Stewart G. Bedford felt unreasonably angry as he signed his name two hundred times to twenty thousand dollars’ worth of checks.
The banker, who had tried to make conversation, didn’t help matters any.
“Pleasure or business trip, Mr. Bedford?”
“Neither.”
“No?”
“No.”
Bedford signed his name in savage silence; then, realizing that his manner had only served to arouse curiosity, added, “I like to have some cash reserves on hand these days, something you can convert to cash in a minute.”
“Oh, I see,” the banker said, and thereafter said nothing.
Bedford folded the checks and left the bank. Why the devil couldn’t they have taken the money in tens and twenties the way they did with kidnap ransom in the movies. Served him right for getting mixed up with a damn bunch of blackmailers.
Bedford entered his private office and found Elsa Griffin sitting there waiting for him.
Bedford raised his eyebrows.
“Mr. Denham and a girl are waiting for you,” she said.
“A girl?”
She nodded.
“What sort of a girl?”
“A babe.”
“A moll?”
“It’s hard to tell. She’s really something for looks.”
“Describe her.”
“Blonde, nice complexion, beautiful legs, plenty of curves, big limpid eyes, a dumb look, a little perfume, and that’s all.”
“You mean that’s really all?”
“That’s all there is.”
“Well, let’s have them in,” Bedford said, “and I’ll leave the intercom on so you can listen.”
“Do you want me to … to do anything?”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do except give them the money.”
Elsa Griffin went out and Binney Denham came in with the blonde.
“Good morning, Mr. Bedford, good morning. I want to introduce you to Geraldine Corning.”
The blonde batted her big eyes at him and said in a throaty, seductive voice, “Gerry, for short.”
“Now it’s like this,” Binney Denham said. “You’re going out with Gerry.”
“What do you mean, going out with her?”
“Going out with me,” Gerry said.
“Now look here,” Bedford began angrily. “I’m willing to—”
He was stopped by the peculiar look in Binney Denham’s eyes.
“This is the way Delbert says it has to be,” Denham said. “He has it all figured out, Mr. Bedford. I’ve been having a lot of trouble with Delbert … a whole lot of trouble. I don’t think I could explain things to him if there were to be any variation.”
“All right,” Bedford said angrily. “Let’s get it over with.”
“You have the checks?”
“I have the checks here in my brief case.”
“Well, that’s fine! That’s just dandy! I told Delbert I knew we could count on you. But he’s frightened, and when a man gets frightened he does unreasonable things. Don’t you think so, Mr. Bedford?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Bedford said grimly.
“That’s right. You wouldn’t, would you?” Binney said. “I’m sorry I asked you the question in mat way, Mr. Bedford. I was talking about Delbert. He’s a peculiar mixture, and you can say that again.”
Gerry’s eyes smiled at Bedford. “I think we’d better start.”
“Where are we going?” Bedford asked.
“Gerry will tell you. I’ll ride down in the elevator with you if you don’t mind, Mr. Bedford, and then I’ll leave you two. I’m quite certain it will be all right.”
Bedford hesitated.
“Of course,” Denham said, “I’m terribly sorry it had to work out in this way. I know that you’ve been inconvenienced enough as it is, and I just want you to know that I’ve been against it all along, Mr. Bedford. I know that your word is good, and I’d like to deal with you on that basis, but you just can’t understand Delbert unless you’ve had dealings with him. Delbert is terribly suspicious. You see, he’s afraid. He feels that you’re a smart businessman and that you may have been in touch with somebody who would make trouble. Delbert just wants to go right ahead and make a sale to the magazine. He says that that’s perfectly legitimate and no one can—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Bedford exploded. “Let’s cut out this comedy. I’m going to pay. I’ve got the money. You want the money. Now let’s go!”
Gerry moved close to him, linked her arm through his, holding it familiarly.
“You heard what he said, Binney. He wants to go.”
Bedford made for the door that led to the outer office.
“Not that way,” Binney said apologetically. “We’re supposed to go out through the exit door directly to the elevator.”
“I have to let my secretary know I’m going out,” Bedford said, making a last stand. “She has to know I’m going out”
Binney coughed. “I’m sorry, sir. Delbert was most insistent on that point”
“Now look here—” Bedford began, then stopped.
