LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

apartment house on 45th East Place, a small, shrub-infested garden ran down to an alley hedged in on either side by a six-foot brick wall.

      During the summer months this alley was popular among courting couples as it had no lights and was shunned by pedestrians during the hours of darkness.

      For the past two hours, a man had been waiting in the alley, his eyes fixed on a lighted window on the third floor of the apartment house.

      He was a man of middle height, with broad and powerful shoulders. He wore a wide-brimmed brown slouch hat pulled down over his eyes, and in the dim light of the moon, only his thin-lipped mouth and square-shaped chin could be seen. The rest of his face was hidden by the black shadow cast by the hat brim.

      He was expensively dressed. His brown lounge suit, his white silk shirt and polka-dotted bow tie gave him the appearance of a well-to-do dandy, and once when he lifted his arm to consult a gold-strap watch, he showed two inches of white shirt cuffs and the tail of a white silk handkerchief he wore tucked up his sleeve.

      While he waited in the alley, he remained motionless. He chewed a strip of gum, his jaws moving rhythmically and continuously. His two-hour vigil was conducted with the patience of a cat waiting for a mouse to appear.

      A few minutes after midnight, the light in the third-floor window suddenly went out and completed the darkness of the rest of the apartment house.

      The man in the brown suit remained motionless. He leaned his broad shoulders against the brick wall, his hands thrust into his trousers’ pockets while he waited a further half-hour. Then, after consulting his watch, he reached down into the darkness and picked up a coil of thin cord that lay near his feet. A heavy rubber-covered hook was fastened to one end of the cord.

      He swung himself over the wall and walked silently and rapidly up the cinder path that led through the uncared-for garden to the back of the apartment house.

      In the light of the moon, the iron staircase of the outside fire escape showed up sharply against the white stucco of the building.

      The man in the brown suit paused under the swing-up end of the escape that was some five feet above his outstretched hand. He uncoiled the cord and tossed the hook into the air. The hook caught in the iron work of the escape and held. He gently tightened his grip on the cord, then pulled. The end of the escape came down slowly and silently, and bumped to the ground.

      He released the hook, recoiled the cord and left it on the bottom step where he could pick it up quickly on his way down.

      He went up the escape, two steps at a time, without hesitation or without looking back to see if anyone happened to be watching him. He reached the third-floor window he had been watching for the past two hours, and saw with satisfaction that the window was open a few inches at the top and bottom. He noticed also the curtains across the windows were drawn. He knelt down by the window, his ear to the gap between the window frame and the sill and listened. He remained like that for several minutes, then he put his fingers under the window frame and gently exerted pressure. The window moved up inch by inch, making no sound.

      When it was fully opened, he glanced over his shoulder and looked down into the dark garden and the darker alley. Nothing moved down there, and except for his own well-regulated breathing, he could hear no sound.

      The curtains hung well clear of the window, and he slid into the room without disturbing them. Cautiously, he turned and began to close the window, again moving it inch by inch, and again in silence. When the window was as he had found it, he straightened, turned and parted the curtains a few inches. He looked into darkness. The oversweet smell of face powder, stale perfume and cosmetics told him he had made no mistake as to the room. He listened, and after a moment or so, he heard quick light breathing not far from where he stood.

      He took out a pencil-thin flashlight, and shielding the bulb with his fingers, he switched the flashlight on. In the faint light, he saw a bed, a chair on which were some clothes, and a night table by the bed on which stood a small shaded lamp, a book and a clock.

      The back of the bed was to the window. He could see the outline of a figure under the blankets. Hanging on the bedpost was a silk dressing gown.

      Careful to keep the shielded light of his flashlight away from the sleeper in the bed, the man in the brown suit reached forward and gently pulled the silk cord of the dressing gown through its loops until he had disengaged it. He tested its strength, and, then satisfied, he reached forward and picked up the book that was lying on the night table.

      With the dressing gown cord and the flashlight in his left hand and the book in his right, he stepped behind the curtains again. He turned off the flashlight and slipped it into his pocket, then, still keeping behind the curtains, and holding one of them aside with his left hand, he tossed the book high and wide into the air.

      The book landed on the polished boards of the floor. Coming down flat-side up, it made a loud slapping noise that was intensified by the silence that brooded over the whole apartment.

      The man in the brown suit closed the curtains and waited, his jaws moving rhythmically as he chewed. He heard the bed creak, and then a girl’s voice said sharply, “Who’s that?”

      He waited, unmoved, his breathing normal, his head a little on one side as he listened.

      The bedside lamp went on, sending a soft glow of light through the curtains. He opened them slightly so he could see into the room.

      A dark, slim girl in a blue nylon nightdress was sitting up in the bed. She was looking toward the door, her hands clutching the blankets, and he could hear her rapid, alarmed breathing.

      Silently he took one end of the dressing gown cord in his right hand, and the other end in his left. He turned sideways so that he could push aside the curtains with his shoulder. He watched her, waiting.

      She saw the book on the floor, and she looked quickly at the night table, and then back to the book again. Then she did what he was hoping she would do. She threw back the blankets and swung her feet to the floor, her hand reaching out for her dressing gown. She stood up and began to slide her arms into the sleeves of the dressing gown, turning her back on the window as she did so.

      The man in the brown suit pushed aside the curtains with his shoulder and stepped silently into the room. With a movement too quick to follow he whipped the cord over the girl’s head, crossed the cord and tightened it around her throat. His knee came up and drove into the small of her back, sending her down on her hands and knees. He dropped on her, flattening her to the floor. The cord bit into her throat, turning her wild scream into a thin, almost inaudible cry. He knelt on her shoulders and his two hands tightened the cord.

      He remained like that, chewing steadily, and watching the convulsive heaving of her body and the feeble movement of her hands scrabbling at the carpet. He was careful not to use too much violence, and kept the cord just tight enough to stop blood flowing to her head and air getting to her lungs. He had no difficulty in holding her down, and he saw with detached interest her movements were becoming less convulsed, until only her muscles twitched in a reflex of agony.

      He remained kneeling on her, the cord tight, for three or four minutes, then when he saw there was no longer any movement, he carefully took the cord from her throat and turned her over on her back.

      He frowned when he saw that a trickle of blood had run down one nostril and had made a smear on the rug. He put his finger on her eyeball, and when there was no answering flicker, he stood up and dusted his trousers’ knees while he looked quickly around the room.

      He went to the door opposite the bed, opened it and looked into a small bathroom. He noted with a nod of his head the sturdy hook screwed to the back of the door.

      He spent the next ten minutes or so arranging the scene to his satisfaction. His movements were unhurried and unruffled. When he had finished what he was doing, he surveyed the scene with quick, bright eyes that missed no detail nor overlooked anything that might afford a clue.

      Then he turned off the lamp and went to the window. He opened it, turned to adjust the curtains, stepped out on the fire escape and pulled down the window,

Скачать книгу