step I stopped; for I had glanced up, and saw something so unexpected that I goggled like a fish. Standing there halfway up, facing me, was Amy Duncan. Her face was white, her eyes were glassy, and she was clinging to the rail with both hands and swaying from side to side.
"Hold it!" I said sharply, and started up. Before I could reach her she lost it. Down she came, rolling right into me. I gathered her up and went back down and stretched her out on the floor. She was out cold, but when I felt her pulse it was pretty good. Routine faint, I thought, and then took it back when I saw a large lump on the side of her head above her right ear.
That made it different. I straightened up. She had unquestionably been conked.
I ascended the steps one at a time, looking for the birdie. There was a light in the upper hall, also in the anteroom. I called out, and got no reply. The door leading within was standing open, and I marched through and kept going through more open doors and down the inside hall to the entrance to Tingley's office. That door too stood open and the room was lit, but from the threshold no one was in sight. It occurred to me that the screen, at right angles to the wall, would do nicely for an ambush, so I entered sideways, facing it, and circled around the end of it for a survey just in case.
A mouse ran up my backbone. Tingley was there on the floor alongside the screen, his head toward the marble washstand, and if the head was still connected with the body it must have been at the back, which I couldn't see. There was certainly no connection left in front.
I took a couple of breaths and swallowed saliva, as a sort of priming for my internal processes, which had momentarily stopped.
The blood from the gash in his throat had spread over the floor, running in red tongues along the depressions in the old warped boards, and I stepped wide of it to get around to the other end of him. Squatting beside him for an inspection, I ascertained two facts: He had a lump at the back of his skull and the skin had been broken there, and he was good and dead. I straightened up and collected a few more items with my eyes:
1. A bloody towel on the floor by the washstand, sixteen inches from the wall.
2. Another bloody towel on the rim of the basin, to the right.
3. A knife with a long, thin blade and a black composition handle on the floor between the body and the screen. In the factory that afternoon I had seen girls slicing meat loaves with knives like it.
4. On the floor between the two front legs of the washstand, a cylinder of metal with a "2" on it. It was Tingley's paperweight.
5. Farther away, out beyond the edge of the screen, a woman's snakeskin handbag. I had seen that before, too, when Amy Duncan called at Wolfe's office.
Circling around the mess again, I picked up the handbag and stuffed it in my pocket, and took a look at the rest of the room. I didn't touch anything, but someone else had. A drawer of the roll-top desk had been jerked out onto the floor. The door of the enormous old safe was standing wide open. Things on the shelves had been pulled off and scattered. Tingley's felt hat was on the wall hook at the left of his desk, but his overcoat was in a heap on the floor.
I looked at my watch. It was 8:22. I would have liked to do a little more inspecting, but if Amy Duncan should come to and beat it...
She hadn't. When I got back downstairs she was still there stretched out. I felt her pulse again, buttoned up her coat, made sure her hat was fastened on, and picked her up. I opened the door and got through without bumping her, navigated the steps, and crossed the sidewalk to the car, and stood there with her in my arms a moment, thinking the rain on her face might revive her. The next thing I knew I damn' near needed reviving myself. Something socked me on the side of the jaw from behind.
I went down, not from compulsion but from choice, to get rid of my burden. When I bobbed up again I
"Hold it!" I said sharply, and started up. Before I could reach her she lost it. Down she came, rolling right into me. I gathered her up and went back down and stretched her out on the floor. She was out cold, but when I felt her pulse it was pretty good. Routine faint, I thought, and then took it back when I saw a large lump on the side of her head above her right ear.
That made it different. I straightened up. She had unquestionably been conked.
I ascended the steps one at a time, looking for the birdie. There was a light in the upper hall, also in the anteroom. I called out, and got no reply. The door leading within was standing open, and I marched through and kept going through more open doors and down the inside hall to the entrance to Tingley's office. That door too stood open and the room was lit, but from the threshold no one was in sight. It occurred to me that the screen, at right angles to the wall, would do nicely for an ambush, so I entered sideways, facing it, and circled around the end of it for a survey just in case.
A mouse ran up my backbone. Tingley was there on the floor alongside the screen, his head toward the marble washstand, and if the head was still connected with the body it must have been at the back, which I couldn't see. There was certainly no connection left in front.
I took a couple of breaths and swallowed saliva, as a sort of priming for my internal processes, which had momentarily stopped.
The blood from the gash in his throat had spread over the floor, running in red tongues along the depressions in the old warped boards, and I stepped wide of it to get around to the other end of him. Squatting beside him for an inspection, I ascertained two facts: He had a lump at the back of his skull and the skin had been broken there, and he was good and dead. I straightened up and collected a few more items with my eyes:
1. A bloody towel on the floor by the washstand, sixteen inches from the wall.
2. Another bloody towel on the rim of the basin, to the right.
3. A knife with a long, thin blade and a black composition handle on the floor between the body and the screen. In the factory that afternoon I had seen girls slicing meat loaves with knives like it.
4. On the floor between the two front legs of the washstand, a cylinder of metal with a "2" on it. It was Tingley's paperweight.
5. Farther away, out beyond the edge of the screen, a woman's snakeskin handbag. I had seen that before, too, when Amy Duncan called at Wolfe's office.
Circling around the mess again, I picked up the handbag and stuffed it in my pocket, and took a look at the rest of the room. I didn't touch anything, but someone else had. A drawer of the roll-top desk had been jerked out onto the floor. The door of the enormous old safe was standing wide open. Things on the shelves had been pulled off and scattered. Tingley's felt hat was on the wall hook at the left of his desk, but his overcoat was in a heap on the floor.
I looked at my watch. It was 8:22. I would have liked to do a little more inspecting, but if Amy Duncan should come to and beat it...
She hadn't. When I got back downstairs she was still there stretched out. I felt her pulse again, buttoned up her coat, made sure her hat was fastened on, and picked her up. I opened the door and got through without bumping her, navigated the steps, and crossed the sidewalk to the car, and stood there with her in my arms a moment, thinking the rain on her face might revive her. The next thing I knew I damn' near needed reviving myself. Something socked me on the side of the jaw from behind.
I went down, not from compulsion but from choice, to get rid of my burden. When I bobbed up again I
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