At the door, she hesitated, realizing that she was probably destroying the murderer’s fingerprints as well. But what else could she do? She wiped the knob clean and turned it cautiously, inching the door open, and testing the outer knob. It was on the night-latch. The murderer had simply walked out and pulled it shut.
She paused, an instant, undecided whether to wipe the outer knob clean, then suddenly scrubbed it as hard as she could.
Holding the outer knob with the pillow case, she hesitated again, gathering all her strength and courage before stepping out and closing the door. That was the irrevocable step. Once she closed the door she was locked away from her last chance to call the police, tell them the simple truth, and hope they would believe her.
For a moment she was desperately tempted to do that. Wasn’t it what any innocent, law-abiding person would do? Wasn’t running away practically an admission of guilt?
Probably it was. She didn’t care. She couldn’t face it. This way, she had a chance. The other way? Who would believe her story, she asked herself scornfully.
She closed the door firmly with the pillowslip covering her hand, and stood for a moment memorizing the room number, 318. She would have to wait until she was outside to learn the name of the hotel.
She turned and went left toward a small red bulb illuminating a sign that said STAIRS. There was a door which she opened, and, with the cunning of the hunted, she took the upward flight of stairs. She remembered reading a book where a suspect had been trapped by walking down a flight instead of up. When he took the elevator from the floor below, the detective had known instantly that he had walked down one flight, and promptly arrested him. The author of the book had pointed out that in panic one invariably takes the easier path, and that if he had walked up instead of down he would never have been suspected.
So Aline walked up. Not one flight. Not just two flights, but three. That put her on the sixth floor and should be as safe as any. She wadded up the pillowslip as she climbed and dropped it in a dark corner on the fifth floor landing.
The sixth-floor corridor was dimly lit and deserted. She walked down it with her heart thumping, past closed doors behind which human beings slept in peace. Some of them snored, and the sound came faintly through open transoms.
She found double elevator doors and pressed the DOWN button. She had not the slightest idea what hour of the night it was, but was sure it was much too late for a respectable woman to be leaving a hotel with no wrap and no make-up, no handbag and her hair in disorder.
Anyone who saw her would think only one thing. Well, let them. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly when the elevator cables began creaking to bring the car up. She was a floosie, she reminded herself bitterly. A two-dollar whore. So why should she be ashamed or even annoyed if an elevator man and desk clerk took her for a call girl going home from some guest’s room after a late party?
The elevator stopped and the door slid open. The operator was a wizened and aged Negro man wearing a blue uniform with scarlet piping. So far as Aline could tell, he didn’t look at her when she stepped inside.
The door closed and they descended to a small lobby lighted with only two floor lamps. Aline stepped from the car with her chin still high, and her heels clacked on the bare floor toward the safety of a revolving door. She glanced at the desk, but the clerk was not there. A big clock on the wall pointed to 2:50.
Aline went through the revolving door and out onto a deserted sidewalk where a breeze cooled her hot cheeks. She looked at the sign above the hotel. It read, HOTEL HALCYON.
She would remember that, and she would remember a room number. She had not the vaguest idea what part of the city she was in. There were smart apartment houses here, and small specialty shops. She walked toward the nearest corner and discovered she was on Madison Avenue, far uptown from her normal haunts.
Looking up and down the Avenue she saw the welcome UNOCCUPIED lights of a roving taxi going south. She waved it to the curb, and before getting in she said:
“I’ll have to warn you, driver, that I don’t have any money with me. I lost my bag. If you’re willing to drive me to my place on East Twenty-Sixth Street, I’ll be glad to have you come in with me while I get some money to pay you.”
“Hop in, Lady,” he said wearily. “Where’d we all be in this world if none of us never trusted nobody else?” He opened the door, and when Aline got in he pulled away on the almost deserted avenue, leaning back to continue confidentially:
“Take it from me, that’s one of the troubles with this city. New York! Nobody speaks to a man on the street. Nobody’s got a helping hand for them that’s in trouble. Man can die right on a busy street and you’ll see the crowds hurrying by and turning their faces like they’re scared they’ll get contaminated.”
