Jeff stiffened, every muscle tense, the character of the sound warning him that someone had entered the office. Obeying some impulse that would not be denied, he thrust the tickets into his inside pocket and tipped the top of the attache case so that it fel shut. When he turned, as ready as he ever would be to face this new threat, he heard the voice call out.
"Hello! Is anybody here?"
In the instant that followed, Jeff's inner tension evaporated and his heart sank. For he recognized that voice and he did not know what to do about it. There was no way out and he could only stand there, feeling the perspiration oozing on his forehead while his scalp grew prickly and a sense of hopelessness blanketed his thoughts. For another second he waited, ears straining as he listened. Then he knew he was trapped.
"Mr. Grayson."
The slow uncertain sound of approaching footsteps continued, and now, because he could delay no longer, he stepped into the doorway.
"Oh!" Karen Holmes said, and stopped. "You."*
She was wearing a figured dress with a white back-
ground and carrying a white bag. She wore no hat, and though she gave him a tentative smile, her dark-blue eyes remained puzzled.
"I was supposed to see Mr. Grayson at four, 1 * she said. "Isn't he—" She stopped, held by something she had seen in Jeff's white-lipped face. "What is it?" she said. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes," Jeff said, and stepped up to prevent her coming into the room. "Maybe you'd better stay out here."
But she had already seen the sprawled figure on the floor and he heard her frightened gasp. One hand fluttered to her breast and she stared round-eyed at Grayson and then at Jeff, the fear and uncertainty she felt reflected in her face.
«TP*. • l »
Did you—
"No," Jeff said harshly. "No. He was that way when I came."
"Is he badly hurt?"
"It's worse than that."
"Is he—" Her voice caught and she tried again. "But how— I mean, what—"
"The way it looks," Jeff said, deciding he might as well get it over with, "someone walked in here and beat him to death."
She leaned against the edge of the door, shoulders sagging. Her head sank lower but she said no more, and finally Jeff knew he had to tell what he had done. Because he felt too weak-kneed to stand there any longer he took her arm and gently led her round the desk so she could not see Grayson.
"I only came about five minutes before you did. I didn't know what happened either. I was here earlier and I came back-"
He checked himself because she no longer seemed to be listening. Her gaze was fixed on the hand which rested on
the desk, a gaze so intent that lie glanced down, seeing first the small dark stain on his shirt front and knowing he must have got it when he held Grayson's torso upright. Then, as his eyes moved on, he saw the back of his hand and the two scars on his knuckles. Already scabs had begun to form there and make them more noticeable than ever.
"Karen!" He reached down to touch her shoulder in an effort to make her look at him, "I told you I was here before. We had an argument and both of us threw a couple of punches. But the only mark he had on him when I left was a lump on his jaw/'
And then he was talking fast, a little desperately, beginning from the moment he first walked into the office and relating each detail he could remember. Stopping only to take a breath from time to time, he gave her the complete story because it seemed so important to him that she understand what he had done and accept it as the truth.
She did not interrupt. Her eyes remained on his face and as he continued the doubt that had been there went away. He saw the change in her expression and took heart. When he finished he had the idea that if she did not believe him she at least wanted to believe him.
"That's it/' he said wearily. "I just wanted to tell you while I had the chanced
"Chance? What do you mean?"
"I have to call the police, don't I?*
"With the blood on your shirt and those marks on your knuckles? How can you?* 1
He looked at her, brows screwed up and his eyes peering in his disbelief.
"What else can I do? Run?*
She put her chin out and her mouth grew firm. "How long were you gone?" she demanded.
"I don't know. Maybe a half-hour. 9 *
"Did anyone see you?"
"No," Jeff said and then lie groaned. "Oil, Lord."
"What is it?"
"Spencer."
"Who?"
"Dan Spencer, the reporter we met last night. His paper is just down the block. I'd just left here and was standing across the street. He was on his way to get a beer. He asked me to join him."
Karen shrugged her trim shoulders and made a face. "Well, there you are. He's certain to remember that. He'll tell the police, and even if he doesn't they'll want to question you. They'll see your hand. How can you explain it? You haven't any alibi, have you? You even have a motive/*
"What motive?"
"You'd better think a little more," she said with remarkable lucidity. "You came down to ask your stepbrother to vote his stock with you. Did he agree?"
"No, but-"
"Don't you and your sister get that stock now that he's dead? He had to go to Boston to claim it, didn't he? It couldn't ever be his stock unless he went back. So it's yours now, isn't it?"
For a second or two Jeff could only look at her, a little astounded by the clarity of her thoughts and the way she expressed them. What she had said made sense, and having accepted this much, what finally decided him was the thought of something Pedro Vidal had said the night before in his Segurnal office.
This was not the United States. This was Venezuela and the law said a suspect could be held for thirty days without recourse, without a chance of freedom unless Vidal changed his mind. The thought shook Jeff as he considered its ramifications and suddenly he knew he had to take the chance this girl was offering him. What he might prove be-
g6 ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
fore lie was caught seemed beside the point. He had to try to clear himself and lie could not do it in a cell. Julio Cordovez would help and that thought alone was encouraging. Karen would help too if she could. He knew it now as hie leaned forward and took both her hands in his.
