 My dear niece, I'm writing you this letter in explanation of certain recent actions of mine, about which you're probably curious. As you know, since that day four years ago when your dear uncle died, may he rest in peace, I've been living a busy, if lonely life, fortunately in a city as small as Hilton, one as many friends, but they in no way could make up for the loneliness I felt. As you recall, you were continually urging me to try to get some sort of a position, and so finally I took your advice and placed an advertisement in our local paper. It was six weeks ago this next Friday that I inserted the ad. I'm sure you must have chuckled when you read it. Good woman, gentile, some secretarial experience, drives own car, desires position of interest with reliable business house, address Ms. Emily Rogers Box 2B, or phone Hilton 22412. I was somewhat surprised to receive a reply the next morning. I'd finished my breakfast, yes you're right, I still drink a cup of hot water from arising each morning. I'd finished at all events, and the phone rang. Hello? Mrs. Emily Rogers, please. This is she speaking. I'm calling about the ad, you ran an evening paper yesterday? Oh yes. I think I can offer you a position you'd be interested in, Mrs. Rogers, my name is Bruce. How do you do, Mr. Bruce? We have a very small publishing house, Mrs. Rogers, and need someone to take care of any of the contacts we might wish to make in your part of the country. Aren't you from Hilton then? No. The offices are in Los Angeles, and we'd pay you $50 a week providing you could use your home as an office, although there wouldn't be much office work required. As I say, the position primarily would be one of establishing contacts. Why, it sounds fine, Mr. Bruce. Oh, it sounds fine, Mr. Bruce. Good, good. Then consider yourself under salary beginning immediately, Mrs. Rogers. I'll phone you again as soon as there's something more definite for you to do. And that's how I got the job. I assumed naturally that I would immediately receive instructions from Mr. Bruce as to how I should go about establishing contacts. The first word I had after the telephone conversation was when the postman arrived the next Saturday with an envelope for me containing a check for $50. There was no return address on the envelope, and the check was a personal one bearing no company name. It was signed R. L. Bruce. Three weeks went by in this fashion. Each Saturday I would receive the $50 check in the mail, but always the envelope was without a return address, and the check was a personal check. All the envelopes were postmarked Los Angeles, but other than that I had the smallest clue as to the identity of the company by which I was employed. I've always believed that money is very precious, and as your uncle, may his soul rest in peace, used to say, no self-respecting person would accept it without doing a lick of work for it. I was dissatisfied with the arrangement, and I'd tell this to Mr. Bruce when he phoned that I wished to resign my position with his small publishing house. It was on the Wednesday, after the arrival of the third check, that I again received a telephone call from Mr. Bruce. He was charming as he'd been on the first call, and before I had the chance to tell him that I wished to resign. Well, I have your first assignment for you, Mrs. Rogers. Well, I wanted to talk to you about that, Mr. Bruce. Oh, getting impatient were you? Well, this will keep you busy for a while. Really? Yes. Mr. Paul Stevens will arrive and he'll come this afternoon. Now he's one of our most promising new authors, and I'm going to have to ask a big favour of you, Mrs. Rogers. Oh, what sort of a favour, Mr. Bruce? Well, Mr. Stevens has some rewriting on a novel we planned, publishing in a few months, and too many people interrupt him here in Los Angeles, so I wonder, could you put him up at your home until he finishes? Why, I... I don't know. Oh, he'll be no bother, Mrs. Rogers, and of course all expenses will be covered. He has an awful lot of work to do. Well, yes, I suppose I could. Oh, that's fine, that's fine, it's just a place for him to get away. Oh, and one more favour. Yes? Just so we're sure he's not bothered. Don't tell anyone he's staying with you. And that's all I knew of the job, my dear niece. Well, at last I'd be doing something for my pay, which to me was very important. I waited around the house all day, afraid to leave, even to do my