“It’s better this way, Mr. Bedford. This is the way Delbert wanted it.”
Bedford permitted Geraldine Corning to lead him toward the door. Binney Denham held it open and the three of them went out in the corridor, took the express elevator to the ground floor.
“This way,” Binney said and escorted them to a new-looking, yellow car which was parked at the curb directly in front of the building.
“Are you worried about women drivers?” Geraldine asked him.
“How good are you?” Bedford asked.
“At driving?”
“Yes.”
“Not too good.”
“I’ll drive.”
“Okay by me.”
“How about Denham?”
“Oh, Binney’s not coming. Binney’s all finished. Hell follow for a ways, that’s all.”
Bedford got in behind the wheel.
The blonde slid gracefully in beside him. She was, Bedford conceded to himself, quite a package—curves in the right places; eyes, complexion, legs, clothes—and yet he couldn’t be sure whether she was stupid or putting on an act.
“Bye, Binney,” she said.
The little man bowed and smiled and bowed and smiled again. “Have a nice trip,” he said as Bedford gunned the engine into life.
“Which way?” he asked.
“Straight ahead,” the blonde said.
For one swift moment Bedford had a glimpse of Elsa Griffin on the sidewalk. Thanks to the intercom she had learned their plans in time to get to the sidewalk before they had left the office.
He saw that she was holding a pencil and notebook, He knew she had the license number of the car he was driving.
He managed to keep from looking directly at Elsa and eased the car out into traffic.
“Now, look,” Bedford said. “I want to know something about what I’m getting into.”
“You aren’t afraid of me, are you?”
“I want to know what I’m getting into.”
“You do as you’re told,” she instructed him, “and there won’t be any trouble.”
“I don’t do business that way.”
“Then drive back to your office,” she said, “and forget the whole business.”
Bedford thought that over, then kept driving straight ahead.
The blonde squirmed around sideways on the seat and drew up her knees, making no attempt to conceal her legs. “Look, big boy,” she said “You and I might just as well get along. It’ll be easier that way.”
Bedford said nothing.
She made a little grimace at his silence and said, “I like to be sociable.”
Then after a moment she straightened in the seat, pulled her skirt back down over her knees and said, “Okay, be grumpy if you want to. Turn left at the next corner, grouch-face.”
He turned left at the next corner.
“Turn right on the freeway and go north,” she instructed.
Bedford eased his way into the freeway traffic, instinctively looked at the gasoline gauge. It was full. He settled down for a long drive.
“Turn right again and leave the freeway up here at the next crossroads,” she said.
Bedford followed instructions. Again the blonde doubled her knees up on the seat and rested one hand lightly on his shoulder.
Bedford realized then that she was carefully regarding the traffic behind them through the rear window of the car.
Bedford raised his eyes to the rearview mirror.
A single car followed them off the freeway, maintaining a respectable distance behind.
“Turn right,” Geraldine said.
Bedford had a glimpse of the driver of that other car. It was Binney Denham.
From that point on Geraldine, seated beside him, gave a series of directions which sent him twisting and turning through traffic.
Always behind them was that single car, sometimes close, sometimes dropping far behind, until finally, apparently satisfied that no one was following them, the car disappeared and Geraldine Corning said, “All right, now we drive straight ahead. I’ll tell you where to stop.”
They followed the stream of traffic out Wilshire. At length, following her directions, he turned north.
“Slow down,” she said.
Bedford slowed the car.
“Look for a good motel,” she told him. “This is far enough.”
As she spoke, they passed a motel on the left, but it was so shabby Bedford drove on without pausing. There was another motel half a mile ahead. It was named The Staylonger.
“How’s this?” Bedford asked.
“I guess this will do. Turn in here. We get a motel unit and wait.”
“How do I register?” Bedford asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m to keep you occupied until the thing is all over. Binney thought you’d be less nervous if you had me for company.”
“Look here,” Bedford said. “I’m a married man. I’m not going to get into any damned trap over this thing.”
“Have it your way,” she said. “We just wait here, that’s all. There isn’t any trap. Let your conscience be your guide.”
Bedford entered the place. The manager smiled at him, showing gold teeth. He asked no questions.
Bedford signed the name, “S. G. Wilfred,” and gave a San Diego address. At the same time he gave the story that he had hurriedly thought up. “We’re to be joined by some friends who are driving in from San Diego. We got here early. Do you have a double cabin?”
