I pushed the door open farther, called, “Miss Moore?”
On the floor, about a yard inside the door, was a square envelope. Face down. With the Plaza Royale crest on the back.
I had my fingers on it when the roof fell in.
Chapter twenty-four:
Blackjack deluxe
The buzzing began before I hit the floor; I remember thinking someone must be punching that button downstairs.
I’d have gotten up right away except someone was holding my wrists. The buzzing kept right on. I tried to get a little leverage into my twisting, to break the guy’s grip, but he held me easily. The light became brighter; it hurt my eyes to focus on the face above me. A dark face, black eyes behind pince-nez, a spiky black beard. And a soft, soothing voice. Like Peter Lorre. “Don’t try to get up, just keep quiet.”
Furniture in the room began to lose its blurred shape, and I closed my eyes to steady myself. I knew I hadn’t been unconscious even for half a second, but the room I was in wasn’t the foyer of the Moore girl’s apartment. This was blue or blue-gray, with dozens of lights.
I opened my eyes just a slit to see if I could catch Pointed Beard relaxing his grip. A second face bent over me, Ruth Moore.
“Don’t try to move.” She put a hand on my chest. The lights became only two, one on a table beside the bed I lay on, one in the ceiling. The rest were reflections from mirrors in the modern bureau, and an ash-blond vanity against the blue-gray wallpaper. On the table beside the lamp was a black bag.