touch. Any hour, day or night, it might come back to her. And I’d never know until they knocked on the door.

That was one I wouldn’t read in the papers first.

I tried to get hold of myself. Maybe I could still save it She might not remember. She hadn’t been able to yet; and the longer she puzzled over it, the less certain she’d be. It had been five years at least since the sports pages had carried a picture of me. A thousand—ten thousand—football players had marched across them since then.

I could wait it out. I had to. I couldn’t quit. I just couldn’t. Hell, the money was almost in my hand. The thought of losing it now made my insides twist up into knots. It would take only a few more days. They weren’t even looking for her now; all we had to do was buy her some clothes and have that job on her hair patched up a little. I could give her some story, some excuse for hurrying it. But I had to keep her from seeing a paper for the next two or three days, until she was out of the news.

I sat straight upright. What about the radio?

It might come over the air any minute. Why hadn’t I thought of that? But, God, you couldn’t remember everything. I hit the starter and shot out of the parking place. When I was around the corner I dropped the paper out in the street. I swung fast at another corner and was headed back to the apartment house.

But maybe she had already heard it. It might even have come over the radio this afternoon while I was gone. How would I know? Did I think she would tell me?

Well, yes, I thought she would tell me. I still had those three keys and that bankroll in my pocket. She wanted those before she left. And there was another thing.

I was the only person left in the world that knew she was still alive.

Maybe she had plans for me. One more wouldn’t bother her.

I found a place to park not more than half a block away. I didn’t run until I was on the stairs. She wasn’t in the living room. The radio was turned off. I closed the door behind me and breathed again with relief. The silence was the most beautiful silence in the world.

I looked quickly around, wondering where she was. I had to do it now; it wouldn’t be safe to wait until she had gone to bed. But I had to be sure she wouldn’t come in and catch me at it. Then I heard her in the bathroom.

I walked over to the hallway door. It was open, and the bathroom door was open, a few inches. I could hear her humming softly to herself.

“You dressed?” I asked.

“Yes,” she called. “Why?” The bathroom door opened wider and she stood looking out at me. She had a towel pinned across her shoulders and was fastening strands of her hair up in little rolls. I could see the difference in shade now. It was definitely lighter, a rich, coppery red.

“I just wondered if you’d heard the news,” I said.

Nothing showed in her face. You couldn’t read it. She shook her head. “What was it?”

“That deputy sheriff finally came around.” I struck a match with my thumbnail and lit the cigarette in my mouth. “And they found Diana James.”

“Oh? Well, naturally they would, sooner or later.”

“Yeah,” I said. “And it was funny. At first they thought it was you

“They did?” she asked curiously. “But we didn’t look anything alike. She—” She stopped and did another take on it. “I see what you mean. The fire.”

I had to admire it. If she was acting, she was magnificent.

“That’s right,” I said. “You see, that deputy recognized you. And somebody heard the shots. So when they found the body there, they naturally thought it was you. But then they found her name engraved inside her wristwatch.”

“Oh,” she said. You could write your own interpretation. It could mean she believed it, or it could mean she’d already heard the actual news on the radio and was laughing herself sick inside. That was what made it terrible. You might never know for sure until you woke up with a kitchen knife in your throat.

“Well, save the paper,” she said carelessly. “I’ll read it when I’m through here.”

“Oh, damn,” I said. “I forgot it. I went off and left it in