“Sure we do,” the manager said. “In fact, we have anything you want”
“I want a double.”
“If you register for a double, you’ll have to pay for both cabins. If you take a single, I’ll reserve the other cabin until six o’clock and then your friends can register and pay.”
“No, I’ll pay for the whole business,” Bedford said.
“That’ll be twenty-eight dollars.”
Bedford started to protest at the price; then, looking out at the young blonde sitting in the car, realized that it would be better to say nothing. He put twenty-eight dollars on the counter and received two keys.
“They’re the two cabins down at the end with the double garage in between—numbers fifteen and sixteen. There’s a connecting door,” the manager said.
Bedford thanked him, went back to the car, drove it down, parked it in the garage and said, “Now what?”
“I guess we wait,” Gerry told him.
Bedford unlocked one of the cabins and held the door open. She walked in. Bedford followed her.
It was a nice motel—a double bed, a little kitchenette, a refrigerator, and a connecting door between that and another unit that was exactly the same. There was also a toilet and tiled shower in each unit.
“Expecting company?” Geraldine asked.
“That’s your room,” Bedford said. “This one is mine.”
She looked at him almost scornfully, then said, “Got the traveler’s checks?”
Bedford nodded. She indicated the table and said, “You’d better start signing.”
Bedford zipped open his brief case and was reaching for the traveler’s checks when he saw the gun. He had forgotten about that. He hurriedly turned the brief case so she couldn’t see in it and took out the books of traveler’s checks.
He sat at the table and started signing the checks.
She slipped out of her jacket, looked at herself appraisingly in the mirror, studied her legs, straightened her stockings, glanced over her shoulder at Bedford and said, “I think I’ll freshen up a bit.”
She went through the connecting door into the other unit Bedford heard the sound of running water. He heard a door close, a drawer open and close, then the outer door opened.
Suddenly suspicious, Bedford put down his pen, walked through the door and into the other room.
Geraldine was standing in her bra, panties and stockings in front of an open suitcase.
She turned casually and raised her eyebrows. “All signed so soon?” she asked.
“No,” Bedford said angrily. “I heard a door open and close. I was wondering if you were taking a powder.”
She laughed. “Just getting my suitcase out of the trunk compartment of the car,” she said. “I’m not leaving you. You’d better go on with your signing. They’ll want the checks pretty quick.”
There was neither invitation nor embarrassment in her manner. She stood there watching him speculatively, and Bedford, annoyed at finding himself not only aware but warmly appreciative of her figure, turned back to his own unit in the motel and gave himself over to signing checks. For the second time that day he signed his name two hundred times, then went to the half-opened connecting door. “Everybody decent?” he asked.
“Oh, don’t be so stuffy. Come on in,” she said.
He entered the room to find Geraldine attired in a neat-fitting gabardine skirt which snugly outlined the curves of her hips, a soft pink sweater which clung to her ample breasts, and an expensive wide contour belt around her tiny waist.
“You have them?” she asked.
Bedford handed her the checks.
She took the books, carefully looked through each check to make sure that it was properly signed, glanced at her wrist watch and said, “I’m going out to the car for a minute. You stay here.”
She went out, locking the door from the outside, leaving Bedford alone in the motel. Bedford whipped out a notebook, wrote the telephone number of his unlisted line, which connected directly with Elsa Griffin’s desk. He wrote, “Call this number and say I am at The Staylonger Motel.” He pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his billfold, doubled it over, with the leaf from his notebook inside, then folded the twenty-dollar bill again and thrust it in his vest pocket. He went to her suitcase, tried to learn something of her identity from an inspection of the contents.
The suitcase and the overnight bag beside it were brand new. The initials G. C. were stamped in gold on the leather. There were no other distinguishing marks.
He heard her step on the wooden stair outside the door and quietly withdrew from the vicinity of the baggage.
A moment later the girl opened the door. “I’ve got a bottle,” she said. “How about a highball?”
“Too early in the day for me.”
She lit a cigarette, stretched languidly, moved over to the bed and sat down. “We’re going to have to wait quite a while,” she said by way of explanation.
“For what?”
“To make sure everything clears, silly. You’re not to go out—except with me. We stay here.”
