Bennett did not go out to lunch. He remained in his office, waiting for the phone call. He had lost most of his nervousness now. He was still in a tough spot, but he would be able to work out of it.
At two-fifteen the phone rang. A deep masculine voice said, “Norman Bennett?”
“Yes.” There was something in the man’s voice, some tonal quality, that told him this was the call he had been expecting.
“You got a photograph in the morning mail. Did you recognize the people in it?”
“I recognized them,” Bennett said. “How much for the negative?”
“Fifty thousand,” the voice said. “No bills larger than twenties.”
“All right,” Bennett said without hesitation. “Where, and when?”
“You’ve got an account at the First National, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll pick you up in front of the bank at three o’clock sharp.”
“I might have trouble getting that much money so quickly.”
“You’ll have more trouble if you don’t get it,” the man said harshly. Then he hung up.
Bennett waited inside the bank until the hands on the electric wall clock pointed to one minute before three. Then he stepped through the polished brass and glass doors and walked to the curb, a leather satchel in his hand. A taxi pulled over and the rear door opened.
“Get in,” said the man in the cab. He was big, stocky, with a hard face, piercing eyes under heavy brows. After Bennett sat next to him he said, “You got it all?”
Bennett nodded. “I’ve got it.”
The man smiled, showing strong teeth. “That’s smart. I didn’t think you’d want any trouble.” He turned to the driver. “The Atlas Hotel, Mac,” he said.
“Why a hotel?” Bennett asked. “Can’t we take care of everything right here?”
The man grunted disdainfully. “You think I’m a fool? I don’t have the negative with me. And I want to count that stuff you’ve got in your bag. I don’t take chances. Not a single damn chance.”
The Atlas Hotel was a rundown third-class joint off Eighth Avenue. The man whisked Bennett past the desk and into the elevator and told the operator the fifth floor. They rode up without speaking and got out when the car stopped. They walked down the hall, and the man opened the door leading to the stairs.
“Where to now?” Bennett asked, puzzled.
“Down one flight.”
“The room’s not on this floor?”
“That’s right. I told you, I don’t take chances. And I had somebody else rent the room for me, just in case you try to pull a funny act.”
They went down to the fourth floor and out into the hall, the man still remaining behind Bennett. “It’s four-o-three,” he said. “The door’s unlocked.”
Bennett opened the door to 403 and went in. The room was small and dingy. A sagging bed, scarred furniture, a threadbare rug on the floor. The bathroom door was partly open.
The man put the chain on the door, then said, “All right, let’s see the color of your money. Dump it on the bed.”
Bennett unlatched his satchel and spilled out the neat bundles of green. The man walked to the other side of the bed, picked up each bundle and examined it carefully.
“It’s all there,” Bennett said. “I kept my part of the bargain, now you keep yours.”
The man pulled the spread back from the bed, took an envelope from beneath one of the pillows. He tossed it on the bed.
“I promised the negative. There it is.”
Bennett slipped the film from the envelope, looked at it briefly in the light from the window. Satisfied, he struck a match and touched it to the celluloid. It blazed fiercely, and he dropped it in an ashtray. A moment later nothing remained except brittle ashes.
“Now we’re both satisfied,” the man said, starting to put the bundles of money back into the satchel. But suddenly he stopped. Bennett was pointing a gun at him.
“Not so fast,” he said quietly. “I got what I wanted, but you haven’t got a damn thing. I came in with that money, and I’m going out with it.”
The man’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the gun. “You think you’ll get away with a rumble like this?” he said.
Bennett smiled. “I don’t think, I know.”
“Then you’re not as smart as I thought. You’re not smart at all. I told you I don’t take chances. I’ve still got a few prints from that negative. How’d you like me to show them to your wife?”
Bennett’s smile widened. “Don’t try to take me for a sucker. I’ve heard all the dodges. You don’t have any other prints.”
The man shrugged. “Okay, have it your way.” He nonchalantly stuffed the rest of the bundles into the satchel, snapped it shut, picked it up in both hands. “So take your dough. I don’t want it. As of now, my price is double.”
The man was too cool, too calm, too sure of himself. Bennett began to think that perhaps it hadn’t been very smart to bring a gun after all. Perhaps the man wasn’t lying. Perhaps he did have—
Suddenly the satchel was flying at him. He saw it coming and ducked aside. But then something happened he hadn’t intended. In voluntarily, his finger tightened on the trigger and the gun exploded.
The man stood still for a moment, a terrible grin of shock and pain on his face. Then, slowly, he fell forward, collapsing across the bed. He was dead before the springs squealed from his weight.
Bennett’s mouth dropped open in horror. He had brought the gun merely as a threat, not as a weapon. He would have given the man the money without a word if he’d realized that anything like this was going to happen. But now that it had happened, he had to get out — he had to run.
He shoved the pistol back under his belt and picked up the satchel. Thank God no one had seen him with the man, he thought. He hurried across the room, took the chain off the door, went out.
His mind was racing. He had to get out of the hotel without being seen. He couldn’t chance going down in the elevator. The operator might remember that he and the dead man had gone up together. There was a good chance that the operator wouldn’t remember his face after just that one time, but Bennett knew he couldn’t let him take a second look.
He walked down the stairs. Slowly, taking his time, saving his strength in case he needed it for a mad dash. He opened the lobby door a crack and peered out. The elevator door was closed, the desk clerk was nowhere in sight. He stepped out and slipped from the lobby to the sidewalk.
Bennett was close to collapse when he arrived at his apartment. But he was positive he had been careful enough to avoid detection. No one would remember seeing him with the dead man, and he had left nothing in the apartment, not even fingerprints, to give the police a clue. He would dispose of his gun in the garbage and redeposit the money in a few days. Then life would go on as usual. He was completely in the clear. It was a wonderful feeling.
The phone rang shrilly, startling him. It was Gloria.
“I got the negative and paid him off,” he told her. “Everything is fine now.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I told you there wasn’t anything to worry about.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Norman,” she said. “There’s a lot to worry about. More than before.”
He was puzzled. “What the devil are you talking about? I told you I paid him off.”
“But you didn’t say how, darling,” she said softly. “But I know. I was in the bathroom. You should see the new pictures I took. Wonderful photography. I’ll send you a print in the morning. But they’re terribly expensive. I’m afraid there’s not going to be any money at all left for poor Stella!”