She took the box carefully from the closet shelf. A white square box, fairly heavy, neatly wrapped. A box she should have recognized at once today but she had never dreamed it would be carried casually into the office. She’d been expecting it under the guerdon of heavily insured post. She sat cross-legged on the bed, untied the string, folded back the paper. She had never looked on it.
She set away the lid. Tissue paper wrapped the contents. She lifted the whole out, removed the tissue, held the object in her hands. Her trembling hands.
It was a large egg. A Russian Easter egg. A garishly beautiful thing, heavily encrusted with gems. It glittered red and white, rubies and diamonds, golden lacework of filigree meshing the whole.
“The Scarlet Imp.”
She started, lifting her eyes fearfully to the voice in the doorway. It was Gavin.
She whispered, “I thought you were asleep.”
He moved to the bed, sank on the foot of it. He took the egg from her hands. She couldn’t clutch it; she couldn’t let him know it meant anything to her. He shimmered it. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
She said anxiously, “You must go back to bed.”
“I was afraid maybe they got it away from you.”
He still believed her an innocent bystander. She took her black wool robe from the chair, put it around his shoulders. “They didn’t. And they won’t. Not tonight. I’ll hide it again. Tomorrow—”
“Tomorrow I’ll try to deliver it.” He slitted his eyes at her. “You wanted to see it. Don’t you want to know what it’s all about?”
“I do,” she said. She tried to look wide-eyed, curious. “Terribly. But if you don’t go to bed now you won’t be able to tell me tomorrow. Please.”
He said to himself, “I’ve carried it half around the world. The Scarlet Imp. The fabulous Persian treasure.” His laugh startled her. It was short, harsh. “They haven’t got me or the Imp yet.”
She pleaded, “Please go back to bed. You’ve lost a lot of blood. You can’t deliver—that—if you’re ill.”
He ignored her as if she weren’t in the room. “It’s a race. If I don’t win—I die.” Pain suddenly spasmed his face. She caught the Imp; he let her take it. “Put it away. Somewhere safe.”
She held it. “I’ll put it away if you’ll go back to bed.” She frowned at him over the jeweled egg. “You didn’t take the sedative?”
His eyes mocked. “No, I didn’t take the sedative.” The humor went out of him. “Never knock yourself out when you’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”
Her lashes dropped quickly. Although she knew he didn’t connect her with the danger. She made her hands busy, stuffing the egg back into the box, gathering the tissue around it. She said, “Don’t worry about this. It’s perfectly safe for tonight. No one can get in here.” She carried the box to the closet, placed it on the shelf. When she turned he was standing, gripping the foot of the bed. She started to him but he shook his head. “I’ll make it.” He felt a path out of the room. She followed him. He dropped on his bed, didn’t move when she covered him again. His face was colorless as water. Whoever he was, he shouldn’t have to endure such pain. It hurt to look on him.
She said, “Please. If I bring you some capsules now, won’t you take them?”
He grimaced. “I still have the first two I palmed.” His hand went under the pillow, brought them out.
She begged, “To stop the pain so you can sleep.” She repeated, “No one can come in. I won’t let anyone in.”
His blue eyes looked up at her, measuring her honesty again. Again he believed. He could believe; she was honest at this moment. “I’ll get you some water.”
“Never mind that.” He put them in his mouth, swallowed them. There was an echo of his cocksure smile. “Satisfied? I’m not used to being fussed over. I’ve never mixed a girl with business.” The echo faded. He was eyeing her and he was remembering something, trying to remember. He scowled. “Did someone come? Or was I dreaming?”
In her reprieve she was gentle. “You heard the door. I didn’t answer it.”
“That’s good. Don’t. I couldn’t help you much tonight.” His voice began to drowse. “Does anyone know you brought the egg here?”
“I’m not sure. That man—Jones called him Hester—he might have seen me get into the cab. I had a newspaper around the box.”
“Don’t worry about Hester.” His mouth twisted.
“Jones didn’t mention the box, he was only looking for Hester. Bry—Mr. Brewer—”
His eyes opened, widened. “Was Bry Brewer here?”
