Chapter One

The snow drifted like fat, gray feathers in the moist dark air; it stung my cheeks and melted into slush under my feet as I plodded along the empty street toward a taxi stand, cursing the business of living in the suburbs. I was late that night, for I had gone out with some of the boys from the press room to pass judgment on a new drink that George Presbury had invented. It had met with such approval that I missed the last bus and had to take an expensive trip home.
The clock in the hall was just striking two as I let myself into the apartment. The room was warm and inviting against the damp chill of the street. I flung my wet things off and slipped into my dressing gown and slippers before settling into my favorite armchair for a final look at the TV news before turning in.
I was jolted from a delicious, drowsy haze by a ringing of the bell – a long, uncertain jangle as if someone was pushing the button with an importunate, but unsteady finger. I muttered something under my breath which would have shocked some people, and stumbled to the intercom.
“Hello, who’s there?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, mister, but you see, I…ah…well…” The voice in the speaker died away into a nervous cough.
“Who are you and what do you want?” I demanded impatiently.
“Well, mister, it’s like this,” the voice began again. “I got a taxi outside and there’s a gentleman in it who gave me this address and apartment number, but he doesn’t seem to be able to come in. If you could just step outside for a few minutes and give me a hand maybe…”
I released the “listen” button of the intercom with some irritation. Had one of my companions of the evening gotten so tight that he was afraid to go home to his wife? And had he come way out here to bunk with me? I could think of no other explanation for a caller at this ungodly hour, especially one who was unable to get out of a cab without assistance. I reluctantly went out to lend a hand.
In the building vestibule a bedraggled stocky little man was nervously scanning the names of on the letterboxes. He looked up quickly as I opened the door.
“Good evenin’,” he mutters and pulled unhappily at his damp, droopy mustaches.
“It’s nearer morning and it’s not a very good one,” I responded ungraciously. “Now, what’s all this about? Is the man still there in your car?”
“Sure, he is out there, and I can’t get him to come in. I’d like to be getting along. This isn’t my beat anyway, and I’m supposed to be off at two o’clock.”
I saw through the glass of the outside door that the snow was no longer falling, but the walk was covered in a wet snow.
“I don’t like to go out in my house slippers,” I said. You bring him to the door and I’ll get him upstairs.
“I’d rather you come out, too,” muttered the man.
“What’s the matter with him anyway? Did he ask for me, are you sure?”
“Well no, he didn’t rightly ask for you. He gave me this address and number and when we got here he couldn’t get out f the cab. . I wasn’t sure of which apartment he was coming to, but I had that number…”
“So that’s how it is,” I interrupted impatiently, as the man hesitated and fumbled with his cap. The incapacitated passenger must be Mr. Barton. He was a heavy man who lived on the third floor. The cabby would indeed need my help to get him home.
Lead on cabby,” I said resignedly as I stepped gingerly onto the white snow. The cab stood at the curb, a dark form in the white, deserted street. The right passenger door was ajar and as I swung it open wider I saw, huddled in awkwardly in one corner of the cab, the lethargic figure of a man in a black overcoat. I realized at once that it was not the robust Mr.Barton; this man was much smaller and thinner than my rotund neighbor. His face was half hidden by a black hat which had dipped forward and balanced on the long slim nose of its wearer.
I was seized with a sudden feeling of dread. I steeled myself to reach out and lift the hat away from his face. I drew back with an instinctive wince of horror. The man stared at me with a steady, sightless gaze. His face was ghastly white, his mouth twisted into a painful grimace. I ripped a glove from one of his limp hand and found it icy cold and without pulse.
“My God, I think he is dead.”
“I was afraid of that,” whined the cabby in a weak mournful voice, offering no further explanation.
“Who is this man and how did he get in your cab?”
“I dunno who he is, mister. He got into my cab at the Crown Regent Hotel.”
“This is the address.” He said. “He handed me this business card which must be yours, and I drove him here; took some time, because it was slippery going. That’s all I know about it, mister, honest it is.”
“Well, I have never seen him before and I don’t know how he got hold of my business card. However he may not be dead, only fainted or something. We’d better carry him inside and call a doctor. Come on take his feet. We had no difficulty in bringing him upstairs and laying him on the divan in the living room. He was a frail man and in the bright light I could see he was not old. As I placed my hand on his shirtfront to find a heartbeat, I noticed it was fastened with black pearl studs.