The Bamboo Blonde (1941) by Dorothy B. Hughes

Author:Dorothy B. Hughes
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Hard-Boiled, Crime, Historical, Thrillers, Fiction
ISBN: 9781480426924
Publisher: Mysteriouspress.Com/Open Road
Published: 2012-01-01T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

She was restless; she knew how Con must have left the night that Barjon Garth left, the night that things were scheduled to begin. She couldn't sit quietly, although every step creaking the floor stretched her already tight nerves. She drank a glass of milk; the thought of food was leaden. Slow gray covered the nervous sea. The knock came. Her mouth was dusty as she hurried through the unlighted room.

It wasn't Con in the dusk outside. She wasn't quite certain who it was until he entered, closed the door after him. And then she saw with wonderment the uniform, the tired face of Walker Travis above it.

"Is Con here yet?" he asked.

She said, "No," and the weariness changed to anxiety.

"He isn't?" Surely he knew. "He told me to come here."

"When did he tell you that? When did you see him?"

He seemed sorry to disappoint her eagerness, "He didn't actually tell me. He sent a message.”

"When?"

"Yesterday. Yesterday afternoon. I was to come here at seven-fifteen exactly and bring him this." He fumbled the thick brown envelope from an inner pocket.

"Did he say he'd be here?" She couldn't believe it.

"He said, 'Bring it to me,' but—" Again he seemed sorry to disappoint her. "I was to leave it if he wasn't here."

"Oh." There was no assurance then that he would come.

Lieutenant Travis said, "I guess I'd better leave it." He laid it uncertainly on the table. "I'd hoped to see him. Tell him I'd like to see him, will you?" He stood fingering his cap. He said without expression, "I suppose he knows they've found Mannie."

"No!"

"They called me to identify him last night." He swallowed. "It was hard to do."

Her voice was hoarse. "What happened to him?"

"They think he was caught in a riptide." He swallowed again as if there was an obstruction in his throat.

Her hand pointed to the shape of the envelope. "These are—his papers?"

"No. These are just some notes Con wanted."

She withdrew her hand as from a licking flame. The information the major was after, the knowledge of the poor fish. She didn't want it threatening here.

He said awkwardly, "I guess I'd better go. I haven't seen my wife yet. She doesn't even know I'm ashore. I came straight here from the landing. You tell Con I'll be in town all day tomorrow and I'd like to see him. He can reach me at the hotel. Any time tomorrow."

He managed to open the door. "Good night and thank you. Mrs. Satterlee."

She watched him across the tracks, rolling up the street past the bay toward where the trolleys and busses ran, hurrying to Kathie, to Kathie whose eyes hungered for Kew. She heard the creak that meant footfalls and swung around. Chang was across the room watching her. She pushed back closer to the door; she could get away if she could open it quickly. But she had no breath; her heart was racing noisily, her whole body weighted.

And then her eyes jumped to the table. Even in the deepening dusk, the outline of the envelope was not there.

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