Now I could feel the pressure of the cords on my hands and legs. They’d trussed me up, too. I opened my eye, but there wasn’t much to see. Quite dark in the room now. Dark, and lonely.
My head throbbed. Those Dean brothers were great ones for rapping you over the skull. Did an efficient job, too. I wasn’t bleeding, but I could tell I had been hit hard. When I rolled over onto my side, the room spun for a moment, then steadied.
I stared in the dimness. They were gone, all right. The closet door was open, and there weren’t any clothes on the hangers. The vacuum cleaner was right there on the floor. Thoughtful of them to leave it. Maybe they thought I’d want to clean a few vacuums. Such as the one inside my skull.
They’d opened the dust bag, of course, and emptied it. And I knew they had taken the package of muggles from my pocket. Estrellita probably did it while Dean tied me up. I even knew what they’d used to tie me with. I could see the rumpled sheet in the corner from which the strips had been torn.
I tried to move my arms and legs. It wasn’t easy. Maybe if I rolled over to the wall I could brace myself enough to stand up.
I tried. Just raising myself made my head ache. And standing on my numbed legs was almost impossible. After a few minutes of effort it became possible, though.
Now what?
I worked my wrists. The knots held. Maybe I could follow the wall into the kitchen, get a knife out of the drawer. Better roll into there, though.
I rolled. Once again there was the business of raising myself up. I found the cupboard and the drawer, inched my way upright alongside it, stood with my back to the drawer and got the edge under one hand. I tugged. The drawer opened, then fell to the floor with a thud.
A thud, not a crash. There was no tinkle. I stared down through the shadows on the kitchen floor. The drawer was empty. They’d thought of everything.
I started to roll back, passing the bathroom on my way. Too bad this wasn’t a hotel. In hotels they usually have that dojinger on the door for opening bottles and stuff.
Wait. Maybe...
I rolled back into the kitchen. I forced myself upright again. Then I saw what I was looking for on the far wall. I edged around towards it, hopping a step at a time and keeping my balance by sticking close to the wall. Then I reached the spot. There was a wall can opener and it had a bottle-opening attachment.
So far so good. But the rest was awful. The thing was set up too high for me to reach easily with my hands tied behind my back. I had to bend my arms. For a little while I thought I’d have to break them before I could make contact. Then I managed by twisting my left arm almost out of its socket.
I began to run my wrists back and forth against the knots. Of course there was no way of seeing what I was doing, and I had to be careful. The bottle opener was sharp; I didn’t want to puncture my wrists. A few gashes were to be expected, but that didn’t make them hurt any less when I felt them.
It took time. Quite a long time. Then I felt the knots giving. I pulled away and worked my hands. Something came loose. My hands were free.
I sat down, wrung a little circulation back into my fingers, and took the gag out of my mouth. Then I untied my feet. I rubbed my ankles, stood up again, felt the top of my head just for luck.
Then I looked at my watch.
No wonder it was dark. Almost nine o’clock. I’d been out for over five hours.
That was a long time. Long enough for the two of them to get a long, healthy head start.
I wondered where they’d run off to.
Switching on the lights, I made a brief tour of the apartment. They’d packed, all right. Taken everything, and left. I found a few ties in the bedroom, though; all were striped patterns. Dean had worn a striped tie. Which meant Estrellita had probably lied about not seeing him any more. The two of them were in this together.
All of which didn’t matter now. There were other puzzlers.
My gun, for instance, or rather Bannock’s gun. It was still in my pocket, I discovered. Thoughtful of them. Or thoughtless.
Well, there was nothing I could do about that. Nothing except go to the police and tell them what I knew. About Dean, Juarez, and this man Hastings. Edward Hastings. So he had to turn out to be the killer. Like those old-fashioned mysteries where everybody is suspected and it ends up that the butler did it. A fine thing. And I was a fine amateur private eye, too.
No sense looking any further. They wouldn’t have left anything around that might help.
I went out and closed the door behind me. Nobody lurked in the hall. Nobody opened up to peek at me from the Little Gypsy Tea Room. I hit the street and headed for the nearest drugstore.
It was about time I turned sensible and called Thompson. Yes, that was the only thing left for me. Call Thompson and try to work with him, for a change. We could still round up the murderer, if luck only held.
The drugstore wasn’t hard to find. I went in, looking around for a phone. I couldn’t see it, so I walked up to the clerk at the counter.
“Yes?”
“Have you got—?” I stopped. There was a pile of early morning editions on the counter. I picked up the top one and gave the clerk a buck. I started to walk away.
“Hey, mister, you forgot your change!”
I didn’t pick up my change. I kept right on walking. Walking and reading.
It was only a box on the front page; that’s all they had time for when the flash came in. Maybe there’d be an extra later. I didn’t know. I didn’t care.
Everything was over, now.
Hastings was dead. Edward Hastings, 42, of such-and-such an address, found shot through the head late this afternoon at...
I read the address again, read what Hastings did for a living.
Then I turned around and went back into the store.
“Where’s the phone?” I asked.
“Back there, behind the counter.”
“Thanks.”
I didn’t dial the police. I called Bannock, at his house.
“Hello.”
“Yes?” Daisy’s voice.
“This is Mark. Is Harry there?”
“No.”
“Where is he—police?”
“Of course not. Why should he be?”
“Then you haven’t heard?”
“Mark, what’s this all about? Harry ought to be in soon, he had to finish up at the office after the funeral this afternoon.”
I’d forgotten all about the funeral. I’d forgotten about a lot of things, apparently.
“Well, if he comes in, be sure to hold him. I’m on my way out.”
“Mark, is there something—?”
“Plenty,” I said. “Stay right where you are.”
I hung up and went out. I hailed a cab up the street and gave the driver Bannock’s address.
It was a long haul across town and I had plenty of time to think things out. No matter how I put the pieces together, they always fitted.
Over? Nothing was over. Not yet.
The moon was shining bright as we drove up in front of Bannock’s place. There was a light in the window for the wandering boy, too.
I got out and wandered up the walk.
Daisy let me in. “Sarah’s day off,” she told me. “And me with a stinking headache.”
“How was the funeral?”
“I didn’t go. Harry went, though.”
“Did he?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you.”
She looked at me. “What happened to you?” she asked. “Is it the police?”
“No. They haven’t caught up with me yet. I’m going to call them in a little while, though. But first let me tell you the whole deal.”
“Come in. I’ll mix a drink,” I did, and she did. It was pleasant to sit back and relax in the soft lamplight, with an easy chair to rest in, a tall glass in my hand, and Daisy’s presence vibrant before me.
Only I wasn’t relaxing. Not yet.