I went to the back door, opened it, and walked quickly down the garden. As I approached the shed, I pulled out my gun. I pushed open the door, looked into the dim darkness.
She was there, lying on her face, her hands covering her head as if to protect it.
I imagined her seeing them coming up the front way, losing her head and running wildly down the path to the shed. They had probably shot her from the back door, not even bothering to come down and see if she was dead.
I turned and walked quickly back to the bungalow.
V
They were several well-bred, well-dressed and overfed men aging in the lobby of the Beach Hotel. All of them stared fixedly at Paula’s ankles as we walked over to the reception desk. The reception clerk was a tall, willowy young man with blond, wavy hair, a pink-and-white complexion and a dis-illusioned expression in his pale blue eyes.
‘Good evening,’ he said, giving Paula a little bow. ‘Have you made reservations?’
‘No; it’s not that kind of a party,’ I said, and laid my busi- ness card on the counter. ‘I’m hoping you can give me some information.’
Blond eyebrows lifted. He peered at the card, read it, picked it up, and read it again.
‘Ah, yes, Mr. Malloy. What can I do for you?’ He glanced at Paula again, and unconsciously fingered his tie.