‘Well, that’s that,’ he said. ‘No one can get in now without breaking a pane.’
He moved across the room, not looking at the desk, and stepped into the passage. I turned off the light and followed him out, leaving the door half open.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘If you hear anything, call me, I usually sleep like a dead man.’
We went upstairs together and parted at the head of the stairs. He went towards the guest room at the far end of the passage, next door to Helen’s room.
‘So long,’ I said. ‘Sleep well.’
He nodded, then went into his bedroom and shut the door. I stood for a moment, listening, then I turned off the hall lights from the two-way switch and then went down the passage to my room.
I walked slowly over to the bed and sat on it.
Had he seen the gloves? That was the kind of stupid slip that could put a man in the death cell. What was I thinking about to have made a mistake like that? Maybe he hadn’t seen them. He hadn’t remarked on them, but did that mean anything?
I felt sweat on my face as I realized just what kind of a job I had on my hands this night. I had all those bottles to take off the cabinet, and when I had got Dester out of the freezer, I had to put the bottles back again. I had to do that without making the slightest sound. I wasn’t kidded by that last remark of Lewis’s about sleeping like a dead man.
By checking what he had thought to be all the windows, he had satisfied himself that no one could get in without breaking a windowpane, but he had missed the cloakroom that led off into the hall. That was the way Dester had to come, I told myself. But Lewis had complicated things for me. I had to fire the gun in Dester’s study. That meant I had to unlatch the window, open it, fire the gun out of it, close and latch the window again. That would take up most of my escape time. I would have to move like lightning if I were to get out of the room before Lewis reached the head of the stairs where he could see into the hall.
I got to my feet and undressed slowly. I put on pyjamas and a dressing gown. I had brought the gun up from the study. I checked it, then I took out the empty shell and loaded the live slug in its place. With a handkerchief I wiped over the gun very carefully, and wrapping the handkerchief around the butt, I put the gun in my dressing gown pocket.
My first move would be to go downstairs into Dester’s study and get the gloves. I knew I mustn’t touch anything until I had my hands covered. One fingerprint would blow my plan sky high. I looked at my strap watch. The time was five minutes past eleven. I couldn’t start this thing until after one o’clock. I had to be sure that Lewis was heavily asleep. I turned off my bedroom light, then opening the door I looked along the passage to Lewis’s door. No light showed from under the door. That at least showed he was in bed.
I pushed my door to without shutting it and groped my way back to the bed and stretched out on it.
I lay in the darkness and waited, and for the first time since I was a kid, I prayed.
Chapter Thirteen
The clock in the hall chimed the quarter after one o’clock. For the past two hours I had been lying on the bed, sweating it out and listening to the violent rain storm that lashed against the bedroom windows: a storm that had blanketed every other sound in the house. It had lasted half an hour and as quickly had died out. I swung my legs off the bed and sat up. I remained motionless, listening. Only the busy ticking of the bedside clock and the violent thumping of my heart came to me as I sat in the darkness.
I reached out and turned on the bedside lamp. Then I stood up, slid my feet into slippers and moved to my bedroom door to look out into the darkness of the passage. No light showed from Lewis’s door. I listened for another long minute, then, satisfied he was asleep, I went over to the chest of drawers and picked up my flashlight. I turned it on and then put out the bedside light.
Moving silently I reached the hall and moved down the passage and into Dester’s study. I closed the door, turned on the light and picked up the gloves that were lying on the desk. I put them on. My hands were shaking so badly that I had trouble in getting the confession note from under the pile of typing paper. I nearly stripped off the gloves as I fiddled to pick up the sheet, but stopped myself in time. I fed the sheet of paper into the machine, being careful to line up the last word with the guide line of the machine.
I went over to the window, unlatched it and opened it a few inches.
Turning off the light, I opened the door and stood listening. There was no sound to alarm me, and bracing myself I went silently along the passage, lighting my way with my flashlight, into the kitchen. I shut and locked the door, then I turned on the light and looked across at the deep-freeze cabinet.
I was in a pretty bad state of nerves by then. My heart was beating so violently that I felt suffocated and my gloved hands were shaking. I started to remove the three dozen bottles of whisky that were piled on top of the cabinet. I was careful not to let the bottles clash together and I stood them in neat rows to one side of the cabinet. It was when I was taking the last of the bottles off that I very nearly ran into disaster. As I picked up two of the bottles, the remaining bottle toppled over and began to roll towards the edge of the cabinet top. I hurriedly set down the two bottles as the third bottle reached the edge, toppled over and fell. Somehow I got my hand under it when it was inches from the floor and held it. I stood for a long moment, sweat on my face and my body trembling, then I set down the bottle and straightened up. It had been a close call.
I crossed over to the door, turned the key and opened the door a few inches and listened.
This was the moment. Once I got him out of the cabinet I would have to hurry. If Lewis came down before I could get Dester into the study and before I could fire the shot, all this agony of nerves, my careful planning, the risk I was taking would be for nothing.
I went back into the kitchen, closed and locked the door again, and then walked over to the cabinet. As I put my hands on the lid to lift it, my nerve failed. I stepped back, wiping the sweat off my face with the sleeve of my dressing gown. I crossed to a cupboard, opened it and took out a drinking glass. I just couldn’t open the cabinet without a shot of whisky. I opened one of the bottles, fumbling at it with my gloved fingers, but I got it open, splashed three inches of whisky into the glass and shot it down my throat. I felt the whisky hit my stomach and felt my nerves tighten under the impact. It did the trick. Although I was tempted to repeat the dose, I resisted the temptation. I put the glass down and, leaving the opened bottle of whisky on the table, I turned back to the cabinet. As I was lifting the lid, I suddenly stiffened. My heart jumped, then raced. Had I heard something? Had the stairs creaked as if stealthy feet were moving down them? I lowered the lid hurriedly, walked swiftly to the door, turned off the light, unlocked the door and opened it an inch or so. I listened, holding my breath, trying to hear any sound above the thudding of my heartbeats. I stood there for what must have been five agonizing minutes, but I heard nothing, and finally, convinced my imagination had been playing me tricks, I closed and locked the door again, turned on the light and leaned against the door, trying to control my shaking limbs.
I went back to the cabinet, lifted the lid, and with my breath whistling between my clenched teeth, I looked down at him.
He lay on his side, the wound in his head away from me. He looked quite natural, as if he were asleep. I bent down and touched the side of his neck. He was scarcely cold. There was less moisture in the cabinet than I had thought: most of it had been absorbed by his clothes which felt wet to the touch. This didn’t worry me as it had rained heavily and I thought it would be a fair risk to assume the police wouldn’t be suspicious since Dester had no top coat with him.