“The Tombs is a prison. I believe it was constructed on a graveyard, hence the appellation. Its round grey tower cannot but bring to mind those ancient castles whose dungeons were the scene of unspeakable torments.”
“I’m glad you only saw it from the outside. Rosenblatt didn’t threaten you with incarceration, did he?”
“Happily, no. He questioned me closely about you, my dear Mrs. Fletcher. Naturally I was able to assure him most fervently that your antecedents are well known to me and of the utmost respectability.”
“Thank you!”
“Not to saynobility.”
“Please, Mr. Thorwald, I allowed the use of my courtesy title on my articles, but we did agree it was not to be mentioned otherwise. You told Mr. Rosenblatt about the direction the shot came from, I assume? Was his reaction as extreme as Sergeant Gilligan’s?”
“By no means. He declared himself satisfied to have the problem solved.”
“So the D.A.’s not looking to frame me?” Lambert said in relief.
“Frame?” Daisy asked. “Is that the same as send up the river?”
“Not exactly. It’s fixing the evidence to make it look like your fall guy’s guilty.”
“Fall guy? Scapegoat, I suppose.” Daisy sighed. “I was beginning to think I understood American! Surely the police wouldn’t do that?”
“You can betcha sweet life they would,” said Lambert gloomily.
“Not to a federal agent,” Thorwald said, “not when it would undoubtedly induce an even closer scrutiny of New York police practices than will already eventuate from this disgraceful affair.”
“In any case,” Daisy reminded Lambert, “Mr. Thorwald’s evidence exculpates you, so you have nothing to worry about. What I want to know is whether I have anything to worry about. Is there really a chance some bullyboy is after me because I’m the only witness who saw the murderer’s face?”
“Jumping jiminy!” Thorwald exclaimed, appalled.
This outcry from his undemonstrative colleague drew Pascoli’s attention. “What’s that?” he queried.
Both Daisy and Lambert started to explain. Before they had sorted out who was going to speak, they were interrupted.
Balfour burst through the glass swing doors from the street. “Miz Fletcher, ma‘am,” he cried, “a man headin’ this way and he walk like he totin’ a gun!”
Lambert jumped up. “Get under the table, Mrs. Fletcher,” he ordered incisively.
“It’s glass!” Daisy pointed out. “He’s probably not cominghere anyway. Besides, how can one possibly tell from the way a man walks that he’s got a gun?”
“You can tell,” Lambert, Pascoli, and Miss Genevieve all affirmed at once. Balfour elaborated, “He kinda swaggerin’, like he not afeared o’ nuttin. You better hide, Miz Fletcher, ma’am! I’ll go slow him down.”
“I’m sure he’ll walk on past, but if not, don’t put yourself in danger, Balfour. And thanks for the warning.”
As she spoke, Daisy was being hustled across the lobby by Lambert and Pascoli, both breathing whisky. Lambert opened the door leading to the passage to the Ladies’ Sitting Room, thrust Daisy through, and shut the door behind her.
It was dark—what Daisy had assumed to be a fanlight with iron tracery above the doorway admitted no gleam of light. Daisy promptly opened the door again, just an inch or two, and peered through the crack.
Kevin arrived on the scene, alerted by Stanley. He and Pascoli and Lambert stood in agitated consultation. Beyond them, Miss Genevieve waved her stick and demanded to take part. Sheer force of personality had the little group drifting towards her when a large man in a brown overcoat and soft felt hat bulled through the glass doors and strode across the lobby.
Daisy’s friends fell silent. Kevin hurried after him, towards the registration desk.
Though Daisy couldn’t see the desk, she heard the impatient ting-ting-ting of the bell. She thought she recognized Kevin’s Irish American twang, presumably offering assistance. The stranger’s voice was louder. Even so, Daisy only made out a couple of words, those most easily distinguished by any listener’s ear: her own name.
16
As soon as Daisy heard the stranger pronounce her name, she eased the door shut with barely a click. So she actually was in danger! She hadn’t truly believed all the fuss had any basis in reality.
She felt cold and shaky and much in need of Alec.
