I wriggled my legs from under the sheet, swung them to the floor and stood up. The moment I put my weight on my legs I knew it would be hopeless to start anything.
My legs were too shaky and too weak. I couldn’t have run away from a charging bull.
I took a staggering step forward and promptly sat on the floor. I didn’t have to sit on the floor, but it occurred to me it wouldn’t be a bad idea to let Bland think I was a lot weaker in the legs than I actually was.
I crawled up on hands and knees and regained my feet. Bland hadn’t moved. He was suspicious, and wasn’t going to be caught in any trap.
“Give me a hand, can’t you?” I snarled at him. “Or let me get back to bed.”
“Look, baby, I’m warning you,” he said softly. “If you start anything it’ll be the last thing you start for a very long time.”
“Cut out the yap. What’s the matter with you? Scared of me?”
That seemed the kind of language he understood, for he grabbed hold of my arm.
“Not of you, baby, or of anyone else.”
He helped me on with the dressing-gown, opened the door and together we stepped out into a long broad corridor. I took a couple more steps, and paused as if I still wasn’t feeling too sure of myself. The pause gave me time to look to right and left. One end of the corridor terminated in a massive-looking door, the other end was sealed off by a high window, covered with a close mess-grill.
“Okay, baby,” Bland said, grinning. “Now you have had a look, let’s get moving. I told you how it was. Well, now you’ve seen for yourself.”
Yes, I had seen for myself.
I went along the corridor with Bland, my mind busy. Somehow I had to get the key of that door and the key of the handcuff. Either that or stay here until they got tired of keeping me or until I rotted.
A sudden commotion brought us to a halt: a startled cry, a heavy thud as if someone or something heavy had fallen.
Bland caught hold of my arm.
A nearby door suddenly jerked open and a girl shot into the corridor. The first and obvious thing about her was her complete nakedness. She seemed to have jumped right out of a bath, for water glistened on her white skin and a fine film of soap made patterns on her slender arms. She was fair, and her hair grew in a curly halo around her head. She wasn’t pretty, nor was she plain. She was interesting; definitely and emphatically interesting, and I had a suspicion she wouldn’t be quite so interesting with her clothes on as she was without them. At a guess she was about twenty-five. She had a beautiful body, long legged, high breasted, and her skin was the colour of whipped cream.
I heard Bland suck in his breath sharply.
“Hot damn!” he said under his breath, jumped forward, his thick fingers reaching out for the girl, his eyes alight with brutish excitement. He grabbed hold of the girl’s arm. Her scream hit the ceiling and bounced along the walls. His hand slid off her soapy arm and she spun round and raced down the corridor. She ran with unexpected grace, and as swiftly as the wind.
Bland took a step forward, and then changed his mind. She couldn’t get away. Already she had reached the massive door and was beating on it with clenched fists.
All this happened in so many seconds, then a nurse appeared from the bathroom: a tall, powerfully-built woman whose hatchet face was white with alarm and fury. She looked down the corridor at the girl’s naked back. She looked at Bland.
“Get your patient away,” she said. “And get out yourself, you—you ape!”
“Take it easy,” Bland said, his eyes still on the girl. “You let her out, you silly old mare.”
“Get your patient away or I’ll report you,” the nurse said furiously.
“And you would, too,” Bland returned, sneering.
He grabbed hold of my arm.
“Come on, baby, the fun’s over. You can’t say this ain’t the place to live in. The best of attention and the Follies Bergčre thrown in for free. What more do you want?”
He hustled me into a bathroom opposite the one the girl had escaped from as the nurse went down the corridor. The girl saw her coming, turned to face her; her screams went through my head and set my nerves jangling. I was glad when the bathroom door closed on the sound, shutting it out.
Bland was excited. His hard little eyes gleamed, and he kept running his tongue along his lips.
“Some bim!” he said, half to himself. “I wouldn’t have missed that for a week’s pay. Here you, get your things off and get into the bath. My luck having to sit around and look at you when that dish out there’s on show.”
“Stop acting like a kid,” I said, stripping off the dressing-gown and pyjamas. “Who is she, anyway?”
“The bim? No one you’d know. She used to be a nurse here; went suddenly crackers when her boy walked out on her. That’s the story, anyway. She was here before I came. Why she should go nuts because she lost her boy, beats me. I would have given her a twirl any time she wanted one.”
I lay still in the bath, my face expressionless. A nurse! Was this the missing nurse Mifflin had told me about? It sounded like her.
“Her name’s Anona Freedlander—right?” I shot out.
Bland showed his surprise.
“How did you know?”
“I’m a detective,” I said solemnly.
Bland grinned. He sat on a stool near the bath and lit a cigarette.
“Get going, baby. Never mind the detection now. I gotta lot to do.” Absent-mindedly he dropped the match into the water.
“What’s wrong with Hopper?” I asked, changing the subject. “Why’s he here?”
“Hoppie’s quite a case,” Bland said, and shook his head. “There’re certain times in the month when even I don’t go near him. You wouldn’t think that to look at him, would you? A very deceptive guy. If it wasn’t for his old man’s money he would be in a criminal asylum. He killed a girclass="underline" tore her throat out with his teeth. He’ll be here for the rest of his days. You never know with him. When he’s in the wrong mood he’s a killer. One day he’s okay, the next he’s as dangerous as a tiger on hunger strike.”
I began wondering about Bland, asking myself if he could be bought.
“How about a cigarette?” I asked, lying back in the water. “I could do with one.”
“Sure, baby. So long as you behave yourself, I’ll treat you like my brother.” He produced a package of Lucky Strike, gave me one and lit it for me. “When you first come here all you guys try to be smart and start trouble. Take my tip and don’t. We’ve got an answer for most things. Just remember that.”
I dragged down smoke. It didn’t taste quite as good as I was expecting.
“How long do you think you’re going to keep me here?”
He took an old envelope out of his pocket and tapped ash into it, put it on the side of the bath for my use.
“From the look of your record, baby, you’re in here for good.”
I decided I would try it.
“How would you like to earn a hundred dollars?”
“Doing what?” The small eyes alerted.
“Simple enough. Telephone a friend of mine.”
“And what would I say?”
But it was a little too quick and a little too glib. I studied him. It wasn’t going to work. The mocking smile gave him away. He was playing with me.
“Never mind,” I said, drowned the cigarette and put the soggy butt into the envelope.
“Forget it. Let’s have a towel.”
He handed me a towel.
“Don’t get that way, baby. I might play. I could use a hundred bucks. What’s the telephone number?”
“Forget it,” I said.
He sat watching me, a grin on his face, the butt of his cigarette resting on his lower lip.
“Maybe you’d like to raise the ante,” he suggested. “Now, for five hundred…”