1945 - Blonde's Requiem Read Online Free PDF

decided she didn ’ t. She was taking the opportunity of letting off a little steam to a guy she had decided she could trust. That was all right with me.
    “ Never mind, ” I said lightly. “ You ’ re not a withered old maid yet. You ’ ll catch someone. ”
    She smiled. “ I ’ ve got to unpack, ” she said, drawing in her legs and standing up. “ This is a record. You ’ re the first friendly, nice man I ’ ve met in two years. ”
    “ You haven ’ t been trying, ” I said, getting up too. “ Come on, show me your bag. I want to see if I ’ ve lost my old cunning. ”
    She wasn ’ t listening. Her eyes were fixed on the floor by the door with the kind of expression a girl will have when she thinks she ’ s seen a mouse.
    I followed her gaze. A white square envelope was being pushed gently under the door. As I looked at it, it stopped coming further into the room. I took a step towards the door, collided with her, pushed her gently aside and jerked open the door. I looked up and down the long passage, but there was no one around. I picked up the envelope and put it in my pocket.
    “ Now you see what kind of a hotel this is, ” I said carelessly. “ They hand you your check before you ’ ve been here an hour. ”
    “ Are you sure it ’ s a check? ” she asked, a puzzled, curious expression in her eyes.
    “ Maybe the nigger likes me and wants me to go out with him. ” I took her by her elbow and pushed her gently from the room, across the passage and into her room. You ’ d be surprised how coy some of these niggers are. ”
    I opened her bag with a hairpin she lent me. It didn ’ t take me a minute. “ Do you see? ” I said, smiling at her. “ I ’ m not called Picklock Harry by my friends for nothing. ”
    “ I thought your name was Marc? ” she said.
    “ So it is, but I don ’ t tell everyone that. ” I went over to the door and opened it. “ Suppose you and me get acquainted? How about having dinner with me tonight? ”
    She looked at me thoughtfully. I could see what was going in her mind.
    “ Don ’ t go mixing me up with the local masher, ” I said gently. “ I don ’ t have any strings hanging to my invitations. ”
    She blushed faintly and laughed. “ Sorry, ” she said quickly, “ but I ’ ve had too many experiences. A girl in my position develops a lot of arm muscles pushing off gentlemen with high blood pressure. I ’ m feeling a little tired tonight, so I didn ’ t want anything like that. ”
    “ There ’ s nothing up my sleeve, ” I said. “ But skip it if you ’ d rather. ”
    “ I ’ d love to, ” she returned. “ Give me time for a bath. Eight o ’ clock? ”
    “ Eight o ’ clock, ” I said, and left her.
    I went back to my room, took out the envelope from my pocket and opened it. The note inside was typewritten:
    You have twelve hours to get out of town. We won ’ t tell you again. You won ’ t even know what hit you. It ’ s not because we don ’ t like you, we do, but there isn ’ t enough air in Cranville for us all. So be a wise guy and dust. We ’ ll fix the funeral if you don ’ t.
    I poured myself out another drink and sat down. The guy who had slipped this under my door must be in one of the rooms either side of mine. He couldn ’ t have run down the passage and out of sight in the time it had taken me to reach the door.
    I stared at the wall opposite me and then at the wall behind me. I wondered which room he was in and whether he was sitting there wondering what I was going to do. The idea gave me a spooky feeling.
    I put the letter carefully away, thought for a moment, then went over to the table to write my report to Colonel Forsberg. I had an hour and a half before I saw Marian French again. In that time I had to write to Forsberg, take a bath and decide whether I was going to leave town tomorrow morning or not.
    I sat at the table thinking, then I reached for my bag, opened it and took out a black Police .38. I let it lie