The Toff In New York Read Online Free Page A
approaching. Odd thoughts flashed through her mind; that this man had been taken ill, had rung for help, had tried desperately to make her open the door before collapsing.
If she pushed the door back, now, he would fall against her and she could hold him up, drag him into the room and then telephone for. . . .
She fought back a scream.
There was blood on the manâs back - blood at his neck, collar, coat - red, spreading blood.
He fell heavily against her, and the shock of what she had seen robbed her of strength. She staggered back beneath his weight. Somehow, she managed to save them both from falling, but it was only by thrusting her arms round him; and her hands met at the back of his waist and there was the warmth of blood on her fingers.
This time, she didnât scream.
Then, the dark-haired Englishman appeared again.
He came in and closed the door before she could speak, and then without showing the slightest surprise or alarm, he put his hand beneath the wounded manâs arms, and eased him back from her, while keeping him at armâs length. As he did so, there was a sound in the throat of the wounded man, a kind of rattle. Valerie had never heard anything like it before, and had not the slightest idea what it was. She felt a great surge of relief; for here was help, the wounded man was no longer in her arms, the tall Englishman still held him up. She saw that he was wearing a plastic raincoat, but didnât give that a thought then; a moment later she was shaken out of herself, for he lifted the big, heavy stranger right off the ground; then he said quietly:
âGet my key out of my right jacket pocket, will you? Itâs Suite 552, next door. Go along and open the door, leave it ajar, and go and wash your hands in my bathroom.â
Valerie stared blankly.
âBut- . . .â
âIf you donât do it quickly,â the man said, âyouâll spend your first few days in New York in and out of police stations. I should hurry if I were you.â
He smiled.
As Valerie moved, slipped her hand into the Englishmanâs pocket for his key, and then hurried out of the room, she kept seeing that smile. It hadnât been simply one of amusement, and it hadnât seemed out of place. Instead, it had given her a reassurance, taking away some of the bewilderment and the fear. It wasnât until she was handling the key and opening the door of Suite 552 that she remembered that her hands were bloody; and sticky. She shivered. The door opened, and she went inside, careful not to touch anything with those sticky hands. She had never realised how bright was human blood. She began to shiver again as she walked across the first room towards the bathroom, and stepped inside. She ran water into the hand-basin - and as she dipped her hands in, it became crimson. She emptied it; the next lot of water was only pink, but that didnât reassure her. She couldnât stop trembling; even when she had dried her hands, she was quivering from head to foot.
She heard sounds.
She went out of the bathroom, and saw a startling thing: the tall Englishman, just inside the room, with the heavy man leaning against the door, much as he had against hers, but inside this room, not outside. The Englishman moved swiftly and then lifted the unconscious man again.
He drew him to the bathroom, and stretched him out on the tiled floor.
Something in the limpness of the unknownâs body, the way his hands and arms flopped, warned Valerie of the truth, but it didnât sink in. She was obsessed by her own fears and, now, by greater fears for her brother. Yet when she tried to speak she couldnât form words, she was trembling so much with nervous reaction. She was angry with herself, because she didnât usually give way like this, but she couldnât help herself.
The tall man smiled again.
That calmed her a little.
Then he spoke very quietly.
âIf youâll do exactly what I tell you,
If she pushed the door back, now, he would fall against her and she could hold him up, drag him into the room and then telephone for. . . .
She fought back a scream.
There was blood on the manâs back - blood at his neck, collar, coat - red, spreading blood.
He fell heavily against her, and the shock of what she had seen robbed her of strength. She staggered back beneath his weight. Somehow, she managed to save them both from falling, but it was only by thrusting her arms round him; and her hands met at the back of his waist and there was the warmth of blood on her fingers.
This time, she didnât scream.
Then, the dark-haired Englishman appeared again.
He came in and closed the door before she could speak, and then without showing the slightest surprise or alarm, he put his hand beneath the wounded manâs arms, and eased him back from her, while keeping him at armâs length. As he did so, there was a sound in the throat of the wounded man, a kind of rattle. Valerie had never heard anything like it before, and had not the slightest idea what it was. She felt a great surge of relief; for here was help, the wounded man was no longer in her arms, the tall Englishman still held him up. She saw that he was wearing a plastic raincoat, but didnât give that a thought then; a moment later she was shaken out of herself, for he lifted the big, heavy stranger right off the ground; then he said quietly:
âGet my key out of my right jacket pocket, will you? Itâs Suite 552, next door. Go along and open the door, leave it ajar, and go and wash your hands in my bathroom.â
Valerie stared blankly.
âBut- . . .â
âIf you donât do it quickly,â the man said, âyouâll spend your first few days in New York in and out of police stations. I should hurry if I were you.â
He smiled.
As Valerie moved, slipped her hand into the Englishmanâs pocket for his key, and then hurried out of the room, she kept seeing that smile. It hadnât been simply one of amusement, and it hadnât seemed out of place. Instead, it had given her a reassurance, taking away some of the bewilderment and the fear. It wasnât until she was handling the key and opening the door of Suite 552 that she remembered that her hands were bloody; and sticky. She shivered. The door opened, and she went inside, careful not to touch anything with those sticky hands. She had never realised how bright was human blood. She began to shiver again as she walked across the first room towards the bathroom, and stepped inside. She ran water into the hand-basin - and as she dipped her hands in, it became crimson. She emptied it; the next lot of water was only pink, but that didnât reassure her. She couldnât stop trembling; even when she had dried her hands, she was quivering from head to foot.
She heard sounds.
She went out of the bathroom, and saw a startling thing: the tall Englishman, just inside the room, with the heavy man leaning against the door, much as he had against hers, but inside this room, not outside. The Englishman moved swiftly and then lifted the unconscious man again.
He drew him to the bathroom, and stretched him out on the tiled floor.
Something in the limpness of the unknownâs body, the way his hands and arms flopped, warned Valerie of the truth, but it didnât sink in. She was obsessed by her own fears and, now, by greater fears for her brother. Yet when she tried to speak she couldnât form words, she was trembling so much with nervous reaction. She was angry with herself, because she didnât usually give way like this, but she couldnât help herself.
The tall man smiled again.
That calmed her a little.
Then he spoke very quietly.
âIf youâll do exactly what I tell you,
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