“Before Jones.”
The eyelids fell again. He fought them open. “What did he want?”
“He was looking for you. I didn’t tell him you’d been here. I didn’t know—” She was hesitant. “I didn’t want to explain where you were.”
“Where was I?” The words were drugged.
“You were—getting rid of Hester.”
He was under now, his breathing regular. She smoothed the covers over his shoulder. She returned to her room. She took down the box again, lifted out the egg. It was so daringly beautiful, only the days of fairy-tale monarchs could create anything so magnificent. Peter the Great’s gift to the Persian Shah. It was too beautiful to risk. Even in an apartment where no one could enter. She found in her drawer a purple wool fascinator, carefully wrapped the egg in it. The safest place. For tonight at least. She took down a hatbox, pushed the purple into the crown of one of Aunt Hortensia’s creations of cerise and ochre plumes, nested it again in tissue and replaced the box. A large oval of bath soap, not the scented, the white scentless. The weight was almost the same, and the shape. She carefully wrapped the cake in tissue, closed the box. She tied the white paper about it neatly. The package didn’t look as if it had been opened. She put it back on the shelf. If anyone broke in, he could have the soap.
She snapped off the light, slit the Venetian blinds. The wind moaned into the room as she opened the front windows. The rain was still slashing down, whipped by the wind. And in the park a man sat on a bench, one man huddled in his coat, facing the apartment house. She turned away, and quickly covered herself in bed. Even if Gavin was helpless she was glad she wasn’t alone tonight. Even if he was her enemy.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE WOKE AT EIGHT, not rested, but because she always woke at that time to go to work. Leaden light alone came through the half-opened blinds. She could hear the splash of rain against the casements. Richards had told her to lie abed this morning. That was what she wanted to do, close her eyes, sleep again, forget.
Her eyes opened wide. Forget. She had forgotten last night. It wasn’t a dream. It had happened. Gavin Keane was in the spare bedroom with a bullet hole in his shoulder. The Scarlet Imperial was on her closet shelf. She slipped out of bed, belted the black wool Guardsman’s robe about her, stepped into her black wool slippers and went quietly to his door. He seemed to be sleeping.
She went away on soft feet. Not back to bed, to the kitchen. Now that she was awake, awake and aware, she must not return to sleep. She started the coffee, plugged in the automatic toaster. The cream and milk, the orange juice were waiting outside the kitchen door. She had to open the door to bring the bottles in.
She was being utterly absurd. It was morning, gray as it was. Renfro Hester wasn’t in the service passage. He had been taken away last night. She walked over to the door, forced her fingers to unbolt it, brought in the bottles.
The door locked automatically but as soon as she’d put the milk on ice, she pushed the additional bolt. She wondered if Aunt Hortensia too had once had bad dreams, if that were the meaning of the extra precaution. She wondered if Towner had used this apartment before.
She cleared away the untasted meal of last night, saving the chop for warming. She drank the orange juice while the coffee brewed. She didn’t know what to do about going to the office. If she didn’t appear after last night, Bryan Brewer might return here. She could phone; later when h
e was there, invent an incipient cold. She had the Imp; she needn’t go to the office again, but until she heard from Towner she mustn’t be suspect.
“That coffee smells good.”
Gavin could move quietly. She hadn’t heard the door open into the kitchen. He was standing there, a towel draped around his shoulders. He’d put on his trousers.
She smiled. “If you’ll go back to bed, I’ll bring you some.”
“You’ve done enough waiting on me.” He sat down opposite her at the kitchen table. “I’m recovered. Haven’t had such a night’s sleep in months.” His smile was the impudent one he’d given in the office. “I’m thinking maybe I need a woman in my business. For luck.”
“It can’t be much luck to be shot at.” She poured coffee for each of them. “I’m afraid I drank all the orange juice. I forgot. I’ve some grapefruit.” She examined the ice box. “An apple—”
“Apple. For one purpose only. I don’t want any doctors prowling around. Just a scratch. Practically well.”
