If Death Ever Slept

“No, sir. I didn’t accept. I decided an advance for expenses. I turned him down, but with a manner and a tone of voice that sort of left it hanging. He thinks I’m just being cagey. What I think, I think he expects me to fix up a stew that will boil her alive, but I have been known to think wrong. I admit it’s conceivable that she has it coming to her. One thing, she attracts men without apparently trying to. If a woman gathers them around by working a come-on, that’s okay, they have a choice, they can play or not as they please. But when they come just because she’s there, with no invitation visible to the naked eye, and I have good eyes, look out. She may not be a snake, in fact she may be an angel, but angels can be more dangerous than snakes and usually are. I can stick around and try to tag her, or you can return the ten grand and cross it off. Which?”

He grunted. “Mr. Jarrell has taken me for a donkey.”

“And me for a goop. Our pride is hurt. He ought to pay for the privilege, one way or another. I’ll keep you informed of developments, if any.”

“Very well.”

“Please remind Orrie that the bottom drawer of my desk is personal and there’s nothing in it he needs.”

He said he would, and even said good night before he hung up. I bought a picture postcard at the rack, and a stamp, addressed the card to Fritz, and wrote on it, “Having wonderful time. Wish you were here. Archie,” went and found a mailbox and dropped the card in, and returned to the barracks.

In the tenth-floor vestibule I gave my key a try, found that it worked, and was dazzled by no flash of light as I entered, so the thing hadn’t been turned on for the night. As I crossed the reception hall I was thinking that the security setup wasn’t as foolproof as Jarrell thought, until I saw that Steck had appeared from around a corner for a look at me. He certainly had his duties.

I went to him and spoke. “Mr. Jarrell gave me a key.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is he around?”

“In the library, sir, I think.”

“They’re playing cards?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you’re not tied up I cordially invite you to my room for some gin. I mean gin rummy.”

He batted an eye. “Thank you, sir, but I have my duties.”

“Some other time. Is Mrs. Wyman Jarrell on the terrace?”

“I think not, sir. I think she is in the studio.”

“Is that on this floor?”

“Yes, sir. The main corridor, on the right. Where you were with Mrs. Jarrell this afternoon.”