CHAPTER 17

“OH, dear Lord,” Kenton said.

“Surely you’re aware of this story, sir.”

“I was not.”

“I suggest you leave … if the police are in fact interested in talking to you, I might be interested in helping them meet you.”

“You have a nasty disposition, Mr. Bell,” Kenton said, standing.

“Just leave, sir. That would be best. Just leave, and I’ll not call the police.”

“Well. Aren’t you a saint.”

Kenton went to the door, then paused. Turning, he said, “We’ve quickly gotten off on the wrong foot, Mr. Bell. Perhaps it’s my fault, and perhaps I was presumptuous to ask you to divulge private information. But you must understand that my reasons are compelling. I wouldn’t ask if there was not a highly important reason.”

“I simply can’t help you, Mr. Kenton.”

“It may be that this novel contains clues to a loved one I lost long ago, and who for years I was sure was dead.”

Bell actually took a backward step, and Kenton knew he’d just come across as a man at least mildly insane. “Mr. Kenton, please go.”

Kenton turned.

Bell said, “It’s only a novel, Mr. Kenton. Really. Just a serial novel … not even among the best we’ve done.”

One last try. “You’ll not even tell me the author’s name? Privately, between you and me?”

“I can’t. I’m bound by the terms of our contract.”

“May I at least have your copy of that newspaper?”

“Take it.”

Kenton left the building as fast as he could, and walked down the street looking like a hunted man.

When he entered the rented room, Alex Gunnison was there with a copy of the same newspaper.

“Kenton, we’ve got a problem.”

Kenton tossed his own copy onto the floor.

“Yes. We certainly do.”

*   *   *

Night, clouds overhead, thunder rumbling off in the distance.

Alex Gunnison was on the streets, looking for Brady Kenton, barroom to barroom. No luck so far, and Gunnison was worried.

He was beginning to consider checking the police station.

Kenton had been in a state ever since he’d come back from the offices of the American Popular Library. Gunnison didn’t blame him. Kenton was in trouble, and his trouble had the potential to spread beyond a simple local police problem. The story of Kenton’s assault would spread, eventually to the Illustrated American. Kenton’s job might be pulled away from him.

Kenton had vanished about sunset, without explanation. When he hadn’t returned a couple of hours later, Gunnison had been left to theorize about what was going on. Maybe Kenton had gotten arrested. Maybe the insane Englishwoman Rachel Frye had found him and murdered him, as she’d murdered those folks in Texas. Maybe Kenton had headed back to the bottle again. Maybe he’d decided to break into the Popular Library office and try to steal what he’d been denied earlier …

… Might he really have done that?

Gunnison stopped in the middle of the street, suddenly more worried than ever.

He headed for the American Popular Library offices as fast as he could go.

*   *   *

The building was dark, locked up. No sign of a night watchman. Gunnison circled it, looking at the windows on each level, trying to make out any sign of interior light. He also quietly checked the side doors and lower-level windows to see if any had been left open, or perhaps pried open.

He rounded the rear of the building. It was extremely dark back here. Only one door.

Gunnison rattled the door … it swung open.

He stood there, not sure what to do. Maybe it had been accidentally left open at the end of the day. Maybe it was simply an entrance into a storeroom, not really an access into the building.

On the other hand, maybe Brady Kenton had pried it open.

Gunnison whispered a quick prayer for the protection of fools, and entered.

He seemed to be in a hallway. It was so black, however, that he had to feel his way. He reached another wall, found another door, opened it.

He was in another hallway now. It was short, though, and ended with him facing another door. There Gunnison paused, trying to decide what to do. He could be in great trouble for having entered this building. What if there was a night watchman after all? How would he explain his trespassing?

The door before him was unlocked. He swung it open, wincing at the loud creak it made. He stepped onto the staircase and began to climb. Though he tried to walk softly, every footfall seemed to hammer and echo.

His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, however, and it was easier to move about. He was also feeling fairly sure that there was no night security here, meaning that if he didn’t betray his presence by the careless showing of a light or the making of excess noise, he should be able to explore undetected.

The stairs came to an end and he faced another door. To his surprise, this one as well was unlocked. And there seemed to be something odd about the workings of the lock.

After looking around to make sure there were no windows immediately at hand, he pulled out matches and struck one. By its light he studied the lock and latchwork. It had been forced, the marks still visible.

He shook out the match, fast. But as he did so, he glanced down the hall, and let out a little yell of fright as he made out what he was nearly sure was the shape of a man standing there …

Gunnison advanced backward, eyes on the dark and unmoving figure.

“Kenton?” Gunnison whispered.

The answering voice came from directly behind him, and made him yell out loud and leap a good four feet straight ahead.

“Talking to hat strands, Alex?”

After his leap, Gunnison wheeled so fast that he stumbled and fell on his rump.

“Kenton! Are you trying to make my heart fail me?”

“I’m ashamed of you, Alex, breaking into a building after dark. Don’t you know this is illegal?”

Gunnison rose. “Oh, that’s a rich comment, coming from you. I’ve been looking for you ever since it got dark, Kenton. I was afraid you were dead, or arrested, or drunk … or doing this.”

“I’m sure you disapprove.”

“What’s the point of my saying so? You’re here. You’ve made your choice.”

“So have you.”

“Yes. But we both can leave.”

“Or we could stay. Alex, I didn’t make the decision to enter the building lightly. I stood outside that back door for two hours before I decided to do it.

“You told me not to take you seriously when you talked of breaking and entering.”

“Well … I suppose that when I told you that, you shouldn’t have taken me seriously.”

“Kenton, if we get caught…”

“You can leave. You should leave. I can do this alone.”

“You can’t. If you’re caught, your job and your reputation will be demolished.”

“I’m far along that road already,” Kenton replied. “I’m already known across Denver, and soon across the nation, as a drunk who heaves other folks through barroom windows.”

“So don’t make it worse by becoming a second-story man.”

“There’s always the alternative of not getting caught. I’m going through with this, Alex. You needn’t.”

Gunnison hesitated, then said, “I know. But what the devil. I’m here.”

“You’re willing to help me?”

“God help me, I think I am.”

Kenton slapped him on the shoulder. “Good man, Alex. You always play the right hand when a lot is at stake. Let’s get this done and get out of here.”