Black Mask (Vol. 33, No. 3 — September 1949)

“As I see it they’re trying to scare the hell out of you. Maybe wanta smoke you into going to the police here in Miami, telling a crazy story. They may fake an attempt on your life, so you tell the cops here about it. Then it’s on record. See? You’re a long way’s from home. You get knocked off — probably tonight — they might make it look like suicide. Anyway, the point is — the little lady at home is in the clear. See? All the dough you’ve got belongs to her, and the guy workin’ with her — and I imagine you’ve got plenty!”

I stood there, dazed. Then I swung.

He handled me very easily. My uppercut missed a mile. He jerked me behind the large pillar out of view of the desk and the cop by the door. By my second wild blow caught him on the mouth, and a thin, red string ran down over his chin. He slammed me back hard against the pillar, his breath hot on my face. “You fool! She’s played you for a sucker, and that hurts. Sure. Now grow up! It’s your life, Sprague. And they want it!”

Anger blurred my vision. Perhaps what he said stirred an instinctive fear deep within me. “I don’t want any part of you,” I rasped. “Get away from me, Mace, or I’ll kill you!”

He sneered. “You’re just off your nut. Cool down, fella. You think a bullet went through your bedroom window? Uh uh. A bullet makes a clean-cut penetration through glass; maybe a few cracks spreading away from the point of impact — you said half the window-pane was on the lawn, long splinters of glass, didn’t you? Use your head. Something was thrown through it from the inside, probably the baseball bat. Your wife could have fired a blank cartridge, a real gun for that matter — split timing wouldn’t matter — you were asleep.

“She was after an effect, something to make you think a killer had been heading into your bedroom. She probably sent the servants away the day before. Anyway, it scared you, and her talk of a man being in the house cinched it. And — get this — there’s no real evidence of anything except a broken window which is probably repaired by now. Kick me off the case? You—”

I was trembling. “You’re off!”

Slowly he released me, stepped back, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He pulled out a handkerchief then and did a better job, grimacing wryly.

I left him there, walking blindly toward the stairs, fumbling for the key to my room.

A bellhop looked at me curiously as I passed. “Elevator, sir?”

“I’ll walk,” I mumbled, and took the stairs two at a time.

I don’t know what I really had in mind — to get out of the hotel and drive — anywhere. Get my grip. And think. Just think about Lyria, and how much she meant to me, and try to get back on an even footing. She could have made up the story about the “shape,” bruised her own arm.

She knew about the money in the safe last night. That gave her a few hours to plan. I hated Mace for what he was doing — destroying my faith in her. I hated everyone and everything at that moment and it was all the worse because down inside I was icy with fear!

The second floor hall was dim. I found myself wandering the wrong way; turned and retraced my steps. When I got to my room I paused and stared stupidly. The door was ajar. I hesitated — but common sense precaution wasn’t in me at the moment. I edged in, fumbling along the wall for the lights witch. The room seemed filled with a clammy dampness. My fingers brushed the wall vainly. There was a faint rattle as the breeze drifted in through the open window. Then I touched the plastic switch.

The overhead light sprayed down — silently, relentlessly, probing that object in the middle of the room. A sight that brought a hoarse scream to my lips, “Lyria!”

Her green eyes were wide, staring... Her slim, crumpled form stiffly propped in an armchair directly facing me, silvery hair falling in a disheveled cloud... A red, sponge-like stain spread horribly across the front of her blouse. My visitor had arrived!

For endless seconds, my scream dying in my throat, I stood numb, unbelieving. I took a faltering step forward and something blasted my skull, thrusting me into a black void, thick and soundless...

Chapter Three Don’t Come Back

Years may have passed; centuries. I saw a pin point of light. Something was moving. My head jiggled up and down, throbbing, cradled on a man’s arm. I looked up into a familiar face. Mace!

“Take it easy,” he advised. “Close your eyes again if it makes you feel better.”

Close my eyes? I didn’t think I’d ever close my eyes again! He was pressing a cold towel against the side of my head, his voice rattling on and on, “It isn’t bleeding now. You’re lucky. I told you they play rough. Maybe you’ll have sense enough to keep me on your team? It’s a good thing I decided to follow you.”

“Lyria,” I groaned, thrusting him away and sitting bolt upright. The chair was empty! My eyes darted around the room. “My wife—” I shuddered, grabbing his arm, babbling out the story.