipped me off in advance? How'd I know, for a while there, that you really weren't going to shoot both of us?"

I said, "You might have hammed it up, Adrian. You can't act, you know."

He grinned weakly. He said, "I guess you can. Well, with him in jail or out, Taggert's play goes on. Only I won't consult him about who gets the lead. You still--I mean, did and do you really want it?"

I said, "I guess I do. I don't really know right now. I'll let you know after the police get through with me and I get over the hangover I'll have from what I'm going to do after that. I'll let you know. I feel like--"

I remembered the radio was still blaring; we'd both forgotten it. I went over and shut it off and then turned to Adrian. I asked him, "What will the job pay?"

He laughed out loud. He said, "You'll be all right, boy. You're coming out of it already."