hand and I touched her naked midriff with it.
“No screaming,” I said pleasantly, and rode her into the room, closed the door with my heel
and set down the suitcase.
“What do you want?” she asked, in a strangled voice.
“Sit down and take it easy,” I said. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. The cops are after
me, and I am staying here until they go away.”
She sat down. She seemed glad to.
I lugged the suitcase to the open window, and looked out. It was a long, long way down to
the promenade. Already there was a big crowd gathering outside the hotel. As I looked three
prowl cars with wailing sirens came rushing towards the hotel entrance.
“In ten minutes or so,” I said, turning away from the window, “the cops are going to call on
you. Please yourself what you do. I’m wanted for four murders: one more won’t make any
difference to me, but a lot to you. Tell them you haven’t seen me. If you try any tricks you’ll
get the first bullet. Okay?”
She blanched.
I was sorry for her, but I was in such a jam I couldn’t afford to pull any punches. I kept by
the window. The crowd grew every second. More prowl cars arrived. The cops started to
shove the crowd back, leaving a wide space before the hotel. There must have been three
thousand people down there, and their numbers were growing every second.
I heard sounds in the corridor. No cop can walk quietly, and when there are a number of
them, they sound like a herd of buffalo moving around.
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They were going from room to room as I guessed they would. Well, it was up to the blonde
now. If she let me down I was sunk.
“They’ll be here in a minute,” I said, trying to make my voice tough. “You know what to
do,” and I waved the gun at her.
She sat as still as a waxwork; her eyes growing bigger, and her face the colour of old
parchment. She didn’t look pretty any more.
Then there came a rap on the door.
For a long moment of time nothing happened. I looked at the blonde and motioned to the
door with my gun. She stared at me, horror mounting in her eyes.
The knock came again: louder this time.
“Go ahead,” I whispered, sure now she wasn’t going to do it. I was right. She suddenly
gave a wailing scream and slid off the chair on to the floor.
“Open up!” a voice bawled, and a shoulder thudded against the door panel.
IV
There, was no future for me now. Once in their hands, with Hame in charge of the
investigation, I was as good as dead. But that didn’t worry me. All I could think of right at
this moment was the money in the suitcase. If I couldn’t have it, then I was determined Hame
wasn’t going to have it. Nothing else mattered to me now except how to keep that suitcase
away from him.
The voice again bawled through the door panels. “Open up, Farrar! We know you’re in
there!”
Once again a shoulder crashed against the door which creaked, but held.
I went to the window and looked out. Running the whole length of the building below the
window was a footwide ledge. Leaning out, I could see the ledge terminated about thirty
yards away to my right by a bulging piece of floral carving, overlooking the corner of
Roosevelt and Ocean. If I could reach that bulge I would have excellent cover from a shot in
the back.
I looked down. Three hundred feet below me the promenade teemed with people, staring up
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at me. It made me feel a little sick as I looked at the narrowness of the ledge, but it was either
that or to be shot down when they broke into the room.
Again the shoulder crashed against the door. I swung my leg over the window-sill and got
out on to the ledge. I held on to the framework of the window, groped inside and hauled up
the suitcase.
A tremendous roar of excitement came from the crowd below, but I didn’t look down. I
stood for a second or so, staring straight ahead, my heart hammering and my knees weak. It
would have been bad enough to take that walk without the suitcase, but with it, pulling me off
balance all the time, it was going to be a nightmare.
Bracing myself, my shoulder rubbing the face of the building, I began to move forward.
I put one foot directly before the other, like a tight-rope walker, not attempting to move
fast, and keeping my eyes fixed on the bulging corner stone ahead of me.
I crept past a window, moved on, aware of an urge to look down. I struggled against it,
knowing if I did, I was done for.
Ahead of me was another window, then wall space, then the corner stone. When I was
within six feet of the window a man’s head appeared. I stopped short, my breath whistling
through my clenched teeth.
He was a fair, tanned man in a fawn sports jacket and a bottle-green shirt. He gaped at me,
his mouth falling open. Very slowly, so as not to disturb my balance, I slid my right hand into
my hip pocket and pulled out Benno’s gun.
“Mind you don’t fall,” the man said in a horrified strangled croak. “Hadn’t you better come
in here?”
“Get back and shut the window,” I said, and pointed the gun at him.
He gave a gasp and jerked back from the window. Once again the crowd roared at me.
I started to move forward again. When I reached the window I peered in, the gun pushed
forward. The room was empty. The door stood open.
I had twenty feet to go before I reached the shelter of the corner stone. I moved more
quickly. Behind me I heard a shout, but I didn’t look round. I kept on, expecting to hear a
shot and feel a bullet smash into me, but nothing happened.
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I reached the corner stone and gripped hold of one of its projections. Even then I wouldn’t
look down.
For a moment or so I stood there, trying to get my breath looking at the buildings opposite:
the windows crammed with staring faces, not more than fifty yards from me.
“Get back you fool!” a man shouted at me. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I put the suitcase down on the ledge behind me. Still holding on to the projection I began to
climb around it. A woman screamed. The roar of the crowd surged up and submerged me in
sound. Satisfied I had a good hand and foothold, I reached down and pulled the suitcase to
me. Then, clinging on, I lifted it. For perhaps three or four seconds I remained pressed against
the projecting corner, my foot wedged into one of the ornate carvings, the fingers of my left
hand dug into a crevasse of stone, the suitcase dangling from my right hand in space. Its
weight upset my balance, but I managed to hang on while the people at the windows opposite
yelled and screamed at me.
I remained like that for some time. Then slowly, inch by inch, I began to edge into the
hollow made by the two ornate projections either side of the corner stone. It took time, and
once or twice I thought I wasn’t going to do it. Without the suitcase it would have been easy,
but having to work only with one hand and to counter-balance the drag of the suitcase made it
terrifyingly difficult. I got into the hollow without quite knowing how I did it. I had quite a
bit more room once I was inside, and no one could get at me either from the right or from the
left.
I was so exhausted I could no longer stand upright, and still clinging to the suitcase I sat
down, my back firm against the hollow in the stonework, my legs dangling into space.
For the first time since I had been out on the ledge I looked down.
Roosevelt Boulevard and what I could see of Ocean Boulevard were packed solid with
gaping faces. From this height they looked like a white-checkered carpet spread out below