The Black Door by Collin Wilcox Read Free Book Online

that’s enough. Break it up, now.” He reached for the older man, gripping his elbow. A uniformed officer took the other elbow, and the two remaining officers took the younger man’s arms, almost supporting him as he seemed to sag between them.
    In a moment the two new arrivals, the three officers and Carruthers were progressing down the walkway. As they passed me, I had a clear look into the face of the pale young man. In his eyes flickered a tortured, hunted look, more than merely grief, or fear, or shock. It was as if he were seeing the same terrible vision the girl had seen in the moment she died.
    Shaken, I watched the two figures as they disappeared behind the black door. Then, slowly, I started back toward the blue Buick. Kanter was leaning down, chatting affably with the driver. I wandered over to the car, aimlessly and almost unconsciously, still seeing the young man’s haunted eyes. Dimly, I heard the driver say to Kanter, “That’s Mr. Johnson, the older one. He’s the dean of students, you know.”
    “And the other one?”
    “Oh, that’s Bobby Grinnel,” the driver answered self-importantly. “Didn’t you know that?”
    Kanter shook his head, nodded his polite thanks, and laboriously straightened up. We walked off together toward the center of the street.
    “So—” said Kanter softly. “The characters are appearing in the order of their importance.”
    “What?”
    He shrugged. “Nothing. It just seems that we’re starting to get a little action.” He looked up and down the street. “I wonder if there’s a restaurant around here? I could use a cup of coffee.”
    “But what about those two? Her brother might give us—”
    “Forget it,” he interrupted. “We’ll be lucky to get a crack at them before tomorrow.” Speculatively, he gazed down the walkway. And, as if on cue, the black door opened. Carruthers came out, striding heavily toward us as we converged on him.
    “I’ve got a message from the Captain,” he said loudly.
    We quieted down, a ritual response.
    “The Captain says,” Carruthers announced officiously, “that there’ll be no more interviews now, and he wants the area cleared. He says to tell you that the men who just arrived are”—he glanced at his notebook—“Mr. Henry Johnson, dean of students of Bransten College, and Mr. Robert Grinnel, Junior, the girl’s brother. And he also says that—”
    The questions erupted in a sudden babble. Carruthers’ face became red. His voice rose sharply.
    “All right, now. Quiet.” He waited for a long, baleful moment, breathing hard. “Now, do you want to hear the rest of it, or don’t you?”
    Dutifully, we subsided.
    “All right, then.” He surveyed us for another long moment, savoring his clear control.
    “The Captain says there’ll be no more information from the department until four P.M. But,” he added hastily, “Mr. Johnson will hold a briefing for the press at two P.M. this afternoon at Bransten College. So that’s all now, no more interviews.” Carruthers waved his beefy hands, as if to shoo us away.
    “But what about those two men?” Campion asked, exaggerating indignation. “They’re in the public domain, you know.”
    Carruthers’ face again was reddening. “I don’t know anything about that,” he said heavily. “All I know’s what the Captain said. And if I was you, I’d—I’d—” He frowned, moving his mouth and clenching his fists.
    “Come on,” Kanter said, pulling at Campion and myself. “It’s like I said, we can accomplish more over a cup of coffee.” I followed docily. Campion came, too, but only after casting a dark look at Carruthers, who still stood his ground against us, his jaw outthrust and his fists upon his hips.
    “He should find himself a balcony somewhere,” Campion muttered.

4
    K ANTER POURED THREE HEAPING teaspoonfuls of sugar into his coffee. He stirred the coffee, took a large bite of his Danish roll, and then leaned back in his chair, contented.
    “Have