There was a circular unpainted table in the middle of the room, with a piece of paper lying on it. Numbly I walked toward it.

It was a note. There was dust on it—two days’ dust or more. I picked it up.

It was scrawled in pencil. I read it.

Monday night

Dear Punk:

After I spoke to you today I thought things over and I figure I’m not going to get any dough out of you. I also figure you’re the kind of guy who might just as well kill a second time, as long as he’s done it once.

So I’m clearing out, now. You won’t be able to find me anywhere. I can get along without your twenty grand, even if you did dig it up, which I doubt. I’ll be happy to know you’ll fry for killing Peggy.

I left the packages in the Post Office—one for the cops, one for your wife. They’ll get mailed. And you’ll get what’s coming to you, buster.

Here’s one little thing for you to chew over on your way to the chair: you weren’t the first guy in Peggy’s life. Neither was I. But that wasn’t your kid she was carrying—it was mine. We did all right on the cash you gave her too. Then you had to louse things up. But you’ll pay, boy. You’ll pay.

I think I went crazy for a couple of minutes. I know I ripped the note up, and I may have busted some of the furniture. So all Peggy’s fancy talk about wanting to marry me had been just a dodge, a way of squeezing more cash out of me. Helen’s cash.

And the baby. Yeah, she was pregnant. But not by me. We took precautions.

For the first time I was glad I’d killed her.

But now I had to run, and run fast. The package would be getting to the police soon enough, I thought. I yanked out my wallet. Eight bucks. That wouldn’t get me anywhere.

But there was five or six hundred in the wall safe at home— no fortune, but enough to get me out of New York, maybe out of the country on a banana boat or something. I didn’t know. All I knew was I had to run, and fast.

I got out of there and took a cab to the railroad station; There I caught the 7:52 and sweated out the long ride home. It seemed to me the cops would get me any minute —that I’d feel an arm on my shoulder as I sat in the train.

But I didn’t. I wondered when the evidence had been mailed, whether Helen knew, whether the police knew or not. I couldn’t risk it. I had to run.