He Won't Need it Now Read Online Free PDF

and selected a walking-stick. Then he came back to Cattley and put the ferrel of the stick on the shin-bone and pressed. The leg straightened, and he did the same with the other one.
     His face was a little yellow, and sweat glistened on his top lip. Cattley was making him feel a little sick. He hooked the handle of the stick round Cattley's arm and put his toot against Cattley's body, then he pulled gently. The arm came out from under Cattley like a limp draught-preventer.
     Cattley's head lay on his right shoulder. The skin round the neck had split a little. Duffy straightened the head too with the stick.
     “Want me to cross his hands?” he said, for something to say. All the time he was fixing Cattley, she stood at his elbow and watched. Then she said, “Get the money!”
     Duffy looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “Leave the money where it is,” he said shortly, “get me a drink.”
     She went into the sitting-room and he followed her. He suddenly found that he was still holding the walking-stick. It had blood-smears on it. He went and put it beside Cattley. Then he walked back into the sitting-room again.
     She stood by the table, fixing a Scotch. He took the glass from her before she could add a Seltzer and tossed the liquor down his throat. It was good Scotch. Silky and full of body, with no raw bite in it. He felt it in his belly, a round little knot of warmth. He took the bottle from the table and poured himself another glass.
     “Did you kill him?” he said, looking at her over the top of the glass.
     She spread her hands across her breasts, standing very quiet for a moment, then she said, “Was he killed?”
     Duffy took another pull at his glass. “Use your head,” he said shortly, “how could he have fallen down the shaft? He wasn't drunk, was he? Think a moment. He goes out of your apartment. The elevator is standing on the ground floor. He opens the grille to look at it, then he feels giddy and falls down. They wouldn't pass it in a nut factory.”
     She was going white again and she sat on the edge of the table. Her wrap fell open, showing her knees, but neither of them bothered with that.
     “This is the way it went. Cattley goes out to the elevator and is smacked on the dome, then he is tossed down the shaft. That makes sense.” Duffy put the glass down on the table and lit a cigarette. “You ain't answered my question Did you kill him?”
     “No,” she said.
     “There's only one person who's going to believe that,” Duffy said, “and that's you.”
     She raised her head. Her big eyes were frightened now. “You don't think I killed him?” she said; her words ran into each other.
     “Can't you see what a spot you're in?” he asked patiently. “Look, let me wise you up. Cattley calls on you to sell you something. You say it's material for a book; okay, it's material for a book. You show him the door and then, there he is on the elevator roof smashed to bits.”
     “That doesn't prove that I killed him,” she said breathlessly.
     Duffy shrugged. “It helps,” he said; “let me have a look at that material he sold you.”
     She slid off the table and walked into her bedroom. Duffy sat down in an arm-chair. He gave her a few minutes, then he called, “I guess the killer pinched it.”
     She came out of the bedroom, her face white. She stood in the doorway, one hand at her throat, the other gripping the door-handle.
     “I... I can't find it,” she whispered.
     Duffy pursed his lips. “I bet you can't,” he said. Then he got to his feet. He walked over to her and took both her elbows in his hands, he drew her towards him. “You're a goddam silly little loon,” he said evenly, “you think you can play this out on your own. Well, you can't. You've put on the thinnest act I've ever struck. That writing a book on the