By Charles Williams
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Additional resources for The Long Saturday Night (a.k.a. Confidentially Yours; a.k.a. Finally, Sunday!)
Example text
She must be a girl friend of The Long Saturday Night — 38 Roberts’. I tried to remember any I’d seen him with, but came up with a blank. Being over 30 and married, I was completely out of touch with any crowd a single man Roberts’ age would be likely to run around with. I suddenly thought of Barbara Ryan; she might know. As I reached for the telephone, I looked at my watch and saw with surprise it was 1:15. It was a sad time of night to wake anybody up, but maybe she wouldn’t mind. She lived alone, in a small efficiency apartment about a block off Clebourne in the west end of town.
He nodded toward a chair at the corner of it. ” I dropped the topcoat on the desk at my left, and sat down. Mulholland sprawled in the swivel chair behind another desk with his legs stretched out, watching me with what looked like amused satisfaction. Well, I’d get to him in a minute. ” I asked. Scanlon took a cigar from his shirt pocket and bit the end off it. “That’s right. ” “Good,” I said. ” Scanlon struck a match, holding it in front of his cigar while he went on staring at me. “I thought you’d heard.
I had a small copy of the same photograph in my wallet; it would have to do. I slammed the suitcase shut, hit the light switch, and went down the hall. Grabbing the topcoat and a hat, I killed the rest of the lights, and slipped out the kitchen door into the garage. I tossed the bag into the Chevrolet, and eased up the big overhead door. The street was deserted and dark beyond the driveway. I backed out and closed the door. The only way to do it was as naturally as possible, I thought. This time of night it would be very easy to tell whether I was being followed, and especially by the police.