“When can I get back to my business?”
“Whenever everything’s cleared. Don’t be so impatient.”
Bedford marched back into the other unit of the motel and sat down in a chair that was only fairly comfortable. Minutes seemed to drag into hours. At length he got up and walked back to the other unit. Geraldine was stretched out in the overstuffed chair. She had drawn up another chair to use as a footrest and the short skirt had slid back to show very attractive legs.
“I just can’t sit here all day doing nothing,” he said angrily.
“You want this thing to go through, don’t you?”
“Of course I want it to go through; otherwise I wouldn’t have gone this far. But after all, there are certain things that I don’t intend to put up with.”
“Come on, grumpy,” she said. “Why not be human? We’re going to be here a while. Know anything about cards?”
“A little.”
“How about gin rummy?”
“Okay,” he said. “What do we play for?”
“Anything you want.”
Bedford hesitated a moment, then made it a cent a point.
At the end of an hour he had lost twenty-seven dollars. He paused in his deal and said, “For heaven’s sake, let’s cut out this beating around the bush. When do I get out of here?”
“Sometime this afternoon, after the banks close.”
“Now wait a minute!” he said. “That’s going too damned far.”
“Forget it,” she told him. “Why don’t you loosen up and be yourself? After all, I’m as human as you are. I get bored the same as you do. You’re already parted with your money. You have everything to lose and nothing to gain by trying to crab the deal now. Sit down and relax. Take your coat off. Take your shoes off. Why don’t you have a drink?”
She went over to the refrigerator, opened the door of the freezing compartment and took out a tray of ice cubes.
“Okay,” Bedford surrendered. “What do you have?”
“Scotch on the rocks, or Scotch and water.”
“Scotch on the rocks,” he said.
“That’s better,” she told him. “I could like you if you weren’t so grouchy. Lots of people would like to spend time here with me. We could have fun if you’d quit grinding your teeth. Know any funny stories?”
“They don’t seem funny now,” he said.
She opened a new fifth of Scotch, poured out generous drinks, looked at him over the brim of the glass, said, “Here’s looking at you, big boy.”
“Here’s to crime!” Bedford said.
“That’s better,” she told him.
Bedford decided to try a new conversational gambit.
“You know,” he told her, “you’re quite an attractive girl. You certainly have a figure.”
“I noticed you looking it over.”
“You didn’t seem very much concerned at the … at the lack of… of your costume.”
“I’ve been looked at before.”
“What do you do?” Bedford asked. “I mean, how do you make a living?”
“Mostly,” she said, smiling, “I follow instructions.”
“Who gives the instructions?”
“That,” she said, “depends.”
“Do you know this man they call Delbert?”
“Just by name.”
“What kind of a man is he?”
“All I know is what Binney tells me. I guess he’s a screwball … but smart. He’s nervous—you know, jumpy.”
“And you know Binney?”
“Oh, sure.”
“What about Binney?”
“He’s nice, in a mild sort of way.”
“Well,” he said, “let’s get on some ground we can talk about. What did you do before you met that character?”
“Corespondent,” she said.
“You mean, a professional corespondent?”
“That’s right Go to a hotel with a man, take my clothes off, wait for the raiding party.”
“I didn’t know they did that any more.”
“It wasn’t in this state.”
“Where was it?”
“Some place else.”
“You’re not very communicative.”
“Why not talk about you?” she said. “Tell me about your business.”
“It’s rather complicated,” he explained.
She yawned. “You’re determinedly virtuous, aren’t you?”
“I’m married.”
“Let’s play some more cards.”
They played cards until Geraldine decided she wanted to take a nap. She was pulling a zipper on her skirt as Bedford started for the connecting door.
“That’s not nice,” she said. “I have to be sure you don’t go out.”
“Are you going to lock the door?”
“It’s locked.”
“It is?”
“Sure,” she said nonchalantly. “I have the keys. I locked it from the outside while I was out at the car. You didn’t think I was dumb, did you?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Don’t you ever take a nap?”
“Not in the daytime.”
“Okay. I guess we’ll have to suffer it out then. More cards or more Scotch—or both?”
“Don’t you have a magazine?”
“You’ve got me. They didn’t think you needed anything else to keep you entertained. After all, there are some details they couldn’t have anticipated,” she laughed.
