If Death Ever Slept

“At ease,” I commanded. “False alarm. Apparently. What’s this about a blanket or a rug?”

“It’s not a false alarm,” Jarrell said. “I turned the switch on myself when I left, and the light didn’t flash when you opened the door. Someone went in and turned the switch off. What was it you saw?”

Horland’s didn’t answer. He was looking at the floor at our feet. “By God, that’s it,” he said. He pointed. “That’s it right there.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jarrell blurted.

“That rug. That’s what came in. The signal flashed and I looked at the screen, and in came that rug, hanging straight down, that was all I could see. Then it was gone, and in about two seconds the screen was dead. You get it? Someone came in holding that rug in front of him, and went and turned the switch off, and when he came out he put the rug back here where he got it. That’s how I know he’s not still in there; if he was, the rug wouldn’t be here.” He sounded as pleased as if he had just done a job of brain work that would be hard to match.

Thinking a little pruning wouldn’t hurt him, I asked, “How do you know it was this rug?”

“Why, the pattern. The squares, the lines crossing. I saw it.”

“It might be one of a pair. He might be in there now, in the closet or the bathroom.”

“Oh.” He squared his shoulders. “Stand aside.”

“Don’t bother, I looked. He’s gone. He didn’t stay long.” I turned to Jarrell. “You might try the switch. Go and turn it on and we’ll enter.”

He did so. After he was in I shut the door, and when he called to us I pushed it open, and the blaze of light came. I swung the door shut, and the light went, and we crossed to his desk.

“After you saw it on the screen, the rug coming in,” I asked Horland’s, “how long was it before you phoned?”

“Right away. No time at all. I didn’t phone, the other man did, I told him to.”

“How long did it take the call to get through?”

“It got through right away. I was putting on my cap and jacket and getting my gun, and I wasn’t wasting any time, and he had Mr. Jarrell when I left.”

“Then say thirty seconds. Make it a minute, not to skimp. Even two minutes. You answered the phone in your room, Mr. Jarrell?”

“Yes.”

“How long were you on the phone?”

“Only long enough for him to tell me what had happened. Not more than a minute.”

“And you came on the run immediately? Only stopping at my door on the way?”

“You’re damn right I did.”