Man on The Run by Charles Williams(10)

Fourteen
I opened my eyes. I was lying on a hospital bed in a
small white-painted room. It was daylight. Across
from me a uniformed policeman was seated in a
chair tilted back against the wall, reading a paper.
He glanced up and saw I was awake.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Eleven-thirty,” he said. He went to the door and
spoke to someone just outside it. I couldn’t hear
what he said. He came back and sat down again. I
moved my arms and legs, and everything seemed
to work except that I was sore and stiff and my side
hurt. I felt the right side of my face. It was painful.
I thought of Suzy. They might know what had
happened to her, but I couldn’t even ask. There
was a chance she was still all right, and if I even
mentioned her name it would implicate her. They
knew somebody had been helping me.
“Can I make a telephone call?” I asked the
uniformed man.

Man on The Run by Charles Williams(9)

It was Pier Five. I could see the pool of light at
the entrance to the shed, and the watchman
leaning back in a chair reading a magazine in front
of his little office just inside the doorway. There
was no way to get on or off the pier without going
past him, but they didn’t require a pass on most of
them. I searched the street in both directions and
was about to hop down from between the cars
when I saw a police car coming from the right. It
stopped at the watchman’s office of the boat repair
yard that was the next pier beyond Five. The men
in it were talking to the watchman. Then it came on
up to Pier Five. They called the watchman out and
talked to him. I began to catch on. They were
looking for me, probably, and giving my description
to the watchmen at all the piers. They passed the
next one, which was not in use, and went on to Pier
Seven where they did the same thing.
It could be something else, of course, but I
couldn’t take a chance on it. I had to stop and tell
the watchman what I wanted and what boat I
wanted to board, and if he had my description the
police would be there before I could even get to the
outer end. I cursed wearily. Now what?
I’d never find a way to do it from here. I went
back to the left for another fifty yards to where the
watchman couldn’t see me crossing the street, and
hurried over when there were no cars in sight. I
stood in the shadows in front of Pier Six and stared
across the slip. Pier Five ran out for some twohundred
feet, with a long T-head at the outer end.

Man on The Run by Charles Williams(8)

The dresser held not a scrap of paper of any kind.
I even felt under the bottoms of the drawers the
way they did in movies. Letters, letters—now where
the hell would she keep old letters? I straightened
and started to turn, looking futilely around the
room. My gaze stopped suddenly and backed up
and I gasped, feeling my scalp tingle.
The door of the bathroom was partly open, and
from this side of the room I could see in past the
edge of it. The light was poor, but there was no
doubt that what I saw was the sloping end of. an
old-fashioned bathtub, and hanging inertly from the
edge of it a slender and very shapely leg. I reached
the door in two strides, pushed it open, and
snapped on the light. When I looked down into the
tub I had to fight to keep from being sick.
She was lying on her back with her eyes open,
staring up at me through about six inches of water
with the long black hair floating around her face.
Her head was almost under the spigots, one of
which was dripping intermittently and shattering
Man on The Run — 122

Man on The Run by Charles Williams(7)

“Go ahead. But when you get through I want you
to listen to me for a minute. Okay?”
“Right,” I said. I told him about trying to follow
Frances Celaya home and what had happened. “So
she saw me in Stedman’s apartment that night,” I
finished. “That’s the only way in the world she
could have recognized me. She knew I was after
her, and she tried to kill me.”
“But did you see her in the apartment?”
“No. I didn’t see anybody. Except Stedman.”
“Then what put you on her trail?”
”I can’t tell you that,” I said. “It involves a friend
of mine.”
“Your story doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know it doesn’t. I’m just telling you what
happened. I don’t know anything about her at all,
or why she’d want to kill Stedman. I can’t tell you
who that big goon is, or even what he looks like,
because it was too dark. But I’m pretty sure he’s a
seaman or used to be one.”
“Why?”
“When he was telling the girl to watch me, he
said if I came around, to sing out. Sing out is a
seagoing expression, and one of the few that
sailors ever use ashore. And that thing I hit him
with was a fid.”
“What’s a fid?”
“It’s a heavy wooden spike, pointed at one end
and rounded on the other, and it’s used in splicing
line. So he might be working ashore as a rigger, or
on small boats of some kind.”
“All right,” he said brusquely. “Now I want to
give you some advice, Foley. I don’t think you
realize the dangerous spot you’re in, so let me spell
it out for you. It’s probably the luck of the stupid
Irish, but you’ve been fouling up the police force of
a whole city for a week. There are several hundred