Madge Fielding was wringing her hands, her face ashen.
There was no sign of Frances.
“Madge! What’s happened?” Conrad asked, in a strangled voice.
“She’s gone! She was leaning out of the window, looking at the plane when suddenly she screamed. I rushed to her, but I was too late. She seemed to be pulled out of the window. She was struggling, then the rug slipped from under her and she went out…”
Forest pushed past Conrad and went over to the window. He looked out.
Two hundred feet below him, looking like a small, broken doll, Frances lay stretched out on the moonlit sands.
He looked down at her for a long moment, then he stepped back as Conrad walked unsteadily to a chair and sat down.
“Well, that’s it,” Forest said in a low savage voice. “Goddamn it! There goes my case against Maurer — like her — out of the window.”
The aircraft swooped once more over the hotel, then its neon lighting went out, and like a departing spirit it flew swiftly out to sea.