This Way for a Shroud

He stood waiting, his hand inside his coat, his fingers around the plastic handle of the ice-pick. If she came out on to the landing, he could do it at once. It would be easier and safer than doing it inside where the other girl might not leave them alone. A cold anger and an overpowering desire to inflict pain and fear gripped him.

Through the half-open door he heard Bunty say in a dramatic whisper, "But he's awful! You can't go with him, Frankie! You simply can't!"

He waited, his heart pounding, blood beating against his temples. Then the door opened, and she came out on to the sunlit landing.

She might have stepped out of her photograph, except she was smaller than he had imagined. She had a beautiful little figure that not even the severe pale blue linen dress could conceal. Her dark silky hair rested on her shoulders. Her smile was bright and sincere, and there was that look in her eyes that had had such an effect on him when he had seen her picture for the first time.

Her fresh young beauty paralyzed him, and he waited for her smile to fade and for disgust to come into her eyes, and his fingers tightened on the ice-pick.

But the smile didn't fade; pleasure lit up her face as if she were really happy to see him. He stood there, staring at her, waiting for the change, and not believing it wouldn't come.

"You must be Burt," she said, coming to him and holding out her hand. "Terry said you were going to take his place. It's sweet of you to have come at the last moment. I should have been sunk if you hadn't come. I've been looking forward to this for days."

His hand came out from inside his coat, leaving the ice-pick in its sheath. He felt her cool fingers slide into his hand and he looked down at her, watching her, waiting for the change, and then suddenly realizing with a sense of shock that it wasn't coming.

II

The girl, Bunty, came out on to the landing, followed immediately by a tall, powerfully built young fellow with a crew haircut and a wide india-rubber grin. He was wearing a red-patterned shirt worn outside a pair of fawn slacks, and in his hand he carried a gay red-and-white striped hold-all.

Still holding Pete's hand, Frances turned and smiled at Bunty.

"Are you ready, then, at last?" she asked.

"Buster says if we don't hurry we'll miss the tide."

"Burt, this is Buster Walker," Frances said, turning to look at Pete. "You've already met Bunty, haven't you?"

Pete's eyes moved over the big fellow who pushed out his hand, grinning. There was no disgust, no surprise in the big fellow's eyes, just a desire to be friendly.

"Glad to know you," Buster said. "Sorry we couldn't give you longer notice. I don't know what I should have done if I had to have these two on my hands without support. It's as much as I can do to manage Bunty."

Pete muttered something as he shook hands.

"Would you like to leave those magazines and pick them up when we get back?" Frances asked, and held out her hand for them.

Pete let her take them. He watched her return to the apartment, lay them on the hall table, then shut the front door on the catch lock.

"Now, let's go," she said, and took his arm.

He allowed her to lead him down the stairs. He didn't know what to do. His mind was confused. He knew he couldn't turn on her now, not in cold blood, not a girl who hadn't flinched away from him and who was actually holding his arm. If only it had been the other girl, the job would have been over by now.

As they walked down the stairs into the hall, Buster said, "I suppose Terry did tell you where we were going, Burt?"

Pete looked back over his shoulder.

"No . . . he didn't say . . ."

"Isn't that like Terry!" Buster exclaimed. The nut! Well, we're going to spend the day on the beach, and take in the amusement park."

"Buster imagines he's going to take me on the Big Wheel," Bunty said, "but he's quite, quite mistaken. I wouldn't go on that thing for Gregory Peck, let alone Buster Walker!"

Buster laughed.

"You'll come on with me if I have to carry you." He opened the front door and stood aside to let the girls pass. "I have a car at the corner," he went on, falling into step with Pete. "I got a flat and I left it at the garage to be fixed."

Out of the corner of his eye, Pete saw the curtain move again in the groundfloor window, and again caught sight of a shadowy outline of a man, drawing back quickly.

"Old nosy-parker's snooping again," Bunty said scornfully. "That's all he does, peep through the curtains."

"Perhaps he's lonely," Frances said. "He never seems to go out, does he?"

"Oh, you're hopeless, Frankie," Bunty said impatiently. "You always find some excuse for lame dogs. The fact is he's a nasty old drunk who spends all his time spying on people, and that's all there is to it."