Aline Ferris leaned back against the cushion and closed her eyes and let the driver ramble on. She was really getting good at this business, she congratulated herself. Back there, when she started to get into the cab, it had just come out subconsciously. She hadn’t planned it. But in a flash she had realized that a driver might recall the peculiar circumstances-picking up a penniless female fare, at three-thirty in the morning less than a block from a hotel where a murder had been committed that night, and he would have her address in his logbook.
So she had given him Doris’ address-East 26th Street, — instead of her own. She could borrow money from Doris, and talking with Doris would be a good place to start going back. Doris had been at Bart’s party. She and Jim Cochran had been necking at the bar when Aline allowed the third and fatal martini to be poured into her glass. Doris was the perfect solution to her problem and it had come to her with no planning or forethought whatever. Stopping in to borrow taxi fare was the perfect excuse for waking Doris and having a heart-to-heart talk without waiting until morning.
She broke into the driver’s monologue and gave him Doris’ street number, then relaxed until they reached it.
Doris had what New York calls a “garden apartment” in an old remodeled brownstone, and it was reached by stairs leading down from the sidewalk. When the cab stopped, Aline stepped out and said to the driver, “Wouldn’t you like to come with me to be sure I don’t run out on you?”
“If you wanta run, lady, you run,” he answered broodingly. “Ninety cents on the meter ain’t going to break nobody.”
Aline went down the short flight of steps and rang the bell. It was dark inside, and she kept her finger on the bell for a long time and nothing happened. Then a light showed in the rear, and presently a window beside the door was opened a trifle and Doris’ frightened voice asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s Aline Ferris. I lost my bag and haven’t a penny to pay my taxi fare. I want to borrow a couple of dollars.”
“Aline!” There was an odd breathlessness in Doris’ voice, and she hesitated a moment. Then she said effusively, “Of course, darling. Wait right there until I get my purse. Sure two dollars will be enough?”
“Plenty. The fare’s only ninety, but I want to give him a good tip because he was nice and trusted me.”
“Just a second.” Doris left the window, but, curiously, no more lights were turned on inside. She was back in a moment and thrust the bills through the open window. “You better hurry on home for a few winks, and I’ll be dying to hear all about it tomorrow. Darling, who was that character you were smooching with such abandon just before you left the party?”
“How about inviting me in for a drink now so we can talk?”
“Honestly, darling, I’m dead.” Doris stifled an elaborate yawn and started to close the window. “See you tomorrow.”
Aline said all right and thoughtfully climbed up the stairs. She handed the driver the bills and asked him for half a dollar in return.
She let him drive away because she wanted him to list this as her address. As she stepped back onto the sidewalk, she recognized Ralph’s familiar Mercury convertible parked just beyond Doris’ entrance.
&nb
sp; Dull anger tore at her. That was it. That was why Doris was determined to get rid of her. Ralph and Doris!
She went down the stairs again and put her finger firmly on the bell. The dim light was still on in the rear, and Aline didn’t have to wait so long this time. There was a rustle of movement inside, and the window near the door opened cautiously.
“Aline?” Doris sounded frightened and a little angry. “I told you I was too tired and sleepy…”
“I want to come in and talk to you,” Aline broke in firmly. “Unlock the door.”
“I shan’t. You must be drunk.”
“I’m cold stone sober,” Aline said flatly, “which is probably more than you are. I sent the taxi on and I’m coming in to talk to you.”
“You’re not! Go away. I won’t let you in.”
“I’ll stand here and ring your bell until you do, if it takes the rest of the night.”
“Ring it, then. Go ahead and ring it.” Doris’ voice rose hysterically. “I’m going back to sleep.” She closed the window with a thud.
