Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 12, No. 6, May 1963

She played weakly with the idea of walking straight on down the High Street, and taking a longer way home, but if he was going to give up now he would give up later.

She turned into the quiet street and walked slowly on. Here there were no shop windows to periscope behind, and finally she was reduced to crossing the street so that she could look behind her without being noticed.

Her heart leapt. He was following her. She was so excited that she tripped over the curb, and almost fell. The high heels were very new.

One hundreds yards, two hundred yards. Now there was nothing to stop him coming up to her. Why, there were hardly any people at all, but one quick, would-be casual glance showed that he was still the same distance behind.

A thought struck her; instead of going home the usual way, she could cut through the park, it wasn’t really very much longer, and it was so much nicer. She giggled. It wasn’t the kind of thing she should do, but the fact that he was so shy showed how right it all was.

If he had been one of those horrible pushing boys, he would have come right up to her in the High Street, but he was sweet, and obviously felt just as nervous and excited about it all as she did.

The entrance to the park came closer and closer, and, as it did, her excitement and indecision rose. Going into the park her mother would never agree to. Never. But he was such a nice, solemn, shy young man. There was nothing to worry about, it wasn’t really late, and it was still quite light.

After all, no one had ever told her not to go through the park. Why, only last week she came home through the park. She wasn’t doing it for him, it was something she often did.

Fifty yards! Forty yards! Ten yards! She was there! She turned into the park.

For a moment she could only hear her own light steps on the gravel, and then, with a surge of excitement, she heard the crunch of his feet as he turned in from the street.

She was dying to turn round, but she forced herself to walk steadily ahead. For a while the footsteps behind her sounded the same, but as they got deeper into the park, the sound behind her changed, and she knew that he had lengthened his stride and was catching up to her.

Suddenly she had an almost irresistible desire to run. It was not exactly fear, but rather the full realization of what she was doing. She could feel her heart pounding, and knew that she had flushed a bright pink.

She had a tiny fleeting memory of all those horrid stories of girls who had been strangled, but that was absolute nonsense — he was a sweet young man.

Now he was very close, and she could hear him breathing, and she knew that he was just as excited as she was.

She giggled again, but this time it was slightly hysterical. What would her mother say?

Now he was almost up to her.

Two hands closed round her throat. She tried, to scream, but she had no breath.

The last thing she saw was the pork pie hat rolling on the ground.