by Mark McShane
Watts asked, ‘Where was the hospital?’
‘I don’t know. I had a room of my own. It was always cold. And there was no window.’
Bill had forgotten the pain in his hand. He was staring at Myra and wondering just how close she would go to the truth. She was too close already.
‘I wish I had Bimbo and Peter with me. But it doesn’t matter.… Yes, isn’t it nice?’
Clayton’s head was trembling like that of a palsied ancient, and from his sagging lower lip a thin thread of spittle was slowly lowering its blobbed end.
Watts said, ‘Where did you go after you left the hospital?’
‘Is my daddy there?’
‘Where did you go after you left the hospital? A house?’
‘I don’t know. I was there a long time. With that Frenchy and the man. Not the big fat man with black hair. Another one.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Very thin. And she was thin too.’
Bill was staring with amazement at Myra. He thought, could it possibly be …?
‘What did the woman look like?’ asked Watts.
‘Oh, just thin. Dressed in white. She’s a nurse. I didn’t like her. She hit me.’
‘Did the man hit you?’
‘No, but he wouldn’t let me shout when I heard Mummy’s voice in the next room. I know she’d come to see me and he wouldn’t let me shout to her. He was looking at her through a little hole under a picture.’
Fascinated, petrified, Bill stared at his wife, not feeling the pain that came now from both tightly gripped hands.
‘He didn’t hit me, but she did. She’s got a nasty face, and there’s a star painted on her forehead. I think she’s a spy. I could hear her talking in the next room, to Mummy. But I couldn’t shout. He held his hand over my mouth and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe at all. It was terrible. I thought I was going to die, really I did.… But it was all right.… There they go again. So pretty.’
Bill jerked his head a little to one side as he suddenly came aware that Watts was leaning close to him. He blinked into the policeman’s face, which had a very faint smile curling about the mouth and which seemed somehow benevolent, and felt all his fear begin to drain away.
Watts said, ‘Where’s the money, Mr. Savage?’
Bill said, ‘In the kitchen.’
‘But the cabinet was funny. It was just like an aeroplane, only a small one. It made an awfully big noise, the same as a motor-bike, and swayed about all over the place.…’
Bill was consumed by a tremendous feeling of relief. Without thinking he pulled his hands free and pressed them to his cheeks.
‘And there was another … Oh.…’
Myra’s face twisted with a grimace of pain and sorrow. She sobbed. Her head sank forward and moved slowly from side to side.
Watts let go of her hand and rose from the table. He went to the door and switched on the light, then turned and leaned against the wall. Pulling out a handkerchief he wiped his brow and lips.
The rain was heavier. It drummed on the window and tinkled into the metal trough just above it. The sound was peaceful; it matched perfectly Bill’s feeling of exhausted release. He felt free, and safe, and wanted more than anything to go to sleep.
Myra gasped and opened her eyes, and seemed to shrink into herself. Her face expressed anguish. She looked dazedly around the room, and at the man sat holding her hand.
Clayton’s head had been turning slowly, and now he was gazing at Myra; gazing open-mouthed and with sorrowing, puzzled eyes. He held on firmly when she tried to withdraw her hand.
She began again to look around the room. Her expression gradually changed to wonder, then to astonishment, then to amazement, and then to joy; but hesitant joy.
She swung her eyes on her husband and stared at him. ‘Tell me,’ she gasped. ‘Tell me. Did I do it?’
Bill nodded, and smiled gently. ‘Yes. You did it.’
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1961 by Mark McShane
cover design by Jason Gabbert
This edition published in 2011 by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media
180 Varick Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
One
Two
Three
Four
Copyright Page