Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine Presents Fifty Years of Crime and Suspense by Linda Landrigan Read Free Book Online Page B

gray-haired man shrugged. “I wouldn’t know anything about that, Mr. Selvey. I don’t know anything about those people. But that’s what happened, and that’s why I want your advice.” He rubbed his forehead. “I mean, if I confess now, what would they do to me?”
    â€œBurn you,” Selvey said coldly. “Burn you instead of Rodman. Is that what you want?”
    Arlington paled. “No. Prison, okay. But not that.”
    â€œThen just forget about it. Understand me, Mr. Arlington? I think you dreamed the whole thing, don’t you? Just think of it that way. A bad dream. Now get back on the road and forget it.”
    â€œBut that man. They’re killing him tonight—”
    â€œBecause he’s guilty.” Selvey’s palm hit the table. “I proved him guilty. Understand?”
    The man’s lip trembled.
    â€œYes sir,” he said.
    Selvey got up and tossed a five on the table.
    â€œPay the bill,” he said curtly. “Keep the change.”
    T HAT NIGHT, D OREEN asked him the hour for the fourth time.
    â€œEleven,” he said sullenly.
    â€œJust another hour.” She sank deep into the sofa cushions. “I wonder how he feels right now …”
    â€œCut it out!”
    â€œMy, we’re jumpy tonight.”
    â€œMy part’s done with, Doreen. I told you that again and again. Now the state’s doing its job.”
    She held the tip of her pink tongue between her teeth, thoughtfully. “But you put him where he is, Warren. You can’t deny that.”
    â€œThe jury put him there!”
    â€œYou don’t have to shout at me , attorney.”
    â€œOh, Doreen …” He leaned across to make some apologetic gesture, but the telephone rang.
    He picked it up angrily.
    â€œMr. Selvey? This is Arlington.”
    All over Selvey’s body, a pulse throbbed.
    â€œWhat do you want?”
    â€œMr. Selvey, I been thinking it over. What you told me today. Only I don’t think it would be right, just forgetting about it. I mean—”
    â€œArlington, listen to me. I’d like to see you at my apartment. I’d like to see you right now.”
    From the sofa, Doreen said: “Hey!”
    â€œDid you hear me, Arlington? Before you do anything rash, I want to talk to you, tell you where you stand legally. I think you owe that to yourself.”
    There was a pause at the other end.
    â€œGuess maybe you’re right, Mr. Selvey. Only I’m way downtown, and by the time I get there—”
    â€œYou can make it. Take the IRT subway, it’s quickest. Get off at 86th Street.”
    When he hung up, Doreen was standing.
    â€œDoreen, wait. I’m sorry about this. This man is—an important witness in a case I’m handling. The only time I can see him is now.”
    â€œHave fun,” she said airily and went to the bedroom.
    â€œDoreen—”
    The door closed behind her. For a moment, there was silence. Then she clicked the lock.
    Selvey cursed his wife’s moods beneath his breath and stalked over to the bar.
    By the time Arlington sounded the door chimes, Selvey had downed six inches of bourbon.
    Arlington’s grease-spotted hat and dirty coat looked worse than ever in the plush apartment. He took them off and looked around timidly.
    â€œWe’ve only got three-quarters of an hour,” he said. “I’ve just got to do something, Mr. Selvey.”
    â€œI know what you can do,” the attorney smiled. “You can have a drink and talk things over.”
    â€œI don’t think I should—” But the man’s eyes were already fixed on the bottle in Selvey’s hands. The lawyer’s smile widened.
    By eleven-thirty, Arlington’s voice was thick and blurred, his eyes no longer so intense, his concern over Rodman no longer so compelling.
    Selvey kept his visitor’s glass filled.
    The old man began to mutter. He muttered about