Albinus descended into the town, crossed the boulevard without quikening his steady pace, and reached his hotel. He went up and into his room - their room. It was empty, the bed was not made; some coffee had been spilled and a little spoon was gleaming on the white rug. With bent head he gazed at that shiny spot. At that moment Margot's shrill laugh sounded from the garden below.

He leaned out of the window. She was walking by the side of a youth in white shorts, and the racket, which she brandished as she chattered, glistened like gold in the sun. Her partner caught sight of Albinus at the third-floor window. Margot looked up and stopped.

Albinus moved his arm as if grabbing something to his breast : it was supposed to mean 'come up' and so Margot understood it. She nodded and lazily came down the gravel walk towards the orleander shrubs which flanked the entrance.

He walked back from the window, squatted down, and unlocked his suitcase, but then remembered that what he was looking for was in another place. He walked over to the wardrobe and thrust his hand into the pocket of his yellow camel-hair overcoat. He rapidly examined the thing he had got out to see if it was loaded : then he posted himself at the door.

As soon as she opened it he would shoot her down. He would not bother to ask her any questions. It was all as plain as death and, with a kind of hideous smoothness, fitted into the logical scheme of things. They had been deceiving him stedily, astutely, artistically. She must be killed at once.

As he waited for her at the door, his mind went out to track her. Now she would have entered the hotel; now she would be coming up in the lift. He listened for the click of her heels along the corridor. But his imagination had outstripped her. Everything was silent. He must begin afresh. He held the automatic pistol ans it seemed like a natural extension of his hand which was tense and eager to discharge itself : there was almost a sensual pleasure in the thought of pressing back that incurved trigger.

*****

คืนเรือน | ชั้นหนังสือ | Laughter in the Dark