She put the apple and a paring knife on a plate. She sat down across from him. She was serious. “You mustn’t act that way. It’s important you see a doctor. The danger—”
“Danger.” He wasn’t smiling. He began uncoiling the red skin from the apple. “A doctor reports a bullet wound. A reputable doctor. I don’t go to quacks, nearly died once from infection. Suppose I give the gun cleaning routine. If it were my family physician he’d believe me. I’m a stranger here, any doctor is a stranger to me. Would he believe me? Would he start wondering why I hadn’t done something about it last night?”
She said, “You should have. Last night.”
“Even if he doesn’t report it, he wonders. He talks it over with his nurse or the fellows at the club.” His face darkened. “That F.B.I, man hanging around here. Those fellows have ferret ears. He hears it—” He broke off. “He was F.B.I.?”
“Yes,” she said. “He had a badge. He told me his identification had been checked by Richards.”
His laugh was abrupt. “Maybe you’re wondering why I don’t like the F.B.I.” She hadn’t been. She knew why. But she realized she must wonder; she mustn’t forget to be innocent.
He said shortly, “You can ask Bry.” He flung the apple paring over his good shoulder, turned to peer at it. “Your initial wouldn’t be a J?”
“It’s E. Eliza Williams.”
“We weren’t properly introduced. What was that darling act about?”
She felt warmth in her cheeks. “I let Jones think you were—” she should pretend embarrassment; surprisingly she was embarrassed “—my lover. There was no other way to explain why Hester would leave the back way.” She explained, “I said I’d sent him that way because you were unreasonably jealous.”
He ate a slice of apple. “And I was presumedly out borrowing seltzer from the neighbors.”
“But you went long after Hester did.” She said slowly, “I don’t think he believed a word of it. I was talking to Bryan Brewer when Jones arrived. I didn’t explain that. He didn’t ask.” She added, “He will today.”
He looked up.
She protested, “You heard him say he might want to ask more questions.”
He said, “I actually didn’t hear a word the bastard said. I was too busy trying to keep from falling on my face till after he was gone.” He pushed aside the fruit. “I’d better get out before he shows up.”
She couldn’t let him go. She had to keep him here until Towner had the Imp. She said, “He won’t come while I’m at work. If he does he won’t get upstairs. The doorman will tell him I’m not here.” She asked, “He’d have to have a warrant to search, wouldn’t he? And he couldn’t serve it on the elevator man. It would have to be served on me, wouldn’t it?”
“I daresay.” He was thoughtful.
She couldn’t go to the office and leave Gavin here with the Imp. But she could pretend to get ready to go. Delay it until word came from Towner. The rain was a good delay. She said, “You should stay in bed today. If you refuse to have a doctor.”
He smiled briefly. “I’ve a little job to be about myself.”
“You can’t.” She repeated more quietly, with satisfaction, “You can’t.” She had remembered. “Not until you get some clothes.”
His look was a question.
“Your shirt and suitcoat are soaked with blood.”
“That’s why I couldn’t find them.”
“They’re in the hamper with the towels. I don’t know what to do with them.”
“I’ll get rid of them.”
“You can’t phone for clothes. I don’t want men’s clothes delivered here. Besides—”
“Curiosity. Questions.”
She nodded. She was thinking. “I’ll have to bring what you need. When I return from work.” It was right that she should be curious. She didn’t glance at him as she asked, “What did you do with Hester?”
He said, “I put him in the park.”
“No!” The exclamation came so quickly from her that his eyebrows winged. The man on the bench. Sitting there, unmoving, in the heavy rain. Hours after he’d—he’d been got rid of. Within her cold stabbed suddenly. Gavin wasn’t telling the truth. He hadn’t taken the man into the park. He hadn’t been out in the rain when he came up the service stairs.
She looked at the crust of toast on her plate. She said, “I don’t see how you could move him—with your shoulder.”
He didn’t respond and she had to lift her eyes to him. He was turning his coffee cup in his hand. He said, “It wasn’t he who shot me.”
This time the fear crawled into her eyes.
