Joe was an expert at breaking in. There wasn’t a lock that defied his skill; there wasn’t a door or a window that he wouldn’t tackle. Lois wasn’t sure how many jobs he had pulled on his own, but she had a mink coat in her closet right now as a souvenir of one of his successes.
Long ago, before meeting Henry, she’d seen a lot of Joe. But Hank had more to offer. He had a respectable air, he had position, he had money — even if the bulk of the fortune was in Melissa’s name. She had decided right then that her future was Hank Irby, that she was through taking the risks of being a burglar’s girl.
Even a good burglar like Joe. She knew how good he was. She knew that the lock on her door couldn’t possibly protect her from him. If he wanted to get her, he would.
And she knew Joe. He’d want to get to her if it was the last thing he ever did. Joe was like that. You couldn’t double-cross him and get away with it.
“I’m scared, Hank!” she said, shivering. “I never should have let you use Joe for the fall guy. We could have found someone else!”
Hank ordered another round of drinks in that smooth, easy manner of his. “Spilt milk, baby. We did pick Joe and it worked like a charm, thanks to your charm. We don’t ever have to think of that little episode again. He’s been tried and sentenced, and I’m still at the bank with twenty thousand to the good. Merton was just a heal who was about to have my accounts investigated before I was ready for it. The fact that he was killed with the gun that you took from Joe — well, it was just one of those things.
“And poor Joe! The fact that he accepted your tale about all the cash Merton kept in his bedroom just proves how dumb he was. And the fact that the cops, through an anonymous tip, happened to catch him in Merton’s bedroom with Merton’s dead body is just another one of those things. That’s old worry, baby. Forget it.”
“I had,” Lois admitted. “I guess you were right about me when you told me I wouldn’t worry about having framed Joe, that I only worried about myself.”
“We all do that, Lois. Except the fools with that awful affliction called a conscience. You’re not getting any stabs of a sickness like that, are you?”
His eyes were suddenly sharp, studying her face.
“You mean am I thinking of making a deal with Joe if he does turn up? Thinking of telling him that it was really you who shot Merton?”
“Yes. I mean something like that. Is that why you’re so much on edge today? Trying to figure an out?”
This time she reached for his hand and it was her eyes that started melting. “Hank, you’re everything to me. You don’t need to be afraid that I’d ever tell anybody what actually happened. I give you my word, dear!”
“Good!” There was an edge of false heartiness in his voice now. “Then just what are you so worried about?”
“I’m afraid that Joe will get into my apartment and kill me. I’ll be afraid to close my eyes at night. I think I’ll drive myself crazy waiting for him, not knowing at what moment—”
Hank laughed with real heartiness this time, his face breaking into amused and indulgent lines.
“Is that all, sweet? Simplest thing in the world to prevent. A good locked door is all you need, as long as you’re careful about not going out alone. I’ll take you home and call for you until he’s caught.”
Her eyes were desperate.
“But Joe can walk through any door!”
“Any door with an ordinary lock, perhaps. But, darling, there’s a little quarter item that you ought to know about. It’s called a bolt and it beats a check-chain all hollow.”
“But Joe—”
“No, he couldn’t. Tell you what. We’ll get out of here and drive to Central Hardware. I’ll get the bolt and put it on for you. I’ll feel better then, too. Your safety means more to me than my own.”
“You’re sweet, Hank.”
“So are you. Let’s get the job done so I can take you out to an early dinner. Melissa doesn’t expect me until ten.”
When Hank had been talking about it, she wasn’t quite sure that she knew what a bar bolt was, but the minute she saw it, she recognized it from some dim reminder of the past. Just a round steel bar with a knob moulded on it. This fitted into a jacket, and you pushed it across the crack of the door and the frame, then turned the knob downward.
Secure. Really locked in. A lock could be picked, or skeleton keys used, but you couldn’t get past the bolt from the outside. Without a blowtorch, or a saw. And that was risky business. It would make so much noise that the victim could call the police before the entry was made.
She mixed drinks in the kitchen while Hank was putting the screw driver away and washing his hands.
“I feel so safe now,” she said. “I can see how safe it is! Darling, you’re so wonderful!”
He kissed her lightly and took his drink into the living room, smiling at her teasingly as he relaxed.
“Didn’t know I was handy with tools in addition to my other charms, did you?”
She was at the door, testing the bolt with delight. “It’s a very professional job,” she admitted, “but it seems to be hard to slide. I have to wiggle it a little to get it across.”
“The tighter, the safer. Come over here and sit by me. Lock us in if you like, but come here!”
She was delighted to come. Her morning panic seemed far away, and Joe Hilton turned into a phantom figure. A pathetic ghost out of the past who wouldn’t be able to disturb her future because of a simple slide bolt that had cost a quarter.
She snuggled into Hank Irby’s willing arms.
Chapter Two
The Bolt
For the past five days, the papers had carried some small articles of no consequences to the average reader, but Lois Baum practically memorized each one.
Joe Hilton had not yet been apprehended, although the police had been close to him several times. The driver of a car had been slugged behind the ear and left in the woods as naked as a jaybird. He had given a very good description of the escaped convict. The driver of another car had given a fairly accurate description of the brown suit that had been stolen from the first victim.
So far the police hadn’t seen Hilton, but they were close. An arrest was expected shortly. All train and bus stations were being watched. The highway patrol had been alerted. The net had been cast. They were sure they would catch him.
Hank Irby had been sure, too. Only Hank had said they’d have him the next day, and here it was five days. Sometimes fact made fools out of optimists. Lois began to be afraid again, with a new kind of fear.
The law was protection, but Joe was keeping ahead of the law. Hank was protection, too, with all of his ideas for keeping her safe. But Hank had been wrong about Joe, about how long it would take to catch him. Hank might well be wrong about other things.
There was a feeling now that Lois had never felt before. It started in her stomach, really, and moved across her shoulders. It was something she couldn’t predict, couldn’t control once it started. Her hands shook and she jumped at the slightest noise. And at night the feeling moved into her mind and she saw things, unreasonable things, that depressed her and weighed her whole body down with a conviction that she was going to die and there was nothing anybody could do about it.
Lois had lived her childhood out in the country, and, like most girls with rare beauty, she had left home in her teens. But now she found herself thinking about the little farm house for the first time in years. The bolt! That’s where she had seen a bolt before.
Her grandmother, a strange gnarled character older than the earth, had used a bolt on her bedroom door. Didn’t want to be disturbed by a pack of younguns who could never learn to knock. And Grandma didn’t want to be disturbed because she thought she saw and heard things beyond human explanation. At that, the old woman had had an uncanny second sight.