They were firm but soft and she made no effort to withdraw tiiem; nor did her gaze falter as he looked into her eyes and said what he had to say,
"Thanks," he said. "Thanks for telling me the score. I'll get hold of Julio Cordovez. He can help if anyone can. But remember this: don't get yourself in a jam."
T won't"
That thirty-day law of theirs applies to you, too. But if you want to call the police and tell them you walked in and found him like this— " He hesitated as a new thought came. "Does anyone else know you had this date?"
"His secretary. I made it through her."
Then it has to be that way/' Jeff said. He released her hands and straightened up, some part of his conscience telling him that this was not the way but unable to find an alternative.
Til be on my way/* he said. "You can telephone now if you like." He gave her a lopsided grin. "We seem to have an affinity for murder. Last night it was you and this time it's my turn."
**Wait!" The word came sharply as he turned away and now she came suddenly to her feet. "I just remembered," she breathed. "I came in a car and told the driver to wait. He's parked just outside. He'll be sure to see you,"
^Oh, fine/' Jeff said. "Well, it was a good idea while it lasted," he added resignedly, "and don't think I don't appreciate it"
If she paid any attention to this admission of failure she gave no visible sign. For a second her young face was grave
with thought and then her eyes brightened and her lips
parted.
"I know/' she said. "You come with me and stay just inside the downstairs doorway. I'll tell the driver to go for a policeman and when he gets far enough away you can slip out. . . . Why not?" she demanded, obviously delighte
d with the suggestion, even if it was her own.
Jeff looked at her and sighed, marveling a little that anyone so lovely-looking could think so clearly under pressure. He understood also that the plan might work if his luck was in and a policeman didn't happen to be stationed too close to the door. And if his luck was out, what difference could it make?
"Sure," he said respectfully. "Let's give it a try," he said, and led the way through the office and down the darkened stairs.
11
KAREN HOLMES was a lot more worried than she cared to admit, even to herself, but she was excited too and confident that her plan would work. She felt Jeff's hand give her arm a final squeeze as he stood back in the doorway and then she was hurrying diagonally across the sidewalk to the taxi that had been parked with two wheels on the curb.
The driver sat up and touched his cap, smiling first and then blinking as she started to tell him what she wanted. Not until she saw his expression did she remember that he could not understand English.
"PoUcfaT she cried and pointed back to the doorway. "Felicia! . . . Pronto, pronto!"
The words worked like magic and the expression on her face helped. The driver slid out of his seat and slammed the door. He glanced up and down the street and Karen said: "Pronto!" again as dramatically as she could, and then he wheeled and began to lope down the street.
People stopped to watch him and he called to them over his shoulder. While they watched him, she saw Jeff sidle out of the doorway and start in the opposite direction. Only then did she begin to breathe again and force herself to re-enter the half-light of the hall and start her climb.
She closed the office door behind her, telling herself she must not give in to the uncertainties that blotted out the excitement she had so recently felt. She had to think now, to prepare herself emotionaEy for what was to follow, to keep her poise as best she could. For she was certain that the story Jeff had told her must be true. She had seen enough of him on the plane coming to Miami to know the sort of person he was, and the things he had said last night in her room, even though he had the right to be bitter and angry with her, supported her original impression.
It helped now to realize that she was making up in part for the trick she had been forced to play on him at the Miami airport. But it was more than that and she knew it She liked him, She liked him so much she wanted to help. The simple understanding of this made her feel good all over.
She went back to the doorway of the private office and glanced in, being careful to avoid Grayson but letting her eyes move slowly around the perimeter of the room. That was how she happened to notice the shiny object on the
rug beneath the far corner of the desk. From where she stood she knew only that it was small and metallic-looking and then, moving closer and stooping to retrieve it, she saw that it had a yellow color that might have been gold. Shaped like a thimble, but having a polished rather than a dimpled surface, it resembled a tiny cup. Then, as she turned it over in her fingers, she heard the outer door open and close.
With no time to put the object in her bag, she thrust it into the front of her brassiere and started for the doorway,, expecting to find a policeman. Instead she saw a tanned, compactly built man in a cream-colored suit. His hair was a curly brown and close cut, his squarish face was hard muscled and thin at the mouth. He regarded her with narrowed unsmiling eyes as he advanced.
"Buenos tardes" he said.
"Good afternoon," Karen said, knowing somehow that this must be Carl Webb, the man from Las Vegas.
"Oh? American?" His glance slid beyond her. "Is Gray-son in?"
"In there," she said with a nod of her head. "He's dead/ 9
She heard him say: "He's what?" as he stepped round her, and then she was following him into the office, watching him drop to one knee and make a quick inspection of the body. When he straightened he gave her a quick, hard stare and spoke one word that was profane and coldly cadenced.
His eyes busy now, he stepped to the desk and opened the attache case. When he had pawed through the contents, he began to open and close the desk drawers, all of which were empty. By the time he had finished Karen heard the noise behind her. When she turned she saw the khaki-clad city policeman. He had one hand on the butt o£ his bolstered gun. Behind him came the taxi driver.
