The Longest Second Read Online Free PDF Page B

nor trusted me.
    Rosemary turned to Bianca. “You must be out of your mind or at least a little mad!”
    Bianca smiled and said to me, “See. Remember, I told you everyone would think I’m crazy.”
    “But, dear,” protested Rosemary, “this man, what has he done? If someone tried to kill him once, and didn’t succeed, he may try it again. And this time you’re in danger, and I am too.”
    Her objection amused me. I wrote her a note, “Perhaps I did it myself. I promise I won’t do it again.”
    “I don’t think it’s very funny,” Rosemary said. Her voice assumed an aggressive tone. “Bee, you know nothing about this man. You don’t know who he is or what he’s done! He may even be a criminal.”
    “If Victor were a criminal, the police would never have permitted him to leave the hospital,” Bianca replied. It seemed to me a reasonable answer.
    Rosemary continued her objections. “You just don’t know!” Angrily she reached across the table and picking up the brandy bottle poured a large amount into her coffee. “He might be a criminal and the police just haven’t caught up with him yet.” She took several long sips of the coffee, and turned her attention back to me. Her eyes were as cold as before—which was very cold. “I tell you, Mr. Pacific, I frankly don’t like the idea.”
    “Rosemary works very hard,” Bianca explained apologetically, “and she’s one of the busiest high fashion models in New York. Tonight she’s tired. Don’t mind her, tomorrow she’ll be sorry.”
    “No, I won’t!” Rosemary was obstinate.
    “But I need help and he’ll work hard,” Bianca said. “Oh, Rosemary, where’s your sense of ... fun ... adventure?”
    “I don’t have a sense of humor about some things.” Abruptly Rosemary’s tone softened. Affectionately she patted Bianca’s hand. “All right, Bee,” she said, “go ahead. Try it.” Rosemary’s cold blue eyes turned on me calculatingly, and she said very deliberately, “But no funny business, do you understand?”
    Writing on my pad, I quoted, “ ‘If you inquire what the people are like here, I must answer—the same as anywhere.’ ” I handed it to Rosemary.
    She read it, raised her brows, and asked, “Where’s this from?”
    “Goethe” I wrote automatically. This surprised me, as I really had no idea where the quotation was from, and I had made no special effort to remember it. I crumpled the paper, put it in my pocket, and returned her stare, silently. She arose from the table and walked back into the hall. I could hear her footsteps ascending the stairs; somehow her steps sounded halting.
    Bianca drew a deep breath. “Follow me, Vic,” she said pleasantly, “and I’ll show you around my factory.” She opened a door to the kitchen and disclosed a short, steep flight of stairs leading to the basement. Her hand flicked the light switch, and she led the way down.
    The basement ran the full length of the house, forming a single large room. In one comer, neatly partitioned off, was an oil furnace and water heater. The rest of the room held a series of long wooden benches, about hip high, with tall stools behind them. On the benches were racks holding neat rows of hand tools. Anchored firmly against one wall was a heavier bench which held a number of small anvils, the largest the size of my hand. It also held an automatic metal saw, a buffing wheel with a variety of attachments, and a metal container of acetylene gas with a torch.
    Bianca pointed to a small brick furnace, approximately two and a half feet square, standing in the center of the room. “That’s going to be your main job,” she said. “It’s the smelting furnace where I melt my silver and copper. See, that’s the bellows down there.” Her foot touched a flat, black board which projected from the furnace a few inches above the floor. “You operate that by foot, and it keeps the bellows going inside the furnace.” She touched her back, and smiled, “The