Which was just as well. The Hotel Splendide had been waiting for an excuse to fall down for twenty years or more. The grenade had been all it needed. The whole of the back wall, the one that faced the overpass, had simply collapsed and I was now standing on a piece of floor that stretched into thin air. I shivered as the breeze whipped the smoke up around me. The traffic roared past, a blur of brightly colored metal whirling endlessly into the night. I was surprised that nobody had stopped . . . but how could they? It was an overpass. Doubtless the police would shut it down soon enough, but anyone stopping right now would only add a multiple pileup to the evening’s entertainment.
I stepped back, looking for the staircase or whatever might be left of it. This looked like it would be the hotel’s last night. The hotel, what was left of it, was on fire, the flames spreading rapidly, the wood snapping, water hissing out of broken pipes. My hearing still wasn’t back to normal, but I could just about make out the sound of people shouting. In the distance, police cars or fire engines or something with sirens were drawing nearer. A naked man ran past, his face half covered in shaving foam. I followed him. We’d both had a close shave that day.
My guardian angel must have been working overtime just then. Lucky it didn’t belong to a trade union. The iron bar narrowly missed my head and I didn’t even notice it until it smashed into the wall, spraying me with plaster. I wheeled around and there was Jack Splendide, lifting the bar to try his luck again. His shirt was in shreds and his stomach wasn’t a whole lot better. Both his trouser legs had been blown off at the knee. I realized he must have been close to the dwarf’s room when the explosion happened—perhaps in the room next door. And he didn’t seem too happy that I’d survived.
He swung the bar again and this time I dodged. He was about forty pounds overweight and that made him slow. On the other hand, he didn’t need to be too fast. He was between me and the staircase. I had the flames on one side of me and a five-story fall right behind me. I wondered if I could jump across onto the overpass. It was only about six feet, but the way I was feeling right then it was about three feet too far. I leaped back, avoiding a third blow. Now I was in the ruins of what had been Room 39. The flames were getting nearer. So was Jack Splendide.
He was shouting at me. What with all the din and the screaming in my ears, it was difficult to make out what he was saying, but I gathered that he blamed me for the destruction of his hotel. He must have really liked that place. There were tears running down his cheeks and he was holding that iron bar (part of a towel rail) with genuine affection. I wanted to explain that it wasn’t my fault that a passing motorist had decided to hurl a bomb at me, but he wouldn’t listen to reason. Jack Splendide had flipped. And he wanted me dead.
The iron bar came curving up over his shoulder as he swung it with both hands, but then the top got snarled up in a loop of wire. As it came down, it tore the wire out of the wall and for a few seconds electric sparks danced in the air. That distracted him just long enough for me to grab hold of a piece of table and bring it crashing into his stomach. He howled and dropped the bar. I hit him again, this time propelling him forward right to the edge of the floor.
He flailed at the air with his hands. There was a fall of at least forty feet to the cold, hard concrete below and I thought that was just where he was heading. Unable to regain his balance, he yelled and plunged forward, his body lunging out into the night. But at the last moment he managed to grab hold of the very edge of the overpass. And that was how he finished up: a human bridge. His feet were on the floor in what was left of Room 39. His hands were desperately clutching a piece of metal jutting out of the side of the overpass. His body sagged between the two.
I looked behind me. The flames were closing in. I wouldn’t even make it through the shattered doorway now. But I wasn’t too keen on jumping across to the overpass. Jack Splendide was the only answer. A human bridge. I took two big steps. One foot in the small of his back and I was across—safely standing on the edge of the road.
“Kid . . . hey, kid!” I heard him and walked back over to him. He was a big, strong man, but he couldn’t stay like that much longer. “Help me!” he rasped, the sweat dripping off his forehead. The wind jerked at my shirt. The cars roared by, only inches away now. Some of the drivers honked at me, but they couldn’t see Jack Splendide. I crouched down close to him. By now I’d been able to put a few things together.
“Who was it, Splendide?” I asked. “Who threw the grenade?”
“Please!” His hands tightened their hold as his body swayed.
“You must have told them I was here. Who was it?”
There was no way he could stall me. He was getting weaker by the minute and across the gap the flames were creeping up on him. He could probably feel them with the soles of his feet. “It was the Fat Man,” he gasped. “He guessed you might go back to the hotel. He paid me . . . to call if you did.”
“Why?”
“You insulted him, kid. Nobody insults the Fat Man. But I didn’t know he was going to try and kill you. I mean . . . the grenade. Honest, kid. I thought he was just going to take a shot at you—to scare you.”
Yeah, I thought. And you came up to the fifth floor to watch.
“Help me!” he whimpered. “Give me a hand, kid. I can’t hold on much longer.”
“That’s true,” I said, straightening up.
“You can’t leave me here, kid. You can’t!”
“Wanna bet?”
I walked away, leaving him stretched out between the flames and the overpass with a long, long way to fall if he let go. Maybe the police or firemen reached him in the end. To be honest, I don’t really care. Jack Splendide had set me up to be killed. He might not have been expecting a grenade, but he’d known the Fat Man didn’t play games.
It had begun to rain. Pulling the remains of my shirt closer to my shivering skin, I walked down the overpass and forgot about him.
THE PROFESSOR
I was woken by the smell of lavender. Lavender? Yes—perfume. You’ve smelled it before, Nick. Where? I can’t remember, but maybe it was mixed with the raw meat and . . . I swallowed, stretched, opened my eyes.
“Blimey, you’re a sight!” Betty Charlady exclaimed.
I was half stretched out on Herbert’s desk in his office. I’d had to walk home the night before, and by the time I’d gotten in I’d been too tired to go upstairs. I’d looked at the second flight of steps. They led to a bed with a crumpled sheet and a tangled-up quilt. I’ll never make it, I’d thought, and so I’d gone into the office and collapsed there. And now Betty Charlady was standing in front of me, looking at me like I’d dropped in from another planet.
“What happened to you?” she demanded, shaking her head and sending the artificial daisies on her hat into convulsions.
“I had a bad night,” I said. “How did you get in?”
“Through the door.”
“It was open?”
She nodded. “You ought to lock it at night, Master Nicholas. You never know who might visit . . .”
I needed a hot bath, a hot meal, two aspirin, and a warm bed—not necessarily in that order. Instead I went up and washed my face in the sink while Betty made breakfast: boiled eggs, toast, and coffee. I looked at myself in the mirror. Somebody else looked back. His hair was a mess, there were bags under his eyes, and he had a nasty cut on his forehead. I felt sorry for the guy.