Bedford went into his room and sat down. She followed him. After a while Bedford became drowsy with the sheer monotony of doing nothing. He stretched out on the bed. Then he dozed lightly, slept for a few minutes.
He wakened with the smell of seductive perfume in his nostrils. The blonde, wearing a loose-flowing, semi-transparent creation, was standing beside him, looking down at him, holding a small slip of paper.
Bedford wakened with a start. “What is it?” he asked.
“A message,” she said. “There’s been a hitch. We’re going to be delayed.”
“How long?”
“They didn’t say.”
“We have to eat,” Bedford said.
“They’ve thought of that. We can go out and eat. I pick the place. You stay with me—all the time. No phones. If you want to powder your nose, do it before we start. If there’s any double cross, you’ve just lost your money and Delbert goes to the magazine. I’m to tell you that. You’re to do as I say.
“They want you to be contented and not be nervous. They thought I could keep you amused. I told them you don’t amuse very easy, so they said I could take you out—but no phones.”
“How did you communicate with them?” he asked.
She grinned. “Carrier pigeons. I have them in my bra. Didn’t you see them?”
“All right Let’s ride around a while,” he said. “Let’s eat.”
He was surprised to find himself experiencing a feeling of companionship as she slid in the car beside him. She twisted around to draw up her knees so that her right knee was resting across the edge of his leg. Her hands with fingers interlaced were on his shoulder.
“Hello, good-looking,” she said.
“Hello, blonde,” he told her.
Bedford drove down to the beach highway, drove slowly along, keeping to the outside of the road.
“Well,” he said at length, “I suppose you’re getting hungry.”
“Thanks,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows in silent interrogation.
“You’re thinking of me as a human being,” she explained. “After all, I am, you know.”
“How did you get in this work?” he asked abruptly.
“It depends on what you mean by this work,’” she said.
There was a moment’s silence. Bedford thought of two or three possible explanations which would elaborate on his remark, and decided against all of them.
After a moment she said, “I guess you just drift into things in life. Once you start drifting the current keeps moving more and more swiftly, until you just can’t find the opportunity to turn and row against it Now, I suppose that’s being philosophical, and you don’t expect that from me.”
“I don’t know what I am supposed to expect from you.”
“Expect anything you want,” she said. “They can’t arrest you for expecting.”
Bedford was thoughtful. “Why start drifting in the first place?” he asked.
“Because you don’t realize there’s any current, and even when you do, you like it better than sitting still. Damn it, I’m not going to give you a lot of philosophy on an empty stomach.”
“There’s a place here where they have wonderful steaks,” Bedford said, starting to pull in and then suddenly changing his mind.
He looked up to see her eyes mildly amused, partially contemptuous, studying his features. “You’re known mere, eh?” she asked.
“I’ve been there.”
“One look at me and your reputation is ruined, is that it?”
“No, that’s not it,” he said savagely. “And you should know that’s not it. But under the circumstances, I’m not anxious to leave a broad back trail. I don’t know who I’m playing with or what I’m playing with.”
“You’re sure not playing with me,” she said. “And remember, I’m to pick the eating place. You pay the check.”
He drove up the road for a couple of miles. “Try this one,” she said abruptly, indicating a tavern.
They found a booth in a dining room that was built out over the water. The air was balmy, the sun warm, the ocean had a salty tang, and they ate thick filet mignon steaks with French-fried onions, Guinness stout, and garlic bread.
They had dessert, a brandy and Benedictine, and Bedford paid the check. “And this is for you,” he told the waiter, handing him the folded twenty with the message inside.
He scraped back his chair, careful to have Geraldine on her way to the door before the waiter unfolded the bill. He knew he was being foolish, jeopardizing the twenty thousand dollar investment he had made in a blackmail payoff, but he had the feeling he was outwitting his enemies.
Only afterward, when they had again started driving up the coast road, did he regret his action. After all, it could do no good and it might do harm, might, in fact, wreck everything.
Yet his reason told him they weren’t going to any scandal magazine, not when they had a bonanza that could be clipped for twenty thousand dollars at a crack.
And the more he thought of it, the more he felt certain Delbert was only a fictitious figment Binney Denham and the blonde were all there were in the “gang.”