He still watched his coffee. He was speaking to himself and his face wasn’t pleasant. “I’d like to know who it was.”
She pushed back her chair. It didn’t scratch; Aunt Hortensia’s chairs were rubber-tipped, her linoleum highly waxed. But it sounded in the silence. She said, “I’m going to dress now. You go back to bed and I’ll bring you some clothes tonight.” She carried dishes to the sink. “You won’t be disturbed, the maid doesn’t come on Fridays. You’d better write down your size.”
She went quickly to her own room, closed the door. She’d have to go to the office now or pretend to go. He couldn’t leave the house without clothes. He couldn’t take the Imperial away. If he did, he’d have only a cake of soap. She didn’t believe he’d investigate the package. He trusted her.
She heard the door open this time and she swung to face it. He stood there, a paper memorandum in his hand. He started to speak but he broke the words. His eyes had become the flat blue disks. He said, “I’ve seen you before.”
She was silent, she remained there unmoving as he came across the room and stood in front of her. The paper drifted to the floor as his hands pushed back her hair roughly, framing her face. She didn’t flinch; her own eyes were steady. He said, “In HongKong.”
She put on a mask of bewilderment. Her lie was quiet. “I’ve never been in HongKong.” He dropped his hands. She stooped and picked up the paper before he could. He’d written his sizes on it.
He shook his head. “Maybe I’d better stay on my back today. I’m getting nerves. I apologize.” He went away.
She let her breath out slowly. She’d better dress; hide herself behind secretarial disguise. She put on a plain black wool, added a small strand of pearls. Only Towner knew they were real. Part of a treasure she had helped him recover. She pulled back her hair, netted it in a snood. She even put on the amber-rimmed glasses. The perfect secretary. Her small black hat, the black silk belted raincoat, rubber boots over her plain pumps, umbrella, purse.
Gavin Keane wouldn’t risk answering the phone today. Not with nerves. If Towner couldn’t reach her here, he’d call the office. He’d expect her to be at the office. She couldn’t let Towner come here anyway unless Gavin was gone. She wouldn’t risk Towner’s safety with someone like Gavin Keane.
Gavin was in the living room, looking down at the park, standing where he could
n’t be seen if someone were looking up. He turned at her entrance. He said, “I don’t like staying here.”
She suggested again, “Will you let me call the doctor?”
He said, “No.” It was definitely no. He came to her, handed her a fold of bills. “Better get brown.”
She put them into her handbag. “There’s food in the icebox.”
He walked with her to the front door, but he barred her from opening it. The cold touched her spine. She held her umbrella tight, as if it could become a weapon.
But he said only, “I want to see Bry. Tell him.”
She asked quickly, “Is it safe?”
He considered it. “Tell him to come when it’s safe.” He added, “It had better be when you’re here. I’m not opening up today.”
She nodded. He stood hidden behind the door while she opened it. She picked up the morning paper, handed it in to him. She said, “Stay in bed.”
The door closed at once, closed tight. She rang for the elevator. The day operator was a small dark man, a paid performer not a friend. She wouldn’t have to explain to Richards and Franz. They’d believe Gavin left after they went off duty. Late as that had been. She said, “Good morning, Clarence.”
He returned, “Good morning.”
There were no questions. The day doorman was another uniform, correct, detached. He said, “Good morning, Miss Williams.”
“Good morning, Davis.” The rain poured down this second day, flat, leaden rain. And in the Park on a bench facing the house sat a man. She drew back from the door. “I believe I’ll take a cab, Davis. Do you think you could get me one?”
“Yes, Miss Williams.”
He stepped out under the canopy. She saw his mouth shaped in a whistle. It might take a few moments but there were always cabs near the Square. She didn’t want to pass that rain-drenched shape on the Park bench.
A yellow cab was brightness at the curb. She ran out, called, “You’re wonderful, Davis,” as she climbed in.
The driver remarked paternally, “Late again?”
She saw his name card, Tomasi. A square yegg-like face. She’d ridden with him before. Frequently, those first weeks of work when she overslept.
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