This Way for a Shroud

Even though he was expecting to see Ferrari behind the curtains, the shock of looking into those deep-sunken murderous eyes made his heart turn a somersault.

Ferrari, as still as a statue, held an automatic in his right hand which pointed at O'Brien's stomach.

For a split second the two men looked at each other, then O'Brien dropped the curtain and still keeping his face turned from Conrad's watching eyes, he went over to the toilet basin and began to rinse his hands.

Thunder crashed overhead, and lightning coming through the small window filled the bathroom with a dazzling flash of light.

Conrad came into the bathroom.

"I'll have a wash too," he said. "Phew! It's running off me."

O'Brien stepped back, and without appearing to do so, forced Conrad away from the shower curtains.

"Think it's going on all night?" he asked as he began to dry his hands on a towel. He tried very hard to speak casually, but Conrad again caught the overtones of uneasiness in O'Brien's voice.

"I shouldn't be surprised." He took the towel from O'Brien. Glancing up, his eyes took in the bathroom window. "I've been wondering if I should put a second bar up there."

O'Brien had to make an effort to keep his eyes from straying towards the shower curtains.

"Think anyone could squeeze through that?" he said, trying to sound scornful. "Why, it's impossible."

Conrad wandered to the door.

"I guess that's right." He moved out into the passage. "Okay, Weiner. Go ahead."

Pete entered the bathroom.

As O'Brien pushed past him, their eyes met and Pete received a shock. What was the matter with the guy? he wondered. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

Then suddenly he felt a cold wave of fear wash over him. It was just as if a bodiless voice had whispered a warning in his ear. He became transfixed, more frightened than he had ever been before in his life.

O'Brien had reached the door.

"Wait . . ." Pete managed to stammer. "I – I don't think . . ."

A crash of thunder drowned what he was trying to say, but O'Brien saw the livid fear on his face. He realized Pete was about to say he had changed his mind and he wasn't going to take a bath.

"Get on with it!" he barked as he stepped into the passage. "I'm not going to stay up all night for you!"

He slammed the door as Pete started to speak again.

"These goddamn punks think they own the earth as soon as you treat them like humans," O'Brien went on to Conrad, keeping his voice raised. "A bath every night! Who the hell thought up that gag?" While he spoke he leaned his back against the door; his hand holding the door knob. He felt the door knob turn, and by the sudden pressure of the door he knew Pete was trying to open it.

"Hadn't you better go along and see if the girl's all right?" he said to Conrad. "The storm may be upsetting her."

He managed to keep the door closed by exerting his great strength. Pete was pulling at the door handle violently.

"Madge's there," Conrad said, busy lighting a cigarette. He didn't notice O'Brien's strained, white face. "I'll go along in a little while."

Another crash of thunder rolled over the house, and faintly O'Brien heard Pete yell through the door panel.

"What was that?" Conrad asked, looking up.

"Thunder," O'Brien said. "What did you think it was?"

As he spoke he felt the pressure on the door suddenly cease; then the door handle twisted sharply.

"I thought I heard someone call out," Conrad said, and moved along the passage. He paused outside Frances's door and listened.

O'Brien stood still, his heart beating unevenly.

Thunder crashed and rolled overhead. The hiss of rain against the windows and the gurgling of water in the gutters blotted out all other sounds.

Then he heard a faint groan come from behind the bathroom door. It was a sound that made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up stiffly.

He stepped away from the door, took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.

III

Conrad came back along the passage.

"They're all right: talking like a couple of magpies," he said, then catching sight of O'Brien's white, strained face, he went on, "You're looking pretty sick, Tom. Why don't you get off to bed ? I'll wait here for Weiner."

"There's nothing the matter with me," O'Brien snapped. "For the love of mike, lay off, will you? I'm going to bed, anyway, as soon as this punk's finished."

Conrad offered his pack of cigarettes, but O'Brien shook his head.

For a long moment the two men stood listening to the violence of the storm, then Conrad asked, "How's your boy, Tom?"

"He's all right," O'Brien returned, giving Conrad a quick, startled look.

"Ever thought how damned lucky you are?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just that." I've always wanted a son, but Janey won't hear of it. She says it'd spoil her figure."

"It could at that," O'Brien said, scarcely knowing what he was saying. "A girl

like your wife doesn't want to mess around with kids."

Conrad shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, well, what's the good of talking? All the same I would like to have a son, and a daughter, too, for that matter."