“No, no, you mustn’t do that. I’ll need the letter. Pug will ask me about it as soon as I get back. He’ll want to burn it.”
“I’ll have to go where I can read it and study it for a clue.”
“Donald, you can’t. You’ve got to just glance at it. I can tell you what’s in it. I— Oh, my God!”
I looked up, following the direction of her startled eyes.
Pug was standing on the corner of the main thoroughfare, looking up and down the street.
She grabbed my arm. “Quick. Get back here—” Pug turned, looked down the side street, saw us, took a dubious step forward as though trying to see better, and then came rapidly toward us.
“What will we do?” she asked. “You run. I’ll stick it out. Run fast around the corner, and I’ll delay things until— No, no, you can’t. Donald, he’s dangerous. He’s half crazy. He—”
I held her arm as I walked toward him.
I couldn’t see his face clearly. The hatbrim shaded the expression in his eyes. The light on the side street was dim. A car swung around the corner behind us. Its lights illuminated his face in a harsh glare of white light. The features were hard with hatred.
Helen Framley saw that face and pulled back at my arm, twisting me half around.