shopping. For fear I'd miss the telephone call from Mr. Stevens. It was quite late in the afternoon, almost five o'clock, when the telephone rang. Hello? Mrs. Rogers? This is Mrs. Rogers. This is Paul Stevens, Mrs. Rogers. Oh, yes, Mr. Stevens, I've been expecting your call. Where are you? I'll come and pick you up. Well, that's Brookside and Sierra Madre. The corner of Brookside and Sierra Madre, fine. I'll be driving a black Buick convertible, and the right fender is dented. A parking station attendant did it. What? Goodbye, Mr. Stevens. Oh, Mr. Stevens! I remember I hadn't asked Mr. Stevens what he looked like, so that I'd be able to recognize him. But then I thought that Brookside and Sierra Madre is not a busy intersection, and that the chances of there being more than one stranger of the corner were slight. I left the house immediately, and drove through town to where Brookside crosses Sierra Madre. The first nervousness I felt was, when arriving at the corner, I found myself faced with this problem of identification. There were many cars there, and a rather large and excited crowd gathered at the corner. All right, now come on, stand back, everybody. Oh, hello there, Mrs. Rogers. Officer, what's happening? A hit-and-run accident a few minutes ago. How dreadful! Who was hit? Well, a man about 35, no one I know. Was he badly hurt? He's dead. Oh, oh, that, that, oh. Yeah. Officer, I... Well, I was supposed to meet someone. A gentleman here. A Mr. Paul Stevens. I don't suppose that this poor gentleman could be. Well, the ambulance will be here in a few minutes, Mrs. Rogers. I'll call you when we find out who it is, if you like. Would you? I'd be very grateful. I'll call you later. All right, now come on. Uh, Mrs. Rogers? Mrs. Rogers? Yes? I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I'm Paul Stevens. Mr. Stevens? Oh, I'm so relieved. Of course. Please get in. The accident upset me. I was afraid for a moment it was you. No, it wasn't me. Won't you get in? Thank you. Have you had your dinner? Oh, yes, thank you, thank you. I'd like to go to your house if you don't mind. Of course, Mr. Stevens. It won't take long. I was really terribly relieved. And I thought what a warrior I was. Because for a few minutes I really had been sure that Paul Stevens was dead. But now, everything was fine. I tried making conversations with Mr. Stevens on the drive home, but he seemed tired, not inclined to talk. So we drove quietly back through town and to my house. We went inside, and I showed Mr. Stevens to his room. Then went into the living room to tidy up. The telephone rang as I was setting out some ashtrays. Hello? Hello, Mrs. Rogers. This is Officer Barnes. Oh, yes, Officer. I'm glad you called. I wanted to tell you that I never... I checked that identification for you. Yes, well, that's what I wanted to tell you, Officer. The name was... He was wanted for a payroll robbery in L.A. And he wasn't hit by a car. He was thrown from a car. He was murdered. I couldn't answer. I stood there, frozen with the telephone receiver in my hand, looking at the door to the hallway, where the man who called himself Paul Stevens stood smiling tightly, holding a gun in his hand. A gun that was pointed right at me. My mouth felt frozen. My throat dry. I stared fascinated down the barrel of the gun pointing at me. Mrs. Rogers, you there, Mrs. Rogers? Thank him and hang up. Hello, Mrs. Rogers. Are you all right? Yes. Yes, I... I'm all right, Officer. I was... Thank him and hang up. I was... Thank you, Officer. He walked away from me then and sat across the room when he could watch me and also see anyone who had come to the front door. The gun rested in his lap. I stood and stared at him. My mind raced. I tried to think what to do. I was surprised when he spoke. Sit down, if you like. Who are you? Why did you tell me you were Mr. Stevens? Sit down. Who are you? How dare you pretend to be Mr. Stevens? I'm stupid. What? I didn't think they'd find out who he was. I didn't know he was hot. You killed... Yes. I killed Paul Stevens. That's all he would say. I tried to find out who he was and why he'd chosen me and why he'd killed Mr. Stevens, what he was going to do next. He wouldn't answer me. He wouldn't say anything. He looked over at me occasionally and smiled. Just beginning to get dark, I got up to turn on the lights. What are you doing? It's dark. I thought I... I like it dark. My house doesn't look well in the