“Margaret, how would you like to be a dear and forget you saw me in here? I’m in a terrible rush and I’m trying to duck someone. I’ll be back and tell you all about this business later on.”
“Sure. You run on, Miss Bayliss. And come back soon. We’ve got some new things in your size.”
Jane went out the front door and turned right on Walden, going back in the direction she had come. She remembered the old hotel on the corner of West Adams and Walden and hoped there would be a cab stand there. There was a stand with one cab waiting. She got in quickly and sat well back in the corner of the seat and told the driver to take her to the center of the city. She paid off the driver, and walked rapidly east. She knew the place she wanted to go. It was a quiet apartment hotel with a limited number of transient rooms. It was not far from the airlines terminal, the place to which the limousines brought passengers from the airport.
The sky was now much darker. The wind had increased. The first chill, hard-driven drops of rain began to fall when she was thirty feet from the entrance. She ran the rest of the way, went into the small, dark, sedate lobby flicking droplets of rain from the shoulders of her coat. An elderly man serviced the desk. He said mildly that he had a room. She signed, in an abnormal backhand, “Mrs. Howard S. Alford” and gave Betty’s family’s address in Wilmington.
She said, with a show of indignation, that there had been a mixup about her luggage, that it seemed to have gone on the wrong flight. The elderly man was sympathetic. She said she would be happy to pay in advance. He told her that would hardly be necessary. She said she was tired and would like to take her meals in her room, if that was possible. The clerk rang the desk bell and another man who looked like his twin came out of the shadows. He took the key and they clattered upward.
The room had high ceilings, a gilt radiator, a tasseled lampshade, a tiled bath, a Gideon Bible, and some hand towels as soft and absorbent as roofing paper, stamped in faded blue with the name of the place — The Farrington.
The room was gloomy. Jane turned on the tasseled lamp. The bulb seemed dim; it merely accentuated the gloom. She sat on the bed and felt small and forlorn and forgotten. Rain made a thin, wet sound across all the world. This was a crying time. She wanted to cry and could think of no special reason.
It was certainly impossible to sit on the edge of this bed indefinitely. She thought about the office, and wondered what they thought about the fact she hadn’t even phoned in to tell them she was ill or something. She wished Betty Alford was back from Wilmington. That would make it so much simpler. She sat, mentally listing friends and acquaintances, discarding them one after the other. One was too nosy, another too careless, another too busy. Suddenly she thought of someone she could trust. She’d been thinking of her own friends rather than of Howard’s. Howard’s friend, Dave Miles, would be perfect. They had often double-dated with Dave and his girl, Connie Evis. Dave worked at, and owned a small piece of, an automobile agency. With luck she could catch him in before he left for the evening.
She looked up the number and phoned.
In a few minutes Dave came on the line. Jane was worrying about the elderly clerk downstairs listening in on the conversation. She took a chance by saying, “Dave, you know who this is, don’t you?”
“Hi, Jane! What’s the word about Howard? I phoned the—”
“Dave, I wonder if you could drop over and see me right away, no questions asked, please. I’m at the Farrington. Room 818. Just come right up, Dave.”
“Sure, but—”
“Thanks a lot,” she said and hung up quickly.
The knock on the door came twenty minutes after she had phoned. Dave came in and stared around the room curiously and said, “What goes on?” He was a thin, dark man with nervous mannerisms, a ready grin, a co-ordinated way of handling himself.
“Did you read about me? About us?”
“Sure did. I tried to get you at the apartment. Most of the time the line was busy and when it wasn’t, nobody answered. I phoned the hospital and they said Howard was okay. What in the world are you doing in this old creep factory?”
“I’m pretty sure I was being followed. And somebody did break into my apartment. I got scared, so I found a way of getting away from them and I registered here under the name of Mrs. Howard Alford of Wilmington. I want to just sit tight for awhile.”
“If you can identify a murderer, I don’t see why they haven’t given you police protection,” he said.
“They haven’t. I guess they don’t believe in it or something. I wondered if you would do an errand for me?”
“Sure, Jane.”
“Howard thinks I’m going to visit him at seven-thirty tonight and he also thinks I’m going to meet him with his car in the morning when they let him out. I want to stay right here. I want him to come to me. I’ll be more comfortable that way. So I want you to take this parking-lot claim check to the hospital and give it back to Howard and tell him where I am and why, and so forth. Otherwise he’s going to worry. Tell him to come here tomorrow. Any time. I’ll be here. But before you go, Dave, could you please go down to the corner and get me a toothbrush and something to read?”
“Sure.”
She gave him a detailed order, added other items, forced the money on him when he tried to refuse it. He was back in fifteen minutes. He reassured Jane that he would do just as she said.
Chapter Four
After Dave had gone Jane summoned the elderly bellhop and gave her dinner order. It was a full fifty minutes before the meal arrived. It was tepid food, indifferently served. When the man came to take the cart away, she asked if she could have a radio.
Ten minutes later when she opened the door he came staggering in under the weight of a mammoth and venerable table model, a thing of aged walnut, with mysterious lights and bands and tuning eyes. He plugged it in and turned it on. Many portions of it lit up. They watched it anxiously. Nothing happened. The bellhop turned dials at random and finally located a faint voice. He turned up the volume. The voice could almost be heard across the room. It was quarter to eight and the station identification announced that it was one of the major local stations, the one with the greatest power. The rest of the dial was silent. The old man asked if one station would be enough. She said it would have to be.
She listened with part of her mind to the news broadcast while she leafed through one of the magazines Dave had brought up. She came to abrupt focus and gave the program her full attention when she suddenly heard her own name.
“...Jane Bayliss by authorities for further questioning in the knife slaying of Walter Fredmans last Saturday night. Miss Bayliss visited her fiancé at City General Hospital this afternoon and has not yet returned to her apartment. This situation became known when Deputy Chief of Police Vernon Patricks requested station WBBO, seven-forty on your dial, to broadcast hourly appeals to Miss Bayliss to get in touch with police headquarters. A city-wide search is being conducted. Though there has been no official statement of alarm over the safety of Miss Bayliss, John Aarons, Fusion candidate for mayor in the coming elections, interrupted a formal speech given by him earlier this evening to the Galton County Women’s Club to ask why the present Commissioner of Public Safety had not made certain that Miss Bayliss had a police guard or that she had been taken into protective custody. Miss Bayliss, if you are listening to this program, you will be performing a public service by going to the nearest phone and calling police headquarters immediately.