Aline compressed her lips and put her finger on the bell and held it there. She couldn’t hear the bell ringing, but knew that it was. She couldn’t hear anything else, either, and the dim light in the rear went out, but she could imagine with grim amusement the frightened and whispered colloquy that must be going on in Aline’s bedroom.
Ralph and Doris!
“What are we going to do, Ralph?”
“Damn it, why didn’t you let her in and give her a drink and get rid of her?”
“I was afraid to. Suppose she’d insisted on coming into the bedroom for something? Besides, I thought she’d go on home. What are we going to do? I can’t stand that bell going on and on.”
Well, it was going on and on, Aline told herself angrily. On and on and on until Doris opened the door and let her in.
Was there any other way out of the apartment for Ralph? She didn’t think so. Possibly a rear window. But she vaguely recalled that the bedroom was jammed close to the brick wall of another building, and she didn’t believe there was room for him to squeeze through.
Why didn’t they just give up and let her in and face it out? After all, she didn’t have any real strings on Ralph. He could sleep with anyone he desired. She wasn’t jealous. She was just mad. And terribly frightened by what had happened, and determined to talk to Doris at once and learn as much as she could about events at the party after she had blacked out.
Doris would be able to tell her a lot. Ralph, too, if she could convince him that she didn’t care if he was with Doris and that all she wanted to find out was what had happened at Bart’s tonight. She recalled what Doris had said a few minutes ago.
“Who was that man you were smooching so hard just before you left the party?”
Aline didn’t remember any special man nor any special smooching. There had just been the regular gang around before she drank that third martini. Just the normal, light-hearted kisses and laughing innuendos.
Could it have been the dead man in the bathroom? If he had come to the party after she blacked out, and if she had gone for him the way Doris implied, then that might be the answer, or, at least, part of the answer.
She did do that sort of thing sometimes, Aline thought ruefully, as her right forefinger grew numb from determined pressure on the bell. Usually with strange men, and always when she was blacked out. Alcohol stripped away all her civilized inhibitions and released animal instincts that demanded sex. Curiously she always seemed to pick men who would be repulsive to her in her sane moments. Like the dead man. She shuddered involuntarily. He was one she wouldn’t have given a second glance when she was sober.
Would Doris never come to the door? She had to. I should have told her in the beginning that I knew Ralph was in there, thought Aline. Then they would have realized that nothing would be gained by keeping me out. I should have made her understand that I didn’t care a hoot in hell about Ralph. I can’t tell her why I want to know about tonight, of course. I can’t admit I was completely blacked out and don’t know anything at all that happened. I can’t admit that to anyone. Not yet. Not until I learn a lot more than I know now.
When a bright light came on in the living room, Aline took her finger off the bell. She heard the door-latch being released, and then the door opened.
“All right,” Doris said. “I give up. Come on in and stop that infernal racket.”
Doris was a short, plump blonde with rounded features that normally wore an all-embracing smile for the world to see. Now, her eyes were stormy, her full lips compressed with anger. She wore a blue robe belted tightly around her waist, and pink satin mules.
Aline stepped inside and said swiftly, “I’m sorry, Doris. Truly I am. But I had to talk to you. Look, if you’ve got a man in your bedroom, don’t mind me. I’m not on the vice squad, and God knows I’m not interested in your morals.”
Color flamed in Doris’ cheeks. “What a horrible thing to say. What ever made you think that?”
Aline shrugged and looked around the small, disordered sitting room. “I couldn’t think of any other reason why you kept me locked out.”
“I told you I’ve got a hangover and am dying for sleep,” wailed Doris. “Can’t you wait till morning?”
“No. This can’t wait.” Aline twisted her hands and her eyes were forlorn. “I’m frightened. I did it again tonight at Bart’s. Sort of. Passed out, you know. Not completely, but there are a few blank spots. I want to know everything I did. Was I pretty awful towards the end?”
Doris sighed and sat down at one end of the shabby studio couch and motioned Aline to a chair nearby. “Not too awful, I guess,” she said judicially. “How much do you remember? Having the fight with Ralph?”
