Free A Touch of Death by Charles Williams Page B

rifle.”
    She said nothing.
    “And,” I went on, “suppose you did get out to the highway? What then? Every cop in the state has the description and license number of that Cadillac.”
    She stared thoughtfully at me through the smoke. “Afoot? Out the back door?”
    “It’s twenty miles to the nearest place you could catch a bus. You’re a dish everybody looks at. And you’re wearing pajamas and bedroom slippers. Any more ideas?”
    “Charming thug, aren’t you? Shall I cheer you up for a while now?”
    “Why? I’m all right. Nobody knows me; I can still run.”
    “Well? Why don’t you?”
    “You don’t scare much, do you?”
    “Would being scared do any good?”
    “You’re about the hardest citizen I’ve ever run into,” I said. “Did you kill Butler alone, or did that guy out there help you? Is that how he got in the act?”
    “I don’t know anything about it.”
    “Which one of you has the money?”
    “I have nothing to say.”
    “Who was that girl in the car? Angel-faced ash blonde,
    with a hush-puppy accent.”
    “Why didn’t you ask her?”
    “I don’t think she liked me.”
    “I can understand that,” she said.
    “Well, you’re popular,” I said. “You’re in great
    demand.”
    She put the cigarette in the ashtray and leaned back in the chair with her hands clasped behind her head. The pajama sleeves slid down her arms. They were lovely arms.
    I watched her, thinking swiftly. We were both in one hell of a jam, but I was beginning to get the glimmerings of an idea. It all depended on whether she had the money or not, and I still believed she had it.
    There was no use even trying to guess whether she had killed Butler, or whether that man out there had, or both of them; but I was beginning to respect the cool and deadly intelligence behind that lovely face, and I was growing more convinced of one thing all the time: that no matter who had killed him, unless that guy out there was a lot smarter than I thought he was, she was the one that had the money. It figured that way.
    “You’re the Homecoming Queen,” I said. “Everybody wants you.”
    “I really don’t see what you’re waiting around for,” she said. “You have pointed out that there is no possibility of escape. I agree with you. Any further discussion of it is superfluous; and you should realize, if it’s entertainment you’re after, that taunting me with it is futile.”
    I leaned back in the chair and blew a smoke ring. “I was going to make you an offer.”
    “What kind of offer?”
    “It doesn’t matter. If you haven’t got that money, I’d just be wasting my breath.”
    She smiled. “You know,” she said, “there is a touching sort of simplicity about you I almost admire. Anyone with a less comprehensive stupidity might get sidetracked once in a while and wander off the main objective, but you never do. You started out to get that money, and by God, you’re going to get it. I almost regret that you won’t.”
    “Well, if you haven’t got it, what’s the use talking about it?”
    She shook her head. “It isn’t a question of whether I have it or not. The real point—as anyone but a thick headed mastodon would have figured out hours ago— is that if I did have it I’d willingly go to hell before I’d see Diana James get a nickel of it.”
    I put down the cigarette and stared at her. So that was what had been holding up the negotiations. You never knew. They didn’t make sense; they never did, not even the smart ones. Not even to save her own skin...
    “Look,” I said. “The hell with Diana James. Haven’t you heard? She’s been scratched.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Just that. She double-crossed me before we even started. She told me you were in Sanport, to get me to come up here and shake down the house. What did she care if I got caught?”
    “And that isn’t quite all,” she said. “Think again.”
    “How’s that?”
    “You still haven’t seen the full beauty of it.