Was it perhaps possible that this acquiescent blonde was the brains of the gang? Yet now, somehow, he accepted her as a fellow human being. He preferred to regard her as a good scout who had somehow come under the power of Binney, a sinister individual beneath his apologetic mask.
The silence between Bedford and the girl was warm and intimate.
“You’re a good guy,” she told him, “when a girl gets to know you. You’re a shock to a girl’s vanity at first I guess some married men are like that and are all wrapped up in their wives.”
“Thanks,” he told her. “You’re a good scout yourself, when a fellow gets to know you.”
“How long you been married?”
“Nearly two years.”
“Happy?”
“This deal you’re mixed up in involves her, doesn’t it?”
“If it’s all the same with you, I’d rather not talk about her.”
“Okay by me. We probably should be getting back.”
“They’ll let you know when everything is clear?”
“Uh-huh. It takes a little time to negotiate two hundred traveler’s checks, you know, and do it right.”
“And you’re supposed to keep me out of circulation until it’s done right, is that it?”
Her eyes flickered over him slowly. “Something like that,” she said.
“Why didn’t Binney do the job?”
“They thought you might get impatient with him.”
“They?” he asked.
“Me and my big mouth,” she told him. “Let’s talk about politics or sex or business statistics, or something that I can agree with you on.”
“You think you could agree with me on politics?”
“Sure, I’m broad-minded. You know something?”
“What?”
“I’d like a drink.”
“We can stop in one of these roadhouses,” Bedford suggested.
She shook her head. “They might not like that Let’s go back to the motel. I’m not to let you out of my sight and I’m going to have to powder my nose. How’d you happen to get mixed up in a mess of this sort?”
“Let’s not talk about it,” he said.
“Okay. Drive back. I guess you just drifted into it the same way I did. They start telling you what to do, and you give in. After the first time it’s harder to resist. I know it was with me. But you have to turn against the current sometime. I guess the best time is when you first feel the current.
“I’m spilling to you. I shouldn’t. It’s not in the job. They wouldn’t like it. I guess it’s because you’re so damned decent. I guess you’ve always been a square shooter.
“You take me, I’ve always gone along the easy way. I guess I haven’t guts enough to stand up and face things.”
They drove in silence for a while. At length she said, “There’s only one way out.”
“For whom?”
“For both of us. I’d forgotten how damned decent a decent guy could be.”
“What’s the way out?” he asked.
She shook her head, became suddenly silent.
She cuddled a little closer to him. Bedford’s mind, which had been working furiously, began to relax. After all, he had been a fool, putting himself in the power of Binney Denham and the mysterious individual whom he knew only as Delbert. They had his money. They wouldn’t want any publicity now. Probably they’d play fair with him because they’d want to put the bite on him again—and again and again.
Bedford knew he was going to have to do something about that, but there would be a respite now, a period of time during which he’d have an opportunity to plan some sort of attack.
Bedford turned in at the motel. The manager looked out of the door to see who it was, apparently recognized the car, waved a salutation, and turned back from the window.
Bedford drove into the garage. Geraldine Corning, who had both keys, unlocked the door and entered his cabin with him. She got the bottle of Scotch, took the deck of cards, suddenly laughed and threw the cards in the wastebasket. “Let’s try getting along without these things. I was never so bored in my life. That’s a hell of a way to make money.”
She went to the refrigerator, got out ice cubes, put them in the glasses, poured him a drink, then poured herself one.
She went to the kitchenette, added a little water to each drink, came back with a spoon and stirred them. She touched the rim of her glass to his and said, “Here’s to crime!”
They sat sipping their drinks.
Geraldine kicked her shoes off, ran the tips of her fingers up her stockings, looked at her leg, quite plainly admiring it, stretched, yawned, sipped the drink again and said, “I feel sleepy.”
She stretched out a stockinged foot, hooked it under the rung of one of the straight-backed chairs, dragged it toward her, propped her feet up and tilted back in the overstuffed chair.
“You know,” she said, “there are times in a girl’s life when she comes to a fork in the road, and it all happens so easily and naturally that she doesn’t realize she’s coming to a crisis.”
“Meaning what?” Bedford asked.
“What do they call you?” she asked. “Your friends …”
“My first name’s Stewart.”
“That’s a helluva name,” she said. “Do they call you Stu?”
