"Better put the chain on," he said. "I imagine the super has a key, and this is one time when we can't afford to chance any kind of interruption."
There was something about the way he was looking at her that compelled instant compliance. She closed the door, clicked the lock on, and inserted the head of the chain into the metal groove on the right side of the door. Her fingers shook as she ran it the full length of the groove.
He was staring at her very steadily now, his eyes still slitted. "You found it, didn't you?" he asked.
"Found what? I just don't understand. I didn't go to the office this morning because—"
"Because you found it," he said, not giving her time to finish, and taking a slow step toward her.
"No, you must listen. Please ... I...."
"Where is it? What have you done with it?" he demanded.
She shook her head, her lips deathly pale now. She was trembling so violently that it was like ... a confession. How could she hope to deceive him when he already knew, when the truth was written in her eyes?
"I showed it to you once," he said. "That's the bad part ... the really bad part. Just one word from you could send me to the chair. You wouldn't even have to turn it over to the police."
He took another slow step toward her and quite suddenly ... she knew. He'd come here to kill her. Even if she told him where the gun was hidden, even if she put it into his hands and swore that she'd keep silent, that not even police brutality could force the truth out of her, he'd never feel secure while she remained alive.