He was at the doorway before he saw the attache case on the desk just as it had been when he left. The sight of it left his dark eyes puzzled and he took another step to clear the door. That was when he saw Arnold Grayson.
Three or four feet from the far end of the desk, he was on the floor in almost the same spot Jeff had last seen him. Since that time only two things had changed. Instead of sitting up, the man now lay flat on his back, and the jacket
go ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
that had been draped over a chair lay crumpled on the
floor, as though someone had searched it and flung it aside. Not until he moved swiftly closer did Jeff understand that there had been still another change: instead of a single swelling at the side of the jaw, the once tanned face had a bluish tinge and was ridged with ugly welts.
w
IN THOSE first horrible moments, as Jeff stood there staring wide-eyed at the still igure at his feet, it did not occur to him that Arnold Grayson was dead. He knew that he had been savagely beaten about the head with some instrument that left those thin welts. An ear had been torn and there was blood on the hair above it. The hands, flung above the head, rested on the floor with the palms up and he could see that two of the fingernails were stained.
The sight sickened him as he knelt beside his stepbrother and called his name. He reached for the heavy shoulders and tugged at them. He managed to get the torso to a sitting position, supporting the dead weight as best he could. He spoke again, his voice hoarse as he tried to shake the man awake.
There was no response. The head rolled limply, and now, the sickness inside him turning coldly to fear, Jeff lowered the shoulders and put his ear hard against the shirt front. When he realized finally that the heart-beat he heard was his own he reached frantically for a wrist and dug his fingers into the warm flesh. He held his breath and tried again.
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT Ql
Only then did lie understand that there would never be a pulse.
Somehow Jeff got to his feet and stood a moment, breathing deeply and swallowing hard. Shock and bewilderment made it difficult to think, and all he could do was turn his back and wait until he had his nerves under control. He wiped damp palms on his trousers and flexed his fingers. To occupy himself while he tried to sort out his thoughts, he stepped to the desk, remembering now the g,un Grayson had mentioned. He opened one drawer and then another. He tried them all and all were empty. There was no gun; only the attache case, which was closed but not locked.
He opened it absently, thinking once about the missing cash but realizing it was not here. Papers and envelopes were fastened in small bundles by elastics and when lie turned them over he came to the checkbook. It was the sort that has three checks to the page. They had been imprinted with the firm name and now, his mind focusing once more on the money Grayson had raised, he turned to the more recent entries.
The last stub verified the fact that Grayson had indeed found the money he needed. The single word written there read: Cash. The rest of the notation was: 400,000 B's—the equivalent of one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. In the deposit column, and dated Monday, was the figure: 450,000 B's, an amount which verified the figure Luis Miranda had mentioned.
As Jeff considered this, Ms glance moved absently upward to the stub above where a much smaler figure had been written opposite the word—Airline.
He spoke the word half aloud, brow puckering as he turned back a page. Here a word caught his eye and lie looked again. It was written on the middle stub. Spence, is what it said, and the amount was 300 B's*
Jeff turned back two pages to find the identical notation.
Q2 ONE MINUTE FAST EIGHT
When it was repeated again lie turned to the front of the book where the first checks in that series had been issued four months earlier. The third stub was marked with the same name and carried the same amount.
He closed the book, replaced it and picked up an envelope which carried the red-and-blue insignia of a well-known airline. He slipped off the elastic and found two tickets dated the following day and giving the flight number and time. The destination was marked as New York. The top ticket was made out in Grayson's name; the second one had been issued to M. Miranda. Then, before he could even begin to wonder about this, the heavy silence was broken by a metallic sound that came from the front room.
Jeff stiffened, every muscle tense, the character of the sound warning him that someone had entered the office. Obeying some impulse that would not be denied, he thrust the tickets into his inside pocket and tipped the top of the attache case so that it fel shut. When he turned, as ready as he ever would be to face this new threat, he heard the voice call out.
"Hello! Is anybody here?"
In the instant that followed, Jeff's inner tension evaporated and his heart sank. For he recognized that voice and he did not know what to do about it. There was no way out and he could only stand there, feeling the perspiration oozing on his forehead while his scalp grew prickly and a sense of hopelessness blanketed his thoughts. For another second he waited, ears straining as he listened. Then he knew he was trapped.
"Mr. Grayson."
The slow uncertain sound of approaching footsteps continued, and now, because he could delay no longer, he stepped into the doorway.
"Oh!" Karen Holmes said, and stopped. "You."*
She was wearing a figured dress with a white back-
ground and carrying a white bag. She wore no hat, and though she gave him a tentative smile, her dark-blue eyes remained puzzled.
"I was supposed to see Mr. Grayson at four, 1 * she said. "Isn't he—" She stopped, held by something she had seen in Jeff's white-lipped face. "What is it?" she said. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes," Jeff said, and stepped up to prevent her coming into the room. "Maybe you'd better stay out here."
But she had already seen the sprawled figure on the floor and he heard her frightened gasp. One hand fluttered to her breast and she stared round-eyed at Grayson and then at Jeff, the fear and uncertainty she felt reflected in her face.
«TP*. • l »
Did you—
"No," Jeff said harshly. "No. He was that way when I came."
"Is he badly hurt?"
"It's worse than that."
"Is he—" Her voice caught and she tried again. "But how— I mean, what—"
"The way it looks," Jeff said, deciding he might as well get it over with, "someone walked in here and beat him to death."
She leaned against the edge of the door, shoulders sagging. Her head sank lower but she said no more, and finally Jeff knew he had to tell what he had done. Because he felt too weak-kneed to stand there any longer he took her arm and gently led her round the desk so she could not see Grayson.
"I only came about five minutes before you did. I didn't know what happened either. I was here earlier and I came back-"
He checked himself because she no longer seemed to be listening. Her gaze was fixed on the hand which rested on
the desk, a gaze so intent that lie glanced down, seeing first the small dark stain on his shirt front and knowing he must have got it when he held Grayson's torso upright. Then, as his eyes moved on, he saw the back of his hand and the two scars on his knuckles. Already scabs had begun to form there and make them more noticeable than ever.
"Karen!" He reached down to touch her shoulder in an effort to make her look at him, "I told you I was here before. We had an argument and both of us threw a couple of punches. But the only mark he had on him when I left was a lump on his jaw/'
And then he was talking fast, a little desperately, beginning from the moment he first walked into the office and relating each detail he could remember. Stopping only to take a breath from time to time, he gave her the complete story because it seemed so important to him that she understand what he had done and accept it as the truth.