Read Online Scarlet Imperial by Dorothy B. Hughes - Free Book Online Page B

“Did Gavin Keane ever get in touch with you?” He moved around the desk and she took her place.
    Her eyebrows lifted surprise. “Didn’t you find him?”
    “No.” He was abrupt but not out of annoyance, out of anxiety. “I came back to your place last night hoping. You must have been asleep.”
    “Did you find the package?” She’d been scrubwoman when he rang; he would never know.
    Again he said, “No.”
    She opened the desk drawer and looked into it as if she couldn’t believe the box wouldn’t be there. She said, “I wonder what could have happened to it.”
    “Gavin must have it.” He had nothing to base it on but his hope. “I’ve been calling the hotels.” He flung himself into the chestnut leather chair, rested his head wearily back against it. “He isn’t registered. He was to be here yesterday.”
    She interrupted gravely. “He was here, Mr. Brewer. He came in the afternoon. I didn’t know where to reach you.”
    He shook his head. “I had to go to Washington. I thought I’d be back early but I was delayed. He didn’t say where he was stopping?”
    She said, “He only said he’d be in later. For the box. I waited until past six—”
    “If you’d only taken the box home with you.” His exhalation was a groan.
    “But I wouldn’t think of doing that, Mr. Brewer.” She hated herself for her deception with him. He wasn’t like the others she’d deceived; he was decent and unaware. She had no choice. But he could be warned of the danger. She added, “Anyway I would have been afraid to after the messenger came for it.”
    “Messenger?” He sat up and panic slanted across his face.
    She told herself it was only his fear that something he’d ordered had disappeared; it was a business matter. He couldn’t have any other interest in the luckless Scarlet Imperial. But why had none of the correspondence passed through her hands?
    She continued, “He wasn’t a real messenger. He was only posing as a messenger.”
    “You didn’t—”
    “I didn’t tell him it was here.”
    He rubbed his temple. “Damn it, a man can’t just vanish into empty air.”
    She was quiet. “Sometimes men do—only it isn’t empty air.”
    He rejected the implication with a dark frown. “Why did you think the messenger wasn’t a messenger?”
    She answered, “Because of his shoes. They were broken. As if they hadn’t had work in a long time.”
    He came out of the chair and began to pace the room. She watched him in silence. He stopped abruptly at the desk. “Who was the man at your apartment last night?”
    She didn’t want to answer him. She knew it would increase his disturbance. But he waited. He had a right to know. He should be put on his guard. He too might be questioned. Her voice was even. “He was from the F.B.I.”
    “F.B.I.?” It didn’t increase his fear; he was puzzled. “What did he want?”
    “He was looking for a man.”
    “Gavin Keane!” It came too fast. He knew Gavin Keane hunted with the hounds of danger.
    “No,” she denied. “The name was Hester. Renfro Hester.”
    The name meant nothing to him. “Who is Renfro Hester?”
    She said, “I don’t know.” She was blunt. “But Hester had come to my apartment looking for Gavin Keane.”
    He was frightened again. “Someone knew Gavin Keane was going to your apartment.” He began to pace anew. “Look here,” he began. He came back to her at the desk. “I know you’re wondering what this is all about.”
    She could answer, “Yes,” in all honesty. Even if she knew far more than he, she didn’t know it all.
    He found it difficult to continue. He said, “Frankly the less you know the better.”
    She lifted her eyes to him. “Is the box that dangerous?”
    “Yes.” He’d retreated somewhere within himself, within memory. “Yes, it is. It has a bloody history.”
    She spoke sharply. “I shouldn’t think you’d have anything to do with it then.” He shouldn’t have touched this affair. He wasn’t fitted