Loot for the Unlucky Lady

Many bigies are in a tizzy over the rude interruption of their fun and games on Sabbath eve at a palace of chance within earshot of the Sound. Seems that two rude boys came in without invitation and removed large amounts of cash from all and sundry, including the management. Rumor has it that the body found early Sunday morning ten miles nearer the city was that of one of the boys who did the heist. Probably the easiest way of dividing the loot. But this means that only one lonely gentleman will be haunted not only by the police, but also by any talent the Candor Club may see fit to hire. Run fast, boy.

She went away from the library with a purely mechanical walk. At the corner of 42nd a man grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back or she would have walked in front of a bus.

Al Barnard — a thief and a murderer!

Had he been merely a thief, she would have considered seriously turning the cash over to the police, knowing that no matter how long he was in prison, she would wait for him and work for him.

But a murderer!

She could not turn him in. She could not trap him. Because once they caught him they would kill him with all the careful, ponderous machinery of the courts, and then there would be no point in life itself, because she would be alone in the world.

Though she was still weary from the long hours spent waiting for him, she walked blindly, trying to make the necessary adjustments in her heart. Because he was a murderer and a thief, did that lessen her love for him? Was love the result of a character survey?

She went back to her room and fell immediately into a heavy, dreamless sleep. From the bureau the glossy photograph watched her with smiling eyes and weak mouth...

Be careful, he had said.

Saturday noon she registered at a midtown hotel, wearing the new dark gabardine suit and the new coat, the silly hat, the heels that were too high. She registered as Gloria Quinn. Gloria Gerald was dying. Quickly. She told the desk clerk that her luggage would arrive later in the day. She gave a fictitious address in Albany.

One large suitcase and one overnight case. Matching. Dark leather. G.A.Q. in small gold letters. The bellhop carried them up to her room and she smiled faintly and tipped him a dollar.

After he had gone, she locked the door, opened the new luggage. They had the smell of newness. The clothes in them were new. Sun clothes. Halters. Slacks. Print dresses. Seersucker. Linen. New cosmetics.

Her old clothes were all in the battered fiber suitcase she had checked at the railroad baggage room. She had destroyed everything bearing her name. She stood in the pleasant room on the twelfth floor and carefully disposed of the baggage check.

Three things that were not new remained with her. The glossy picture, a cheap ring he had given her, in silver with a flawed Burmese ruby, and the shoebox. Four hundred dollars had been spent. But Al had said to be careful. Part of being careful was in destroying the past. Almost completely — except for the ring, the picture and the box.

She was not the quiet, almost drab girl who had walked through the endless hours, remembering the fear in Al’s voice. The new clothes were becoming. Her color was heightened by the excitement. There was a tautness, an urgency about her that had not been there before.

In the early hours of the evening, she left her room, after taking two hundred dollars from the shoebox, and took a taxi to the airlines terminal.

The taxi dropped her off at the terminal at seven fifteen on Monday morning, fifteen minutes ahead of the appointed time. She went up on the escalator, bought several magazines, found an attendant who promised to see that her luggage arrived at the plane.

He also told her that the limousine to take her to the field along with the others would be announced over the public-address system.

She sat down on one of the long benches and began to leaf through one of the magazines. She felt that someone was watching her, and she made each gesture casual. She glanced up and saw him. She let her eyes float across him as though she was completely unconscious of his presence.

Then she looked back at the magazine. But not to read. Al had written that she was to be careful. And the man had been looking at her with frank curiosity. She knew that he was still looking at her.