Ken’s wrist-watch showed twenty minutes past midnight as Fay and he walked into the bar.
“One quickie and then home,” Fay said.
Ken ordered two highballs.
“I’ve had a wonderful evening,” he said. “I’ve really enjoyed myself.”
She gave him a saucy little look from under her eyelashes.
“You’re not going to leave me now, are you?”
Ken didn’t even hesitate. The damage was done. He had no intention of going back to the lonely, empty bungalow.
“You said I could change my mind. I’ve changed it,” he said.
She leaned against him.
“Tell me, Buster, is this the very first time you have gone off the rails?”
He looked as startled as he felt.
“What do you mean ?”
“I bet you are married, and I bet your wife’s away. That’s right isn’t it?”
“Am I so damned obvious?” Ken asked, annoyed she could read him so easily.
She patted his arm.
“Let’s go home. I shouldn’t have said that. But you interest me, Buster. I’ve had such a nice evening with you. You’re such a refreshing change. I just wanted to make certain you belong to someone. If you don’t, I’ll try and capture you for myself.”
Ken reddened.
“I belong to someone all right,” he said.
Fay lifted her shoulders, smiling.
“All the nice ones do.” She slid her arm through his. “Let’s go.”
Sam Darcy was in the lobby as Ken collected his hat.
“Going early, honey?” he said softly to Fay.
“It’s late enough for me, Sam. See you tomorrow.”
“That’s right.”
Joe the doorman opened the door and stood aside.
“Good night, Miss Carson.”
“So long, Joe.”
They stepped into the still, hot night.
“It’s like an oven isn’t it?” Fay said, linking her arm through Ken’s.
They walked down the alley to the main street and paused to look for a taxi.
“One will be along in a moment,” Fay said, opened her bag and took out a pack of cigarettes. She offered one to Ken, and they both lit up.
Ken glanced across the road as he noticed a man come out of an opposite alley. He had a brief glimpse of him before the man stopped abruptly, moved quickly out of the rays of a street light into the shadows: a tall, thin, blond man not wearing a hat, young and from what Ken saw of him, good looking.
Ken thought nothing of this at the time, but later he was to remember this man.
A taxi came around the corner and Fay waved.
They sat side by side in the darkness of the cab. Fay leaned against him, holding his hand, her head against his shoulder.
It was an extraordinary thing, he found himself thinking, but I feel I’ve known this girl for years.
He was completely at ease in her company now, and he knew he would have to make a very strong effort to resist the temptation of seeing her again.
“How long have you been on this racket?” he asked.
“About a year.” She glanced up at him. “And Buster, darling, please don’t start trying to reform me. It’s such an old, old gag, and I get so tired of guys telling me I should be a good girl.”
“I guess you would get tired of a line like that. It’s not my business, but I should have thought you could have made a success of anything you took up. You dance so well. Isn’t there anything in that for you now?”
“Maybe, but I just don’t want to go back to dancing. Without the right partner it’s no fun. What do you do for a living, Buster?”
He saw the danger of telling her that. There were only three banks in the city. It wouldn’t be hard to fond him again. He had read enough accounts of professional men getting themselves blackmailed to take the chance of telling her what he did.
“I work in an office,” he said cautiously.
She looked at him and laughed, patting his hand.
“Don’t look so scared. I’ve told you before: I’m perfectly harmless.” She moved away so she could face him. “You took an awful risk tonight, Buster.
Do you realize that?”
He laughed*awkwardly.
“Oh, I don’t know…”
“But you did. You are happily married and you have a position to keep up. Suddenly out of the blue, you call up a girl you don’t know anything about and have never seen and make a blind date with her. You might have picked one of the floosies who live in my block. Any of those harpies would have battened on to you and you would have had a hell of a struggle to shake them off.”
“It wasn’t as bad as that. You were recommended to me by a friend.”
“He wasn’t much of a friend, Buster,” she said seriously. “My old man had a saying that applies to you. Whenever I wanted to do something risky, he would tell me to watch my step. ‘Be careful,’ he would say, ‘you might be catching a tiger by its tail.’ I’ve never forgotten that saying. Don’t you forget it either, Buster. You’re going to forget all about me after tonight. If you get the wayward feeling again, don’t call me up. I won’t see you.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “I wouldn’t like you to get into trouble because of me.”
Ken was touched.
“You’re a funny girl: too good for this racket.”
She shook her head.
“I wish I was. It just happens, Buster, there’s something about you that’s made me soft tonight.” She laughed. “We’ll be letting our hair down in a moment and sobbing over each other. Well, here we are.”
Ken paid off the taxi, and together they walked up the steps and opened the front door.
They began the long climb to the top floor.
It was probably because she had underlined the risk he was running; something he knew for himself, but something he had dismissed because it had suited him to dismiss it, that, as he climbed the stairs, he was suddenly apprehensive. He should have dropped her at her apartment block and taken the taxi back to his own home, he told himself. He had had a swell evening. There was no point in continuing this escapade any further.
A tiger by the tail, she had said. Suppose now the tiger suddenly awoke?
But in spite of his uneasiness, he continued to climb the stairs after her, until they reached the fourth landing.
Facing them as they mounted the last few stairs, stood the fawn Pekinese. Its bulging bloodshot eyes surveyed them stonily, and it gave a sudden shrill yap that made Ken’s heart skip a beat.
As if waiting for the signal, the fourth-floor front door opened quickly, and Raphael Sweeting appeared.
He wore a threadbare silk dressing-gown over a pair of black lounging pyjamas. Pasted to his moist thick underlip was an unlighted cigarette.
