Read Online Shadow of Guilt by Patrick Quentin - Free Book Online

hung up. When I went back into the living room, both Connie and Ala glanced up.
    “What on earth was all that?” asked Connie.
    “It was Vivien,” I said, “and then Lew.”
    “Vivien?” said Connie. “What did Vivien want?”
    “Oh, nothing,” I said. “She was just exercising her vocal cords—as usual. But I’m afraid Lew wants me to go right around. Something’s come up about the Brazilian, something we’ve got to straighten out before morning.”
    Ala was watching me brightly as if she had seen through me, but Connie just smiled her usual understanding-wife smile.
    “At nine o’clock?” she said. “You poor dear. Well, it can’t be helped, I suppose. But do try not to have him keep you too late.”
    “All right,” I said.
    “Give him my love.”
    In less than twenty minutes I was with Eve. From the first second that she was in my arms, nothing mattered any more. I told her everything, but it was just a story, something that could have happened to somebody else, for the thought of her leaving me was now as unthinkable to her as it had been to me. If I needed her, it was with me she would stay. It was as simple as that. The magic had come, our magic which brought its miracle, obliterating the old festering guilt about Connie, transcending anxiety and fear—even time.
    “George, it’s eleven.”
    “It can’t be. It can’t possibly be.”
    “It’s eleven. You must go.”
    “No, darling. No—not yet.”
    “Yes, darling.”
    “But it’s all right again, isn’t it?”
    “It was never wrong. I couldn’t ever have left—not when it came to the point. I wouldn’t have had the courage.”
    “We’ll wait. We’ll go on waiting and everything will get cleared up.”
    “Yes.”
    “They’re going to find him. Tomorrow probably. It’ll be in the papers. It’ll all begin.”
    “But Ala’s safe. There’s nothing else that’s really bad, is there?”
    Chuck…? “No,” I said.
    “Then let it begin.”
    “Let it begin…”

 
Eight
    It began on the afternoon of the next day. Eve brought the World-Telegram, to my office after lunch. There was a paragraph on a middle page. It wasn’t much. It merely announced that Donald Saxby, an employee of the Ellerman Art Galleries, had been discovered dead in his apartment that morning by his cleaning woman. He had, the paragraph said, been shot twice. The gun from which the shots had been fired had been lying beside the body. That was all.
    While Eve stood behind me, I looked at it uneasily. Thousands of people all over Manhattan were glancing at it right now, giving it a bored second, moving on to something else. But there it was. Donald Saxby, employee of the Ellerman Galleries. Mr. Ellerman…
    The phone rang and Eve picked it up. “Mr. Hadley’s office… oh, yes, just a moment.” She put her hand on my shoulder, looking at me warningly. “Connie,” she whispered.
    I took the phone. I knew what was coming.
    “George, have you seen the afternoon paper?” My wife went right on without waiting for my answer. “George, please. Keep calm. Whatever you do, don’t lose your head. It’s Don Saxby. He’s dead.”
    Eve’s hand on my shoulder was warm, reassuring.
    “He’s been found in his apartment,” said Connie. “Shot. Twice. Twice, George. Someone must have killed him.”
    It wasn’t hard to sound rattled, and sounding rattled, I knew, would do just as well as sounding surprised.
    “Killed?” I echoed.
    “It’s only a little paragraph. I just happened to see it. George—what are we going to do? Don’t you see? It mentions the Ellerman Galleries. Mr. Ellerman will tell the police I got Don the job. They’ll come to us and… and what are we going to do about Ala? We can’t tell them the truth. How can we? George, can you get away now? Please. Can you?”
    “Of course.”
    “Make some excuse for Mrs. Lord and everybody. Don’t let her know. Don’t let anyone know. Just come home right away. We’ll have to think.”
    I