Aline looked at her sharply, wondering whether Doris suspected that she knew Ralph was in the bedroom listening. Or didn’t she realize that Aline had recognized his car parked outside?
After carefully considering several responses, Aline said weakly, “A fight with Ralph? What did we fight about? I don’t remember it at all.”
“About you and Dirk, I guess.” Doris’ voice was barbed. “You certainly remember Dirk being there.”
Oh, yes. Aline remembered Dirk, big and blond and boyishly handsome. It was the first time she had seen him at a party without his wife. She remembered sitting on a window seat with him, a little removed from the others, who milled around with drinks in their hands. She recalled Dirk’s twisted smile as he explained that he was a misunderstood husband who needed comforting. So, she had comforted him a little. It hadn’t been anything important. Pleasant at the time, but not important. Dirk kissed easily and well, and his big hands were gentle and knowing in their caresses.
She said, wonderingly, “Why would Ralph want to fight with me about Dirk? He doesn’t mean anything to me.”
Doris shrugged. “You’d better ask Ralph that. I’m sure I don’t know why he’d be upset.”
Anger stirred in Aline and her eyes narrowed. “All right,” she said viciously. “I will ask him, since you suggest it.” She came to her feet in one lithe movement and swung out through the hall leading to the closed bedroom door before Doris could stop her.
With a choked cry of protest, Doris ran after her, caught her just as she started to turn the doorknob. She twined her fingers in Aline’s brown curls and jerked her back before she could open the door, sobbing hysterically.
“You stay out of there. You’re crazy. I won’t let you…”
Aline twisted around and slapped the pudgy, tear-wet face resoundingly. Doris released her hair and fell backward against the wall, her lips working in and out soundlessly, her eyes round with fear and surprise.
The bedroom door opened. Fully dressed and completely unruffled, Ralph smiled quizzically and said in his quiet, rich voice:
“Now, now, girls. Mustn’t fight over me. I’m really not worth it, you know.”
Aline faced him, stiffly erect and her eyes filled with scorn. She said bit
ingly, “I couldn’t agree more. Why don’t you come in and be cozy instead of skulking in the bedroom?”
Ralph smiled at her. He had dark wavy hair and the blandly handsome features of a man of small intellect. He said smoothly, “Just doing the gentlemanly thing, my dear Aline. Now you’ve discovered our little secret, we will be cozy.”
Doris was still leaning against the wall, sobbing. Ralph went over and put an arm around her shaking shoulders, drew her close and kissed her lips, then turned her to follow Aline who had stalked back to the living room.
Ralph soothed Doris: “Don’t take it so hard, my sweet. I’ve told you over and over that Aline has no reason in the world to care what you and I do together. Isn’t that right, Aline dear?”
“Perfectly right.” She sat stiffly erect in her chair and watched Ralph lead Doris to the couch and settle her beside him with a protecting arm around her shoulder and her face snuggled against his chest.
How could she ever have been taken in by him, Aline wondered bitterly? How could she have thought him charming and sophisticated?
“So why,” she demanded, “did you give one little damn what Dirk and I did at Bart’s party?”
“But I didn’t,” he protested. “What on earth gave you that idea? Were you so tight you don’t remember?”
“All right, so I was tight. Doris told me that you and I fought about Dirk.”
“Dear Doris,” he murmured, smiling down at the blonde head against his chest. “She invariably gets things wrong. I told her I wasn’t in the least concerned about whom you played around with. You started the ruckus, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” she snapped. “I’ve admitted I was tight. I’m just trying to make some sense out of what happened at Bart’s. When did I leave the party? Where did I go?”
“Oh, oh.” Ralph’s tone was smug, knowing. “You mean you pulled another of your famous blackouts?”
“Not exactly. Not like last time.” Did Doris know all about last time, she wondered? She knew about it, of course, but she was aware that Ralph was the man Aline had waked up in bed with the next morning? Aline didn’t think so. But Doris might have heard rumors… might have guessed the truth.
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