Language difficulties reduced the next few minutes to a
lesson in pantomime. Already suspicious, the policeman drew Ms heavy revolver the moment he saw the body on the floor. He began to shout in Spanish until Webb cut him short.
c< /No hdble espanolF he shouted back.
The officer glared at them and was momentarily still as he considered his predicament. Then, gesturing with the gun, he made it clear he wanted them to move to the wall behind the desk. When they complied, he made a quick inspection of the body and then spoke rapidly to the open-mouthed taxi driver. The fellow got hold of himself and said: "Si, si," and then he was dialing the telephone while the policeman shouted instructions and kept his eyes on his captives.
Quite oblivious of Karen, Carl Webb began to swear and the way he did it was not particularly offensive. The words were measured and distinct and spoken to himself. Not until he ran out of breath did he glance at her.
Tm sorry/' he said. "I had to get it out of my system." He pointed at her bag. "You wouldn't have it in there, would you?"
T3ave what?"
"Cash. One hundred and twenty thousand bucks' worth."
Karen, certain now that her first guess had been right, said:
TTou're Mr. Webb, aren't you?"
TBfow did you know?"
"Jeffrey Lane told me about you last night. , . . No, I don t have the cash; would you like to look?" She offered the white bag and watched Webb study it a moment, apparently estimating its size. Finally he shrugged and shook his head.
"How did the law get here?"
"I sent the taxi driver," Karen said and explained what
she had done. *Tm Karen Holmes/' she said, "I was supposed to see Mr. Grayson at four o'clock and I came In and-*
"I heard about you/' Webb said and for the first time gave her his attention. His glance moved openly from her legs to her face, which he inspected at some length. Apparently he liked what he saw. He gave her a small sardonic smile. "We both got gypped, hunh?" he said. "The only difference is—you've had it/*
"Have I?"
"You came down to get some assignment/* Webb said, "Did you get it?"
"No/*
"And now you never will, right? I came for cash. I haven't got it but somebody has. I've still got a chance/'
He stopped as two radio policemen hurried into the office. There was a lot of excited Spanish thrown around after that until, as had happened the night before, Ramon Zumeta arrived with another detective and the doctor. Presently the uniformed branch representing the city police left and Zumeta came over to Karen to find out what happened.
She gave a carefully worded account that she had rehearsed mentally. When she finished Webb added his own story. Zumeta nodded but asked no other questions.
"You can wait in the front room if you like/' he said, and gestured to the detective, who accompanied them and then stood by while they sat down on the couch. Webb brought out a silver case, and Karen took the offered cigarette and a light. She placed her bag in her lap and leaned back, feeling now the pressure of the thimble between her breasts but not daring to squirm about and relieve that pressure.
When she saw the men come with the stretcher she closed her eyes. During the next few minutes she knew that
men were coming In and out of the office and once when she put out her cigarette she saw that the stretcher-bearers had gone with their burden. When Zumeta finally pulled a chair In front of the couch she was ready for him.
"You came to see Mr. Grayson because you had made an appointment with his secretary
over the telephone/' he said. "What time was that, Miss Holmes?"
"The appointment? At four."
"But the call the police received did not come until four thirty."
"Well—I may have been late getting here."
"The man who drove you here says no/'
Oh—oh, she thought, and suddenly her apprehension was mounting and she knew this was not going to be as easy as she had imagined. Another look at Zumeta's steady dark eyes told her he would be a difficult man to fool, and now she knew she had to think—and think fast.
"Oh/' she said. "I see what you mean."
She gave Mm a smile that she hoped seemed confident. She asked, and answered, a lot of silent questions in an effort to bolster her courage and her wits.
She was the one who had wanted to be the private detective, wasn't she? She had bullied her father for his permission, hadn't she? She had griped about the routine dullness of her assignments? Yes, yes, yesl
Well, then, Karen my girl, act the part!
This is what she told herself, and suddenly she was talking, hoping her father might be proud of what she was doing even if she had broken the law and was now offering a series of lies she hoped would substantiate her original premise.
"I didn't know lie was in there/' she said. "I didn't think anyone was here/' TSut you waited.** "Naturally." She fluttered one hand. T had this appoint-
ment and I thought Mr. Grayson must have stepped out because the door was unlocked. I sat right here." She patted the cushion at her side. "I waited—until I began to wonder how long it would be— I suppose I got restless/* she said.
"That is understandable."
"So I looked around." She pointed at the carton near the desk with its load of discarded papers. "I could tell someone was moving out and—well—I took a peek in that next office/' She tried another little smile, making sure Zuineta saw it, She put a note of shy confession in her voice. *1 suppose I just got curious/' she said. "I went on to the last office and—there he was.
"I don't know what I did then/' she said, making her tone hushed, "or how long 1 was there. At first I didn't know what the matter was. I couldn't make myself touch him and then I knew I had to do something, I tried to shake him and finally I knew I should run and get help " She folded her hands and dropped her glance. "That's what I did/' she said, pleased with the story that she had brought out of nowhere and silently defying him to refute it.
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