Authors: Frederic Lindsay
Automatically,
Murray
had
noted
on
the
scratch
pad
the
name
of
the
street
and
the
number
of
the
room.
Round
the
two
he
added
a
box
of
broken
lines.
'Are
you
afraid
of
him?'
'No.'
'What
is
it
then?
Do
you
want
me
to
make
him
tell
what
he's
done
with
the
money?'
'It
isn't
anything
like
that.'
As
she
struggled
to
find
words
to
explain,
she
turned
again
to
share
what
she
felt
with
the
other
woman.
Murray
was
struck
by
a
curious
blank
intentness
with
which
Irene
was
watching;
it
didn't
seem
as
if
she
was
conscious
of
the
appeal
which
was
being
made
to
her,
but
he
could
not
tell
what
she
was
thinking.
Like
a
stone
in
a
stream
rubbed
and
fretted
smooth,
the
human
face
had
learned
from
the
enmity
of
its
kind
to
hide
what
it
felt.
'He
may
kill
himself,'
Mrs
Beddowes
said.
'I
don't
want
to
go by
myself
into
an
hotel
room
and
find
him
dead.'
'You
don't
give
me
any
choice,'
Murray
said,
looking
not
at
her
but
Irene
.
'I'll
pay
you.'
She
sounded
timid,
as
if
the
relief
was
so
great
she
could
not
believe
he
was
not
about
to
change
his
mind.
'We
have
that
other
piece
of
business
still
to
finish,'
he
said
to Irene.
To
his
astonishment,
she
came
forward
and
put
her
arm
through
Mrs
Beddowes'.
'That's
all
right.
I'll
come
too.
Perhaps
I
can
help.'
There
was
a
grass
strip
alongside
the
pavement
and
he
crossed
that
to
get
to
the
access
road
for
the
terrace.
The
first
house
showed
a
brass
plate
incised
with
the
name
of
four
different
businesses,
next
door
was
a
doctor's,
and
then
came
two
hotels
side
by
side.
The
second
was
the
one
she
had
pointed
out
to
him.
At
first,
he
thought
the
front
door
was
locked.
The
upper
panel
of
tinted
glass
gave
no
view
of
what
lay
inside.
As
he
looked
for
some
kind
of
bell,
he
tried
the
handle
again,
twisting
it
the
wrong
way
this
time.
The
door
opened
on
to
an
unexpectedly
spacious
hall.
At
the
entry
there
was
a
letter
board,
empty
except
for
a
bill
filed
under
M-N.
No
one
was
in
the
hall
or
behind
the
reception
desk.
There
was
a
lot
of
dark
varnished
wood
and
he
caught
a
lingering
smell
of
cat.
In
the
registration
ledger
open
on
the
desk,
he
found
that
the
last
entry
was
for
room
12a;
it
had
been
taken
the
day
before
by
a
James
Belford
.
That
was
close
enough;
giving
a
false
name,
for
most
people
it
was
going
to
be
Smith
or
one
that
resembled
the
sound
of
their
own.
He
climbed
the
stairs
quietly
and
fast.
The
place
was
so
deserted
there
was
the
uneasy
sense
of
violating
a
private
house.
There
was
nothing
public
about
the
feel
of
the
dark
hall
or
the
stairway.
He
went
up
as
alertly
as
a
burglar.
On
the
upper
floor,
he
was
faced
by
a
door
labelled
Residents
Lounge
and
glimpsed
drawn
curtains
and
chairs
like
islands
in
the
dim
light.
To
his
right
there
was
a
short
flight
of
steps
and
what
looked
like
a
dining
room.
He
turned
the
other
way
along
the
corridor
and
almost
at
the
end
of
it
found
12a.
At
his
knock,
a
voice
called,
'Myra?'
Murray
knocked
again,
waited,
called
back,
'Mr
Beddowes?
I'm
here
from
your
wife.'
His
voice
echoed
in
the
corridor;
he
looked
both
ways,
but
no
one
appeared.
All
the
doors
stayed
shut.
He
rapped
with
his
knuckles
and
listened
.
Room
12a
gave
nothing
away.
He
had
a
sudden
idea
the
man
he
had
been
paid
to
find
was
standing
just
the
other
side
of
the
closed
door,
holding
his
breath
he
was
so
afraid
of
being
heard.
'Mr
Beddowes?'
He
put
his
mouth
close
against
the
panel.
It was
as
if
he
was
whispering
into
the
man's
ear.
'Your
wife
is
outside.
She
came,
just
like
you
asked
her.
But
she
wants
you
to
see
me
first.'
'Why?'
'I
don't
know
why
she
doesn't
want
to
talk
to
you
first,
Mr
Beddowes.
You're
the
one
who
must
know
that.'
There
was
a
long
pause,
so
long
he
was
getting
ready
to
try
again,
when
the
man
inside
asked,
'Who
are
you?
I
don't
know
your
voice.'
'My
name
is
Murray
Wilson
.
I'm
an
enquiry
agent.
Your
wife
came
to
me.'
'I
don't
believe
you.
Jimmy
sent
you.
Is
he
out
there
with
you?'
Murray
tried
to
remember
what
the
partner
Foley's
first
name
was.
'Are
you
there?
What
are
you
doing?'
The
voice
rose
in
fright.
'I
don't
have
anything
to
do
with
Jimmy
whoever-he-is.
Your wife
came
to
see
me.
You
phoned
her
because
you
needed
help.'
He
kept
it
flowing
with
the
insistent
reasonableness
you
would
use
on
a
child.
'That's
how
I
knew
you
were
here
.
How
else
would
I
know?
You
do
need
help,
don't
you?'
The
silence
from
behind
the
door
ached.
Barely
loud
enough, so
that
he
had
to
strain
to
hear,
the
voice
said,
'Jimmy's
threatened
to
hurt
me.'