“Uh-huh.”
“All right, I’ll call you Stu. Look Stu, you’ve shown me something.”
“What?”
“You’ve shown me that you can’t get anywhere drifting. I’m either going to turn back or head for shore,” she said. “I’m damned sick and tired of letting people run my life. Tell me something about your wife.”
Bedford stretched out on the bed and dropped both pillows behind his head. “Let’s not talk about her.”
“You mean you don’t want to discuss her with me?“
“Not exactly.”
“What I wanted to know,” Geraldine said somewhat wistfully, “was what kind of a woman it is who can make a man love her the way you do.”
“She’s a very wonderful girl,” Bedford said.
“Hell! I know that. Don’t waste time telling me about that. I want to know how she reacts toward life and … and somehow I’d like to know what it is that Binney has on her.”
“Why?”
“Damned if I know,” she said. “I thought I might be able to help her.” She put back her head and sucked in air in a prodigious yawn. “Cripes! but I’m sleepy!”
For some time there was silence. Bedford put his head back against the pillows and found himself thinking about Ann Roann. He felt somehow that he should tell Geraldine something about her, something about her vitality, her personality, her knack of saying witty things that were never unkind.
Bedford heard a gentle sigh and looked over to see that Geraldine had fallen asleep. He himself felt strangely drowsy. He began to relax in a way that was most unusual considering the circumstances. The nervous tension drained out of him. His eyes closed, then opened, and for a moment he saw double. It took him a conscious effort to fuse the two images into one.
He sat up and was suddenly dizzy, then dropped back against the pillows. He knew then that the drink had been drugged. By that time it was too late to do anything about it. He made a halfhearted effort to get up off the bed, but lacked the energy to do it. He surrendered to the warm feeling of drowsiness that was sweeping over him.
He thought he heard voices. Someone was saying something in whispers, something that concerned him. He thought he heard the rustle of paper. He knew that this had something to do with some responsibility of his in the waking world. He tried to arouse himself to cope with that responsibility, but the drug was too strong within him and the warm silence enveloped him.
He heard the sound of a motor, and then the motor backfired and again he tried to arouse from a lethargy. He was unable to do so.
What seemed like an eternity later Bedford began to regain consciousness. He was, he knew, stretched out on a bed in a motel. He should get up. There was a girl in the room. She had drugged his drink. He thought that over with his eyes closed for what seemed like ten or fifteen minutes, thinking for a moment, then dozing, then waking to think again. His drink had been drugged, but the girl’s drink must have also been drugged. They had been out somewhere. She had left the bottle in the room. Someone must have entered the room and drugged the bottle of whisky while they were out. She was a nice girl. He had hated her at first, but she had a lot of good in her after all. She liked him. She wouldn’t have resented his making a pass at her. In fact, she resented it because he hadn’t. It had been a blow to her vanity. Then it had started her thinking, started her thinking about his wife. She had wanted to know about Ann Roann.
The thought of Ann Roann snapped his eyes open.
There was no light in the room except that which came through the adjoining door from the other unit in the motel unit hurt his eyes momentarily. He started to get up and became conscious of a piece of paper pinned to his left coat sleeve. He turned the paper so that the light struck it. He read: “Everything has cleared. You can go now. Love, Gerry.”
Bedford struggled to a sitting position.
He walked toward the lighted door of the adjoining unit of the motel, his eyes rapidly becoming accustomed to the brighter light from the interior of the room. He started to call out, “Everybody decent?” and then thought better of it. After all, Geraldine would have left the door closed if she had cared. There was a friendly warmth about her, and, thinking of her, Bedford felt suddenly very kindly. He remembered when he had gone through that door earlier and had found her standing there practically nude. She really had an unusually beautiful figure. He had kept staring at her and she had merely stared back with an expression of amused tolerance. She had made no attempt to reach for her robe or turn her back. She had just stood there.
Bedford stepped into the room.
The first thing he saw was the figure lying on its side on the floor, the red pool which had spread out onto the carpet, the surface glazed over and reflecting the light from the reading lamp in a reddish splotch against the wall.
The figure was that of Binney Denham, and the little man was quite dead. Even in death he seemed to be apologetic. It was as though he was protesting against the necessity of staining the faded rug with the pool of red which had flowed from his chest.