“Leo!” he said severely, “I’m really ashamed of you.” He gave Ken that sly, knowing smile Ken had seen before. “The poor little fellow imagines he is a watch dog,” he went on. “So ambitious for such a mite, don’t you think?”
He bent and gathered the dog up in his arms.
Neither Fay nor Ken said anything. They kept on, both of them knowing that Sweeting was staring after them, and his intense curiosity seemed to bum into their backs with the force of a blow-lamp.
Ken found he was sweating. There was something alarming and menacing about this fat, sordid little man. He couldn’t explain the feeling, but it was there.
“Dirty little spy,” Fay said as she unlocked her front door. “Always hanging about just when he’s not wanted. Still, he’s harmless enough.”
Ken doubted this, but he didn’t say anything. It was a relief to get inside Fay’s apartment and shut the front door.
He tossed his hat on a chair and moved over to the fireplace, feeling suddenly awkward.
Fay went up to him, slid her arms around his neck and offered him her lips.
For a moment he hesitated then he kissed her. She closed her eyes, leaning against him, but now he suddenly wished she wouldn’t.
She moved away from him, smiling.
“I’ll be with you in two seconds, Buster,” she said. “Help yourself to a drink and fix me one too.”
She went into the bedroom and shut the door after her.
Ken lit a cigarette and moved over to the liquor cabinet. He was sure now that he shouldn’t have come up to her apartment. He didn’t know why, but the evening had gone dead on him. He was suddenly ashamed of himself. He thought of Ann. It was an inexcusable and disgraceful act of disloyalty. If Ann ever discovered what he had done, he could never look her in the face again.
He poured out a stiff drink and swallowed half of it.
The least he could do now, he told himself, moving slowly about the room, glass in hand, was to go home.
He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It showed a quarter to one.
Yes, he would go home, he decided, and feeling a little virtuous at making a sacrifice that most men, he felt, wouldn’t have been able to resist, he sat down and waited.
A sudden rumble of thunder not far off startled him.
It was quite a walk from Fay’s apartment to the parking lot. He wished she would hurry. He didn’t want to get wet.
A flash of lightning penetrated the white curtains that were drawn across the window. Then thunder crashed violently overhead.
He got up, pushed aside the curtain and peered down into the street.
In the light of the street lamps he could see the sidewalk was already spotted with rain. Forked lightning lit up the rooftops and again thunder crashed violently.
“Fay!” he called, moving away from the window. “Are you coming?”
There was no answer from the bedroom, and thinking she might have gone into the bathroom, he returned to the window.
It was raining now, and the sidewalk glistened in the lamp light. Rain made patterns on the window, obscuring his view.
Well, he couldn’t walk through this, he told himself. He would have to wait until it cleared a little, and his determination not to spend the night with Fay began to weaken.
The damage was already done, he thought, crushing out his cigarette. No point really in getting soaked. She expected him to stay the night. She would most certainly be offended if he didn’t. Besides, it might be safer to stay here than return home so late. Mrs. Fielding, his next-door neighbour, was certain to hear his car and wonder what he had been up to. She was certain to tell Ann on her return that he hadn’t come home until the small hours.
He finished his whisky and went over to the cabinet to make himself another.
She’s taking her time, he thought, looking towards the bedroom door.
“Hurry up, Fay,” he called. “What are you doing?”
The silence that greeted him puzzled him. What was she up to? he wondered. She had been in there for over ten minutes.
He stood listening. He heard nothing but the steady tick-tick-tick of the clock on the mantelpiece and the rain beating against the window.
Then suddenly the lights in the room went out, plunging him into hot, inky darkness.
For a moment he was badly startled, then he realized a fuse must have blown. He groped for the table and set his glass down.
“Fay!” he called, raising his voice. “Where’s the fuse box? I’ll fix it.”
He thought he heard a door creak as if it were stealthily opening.
“Have you got a flashlight?” he asked.
The silence that greeted him sent a sudden chill crawling up his spine.
“Fay! Did you hear me?”
Still no sound but he was sure that someone was in the room. He groped in his pocket for his cigarette lighter. A board creaked near him.
He suddenly felt frightened, and he stepped back hurriedly, cannoning into the table. He heard his glass of whisky crash to the floor.
“Fay! What are you playing at?” he demanded hoarsely.
He distinctly heard a footfall, then a chair moved. The hair on the nape of his neck bristled.
He got out his lighter, but his hand was shaking so badly the lighter slipped out of his grasp and dropped on the floor.
As he bent to grope for it, he heard the sound of a lock click back, then a door creaked.
He looked towards the front door, trying to see through the darkness that enveloped him. He could see nothing.
Then the front door slammed shut, making him start violently, and he distinctly heard the sound of footsteps running down the stairs.
“Fay!”
He was thoroughly alarmed now.
His groping fingers found the lighter and he snapped down the lever.
The flame made a tiny light but enough for him to see the room was empty.
Was it Fay who had just left the apartment or an intruder?
“Fay?”
The uncanny, frightening silence that greeted him stampeded him into a panic.
Shielding the flame of his lighter with his hand, he moved slowly across the room to the bedroom door.
“Are you there, Fay?”
He held the lighter high above his head. The flame was slowly diminishing. In another moment or so it would go out.
He moved forward, peering into the dark room. He looked towards the bed. What he saw there made him catch his breath.
Fay lay across the bed, her arms above her head. A narrow ribbon of blood ran between her breasts, crossing her arched ribs and making a puddle on the floor.
He stood paralysed, staring at her, unable to move.
The flickering flame of the Lighter suddenly went out.