Free The Killer Touch by Ellery Queen Page A

That would put her height at about five-seven.”
    â€œBut why? To change wives—”
    â€œDivorce is a lot less trouble. It’s bigger than that, and I’ve got a feeling there’s a lot of money involved, knowing Rolf.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do?”
    â€œGet more information—maybe. I’ve got a date with her out by the cistern.”
    Joss looked alarmed. “Burt, it’s probably a trap.”
    â€œI know. I don’t aim to throw myself at her feet without looking around. Rolf has a gun, you know.”
    â€œBurt, don’t risk it. Look, let me talk to Rolf, I’ll tell him I’m sick, get him to take me to St. Vincent, go to the police—”
    â€œAnd tell them what?”
    â€œWhy … that there’s a woman here—”
    â€œAnd our proof?”
    â€œMy word—”
    â€œHave you told anybody about seeing your husband on the beach wearing hip boots?”
    â€œWhat does that—?” She closed her mouth, reddening. “Oh, I see what you mean. They’d think I was raving. Okay, you go.”
    â€œSuppose Rolf does have a big deal on; he’d see that I never got to St. Vincent.”
    Joss laughed nervously. “Oh, hell, this thing has sobered me up quicker than a gallon of black coffee. Who do you suppose the woman is?”
    â€œIt’s not important, is it? I’m wondering what happened to the real Mrs. Keener.”

FIVE
    Burt squatted inside a clump of grass and peered at the woman who stood beside the cistern. Strange that she’d wear her white beach coat to a secret tryst; she stood out like neon beneath the thick crescent of the moon. The water catchment was a gray triangle on the slope above her. He could hear rats chittering in the grass around him; the booming surf had become an unchanging part of life, audible only when he made an effort to hear it. Beyond the cistern he saw the fumaroles geysering up like pale gleaming wraiths in the moonlight.
    A match flared and went out. A cigarette glowed in the pale oval of her face, brightened and dimmed several times in rapid succession. Lover’s getting impatient, he thought, but I’ll bet she doesn’t leave.…
    A cloud obscured the moon and darkened the island. A darker shadow joined the white shape of the woman. When the moon came out again, the larger shadow broke away and disappeared around the corner of the cistern. Burt gripped the two-foot length of steel pipe and crept out of the grass. He angled to the right, down the slope and back up again on the side of the cistern opposite the woman. He peered around the corner and saw Rolf squatting with his back to the stone wall. Rolf was an old night fighter; Burt knew he could never sneak close enough for a solid blow. He picked up a stone and, holding his arm away from his body so there would be no swish of cloth, threw it over Rolf’s head. It thumped on the ground ten feet ahead of the man; Rolf rose to his feet. Burt leaped forward and swung the pipe against his head with a delicate, calculated force. Rolf fell against the cistern and started a limp-legged slide to the ground; Burt caught him beneath the arms and lowered him gently. He withdrew a .38 snub-nosed revolver from Rolf’s shoulder holster and shoved it in his hip pocket. Rolf’s pulse and breathing were both surprisingly normal; Burt decided he’d have less than a quarter hour with the woman.
    He retraced his steps around the cistern to where she waited. Like a passenger whose bus has just arrived, she pushed herself away from the wall and threw her cigarette to the ground. As she came toward him, Burt saw that her long legs were bare beneath the beach coat.
    â€œI was beginning to get cold,” she said, locking her hands behind his head and looking up with a teasing smile. “I wondered if you’d have the guts to come.”
    Burt spread his hands across her back and felt the