dark. We'll be going out in a few minutes, Mrs. Rogers. Where are we going? We're going out for dinner, Mrs. Rogers. You're going to be my dinner guest. Why did the cop call you? How did you know who called me? The phone upstairs. I was expecting a call. Why did he call you? I thought you were dead. I mean, I thought Mr. Stevens was dead. All right. Get your face on, Mrs. Rogers. I have a very important engagement. We left the house then, got in the car, and drove to a restaurant I'd never been in before. It's on the highway, out past the other side of town, and it's quite a bad reputation. The man didn't know where it was, but he knew the name. All the while, I was trying to remember who he was. I say remember, because there was something familiar about him. But what that something was, my dear niece, I couldn't for the life of me think. An attendant took the car when we arrived at the roadhouse and we went inside. We just sat down at the table when a small and very thin dark complexion man slid into the seat next to the man who wasn't Mr. Stevens. What are you doing here? I had to come. It didn't work. They found out who he was. Why didn't you stay hidden? Because I'm not Stevens, the cop told him. You could stay at her house anyway, couldn't you? You have to come out with people who can pick you up. Take it easy, Al. That's easy. What's the matter with you? Mary figures out a fool-proof way for you to get rid of a guy and hide out right under the cop's noses and then you go and lock up the whole deal. It's not locked up yet. It will be if you don't get away quick. Yeah, maybe. Oh, I don't think you've met Mrs. Rogers. Mrs. Rogers, this is Mr. Al Newhold, who owns this restaurant. Oh, yes. How are you? Look, you better get back to LA. What good would it do? Have you had any contacts in that part of the country? Suddenly, I knew. I knew who the man was. Because as you talked to Al, I remembered that voice. We need someone to take care of any contacts so we might wish to make in your part of the country. It was Mr. Bruce. The same Mr. Bruce who'd given me my job and sent me the checks and who called me that morning and told me to expect Mr. Stevens that afternoon and to put up Mr. Stevens at my home for a while. How did they find out? What? You said they found out who he was. How? He was hot. They had pictures and prints on him. I dumped him at the corner just before I met her. You're Mr. Bruce. He did that payroll job. What did you say? He's Mr. Bruce. That's very good, Mrs. Rogers. How did you know? I just remembered your voice. Don't make any difference. You know too much about this anyway. Doesn't make any difference. You want me to take her with me? I don't want her around here. Somebody might see her car drive in. They'd look. I think we'll go back to her house and start fresh. That way it'll be harder checking where she went. Whatever you do, do it now. The crowd starts coming for dinner soon. Someone will see you. Yeah. Shall we leave now, Mrs. Rogers? Where are we going? We're going to your house, Mrs. Rogers. After that, I'm not sure, but I think I'll have to kill you. We left then. I can't describe my fright. But it all seems so hopeless. I suppose I was more resigned than frightened. We drove back through town. Mr. Bruce sitting very quietly next to me in the front seat. My car's not new as you know. And although I walk in trouble with it, I never before had the horn stick. But that night, it stuck. Right on the corner of Brookside and Sierra Madre. Stop blowing your horn. I'm sorry, Mr. Bruce. I'm not blowing my horn. It's gotten stuck. Stop the car. Stop the car. Now, there we are. And don't try to drive away, see? Yes, I see. Let's get out of here. What was that? Good evening, Mrs. Rogers. Tell them everything's okay. Want me to fix that horn for you? Mr. Mayers, no thank you. It's all right. It'll only take me a second to fix it so you can use it. Oh, never mind. Mr. Mayers, this is Mr. Paul Stephens. Oh, great to meet you. Yeah. I see you pulled in wires to stop the horn. I usually take care of Mrs. Rogers' car myself. It makes me feel funny when something goes wrong with it. Oh, of course. I'll bring it in in the morning, Mr. Mayers. Oh, no sense. You're bothering Mrs. Rogers. I'll go along with you now if you like. I can take you home. Not safe, driving without a horn. Oh, I think that's an excellent idea. I believe you said you wanted to show me the town this evening, Mrs. Rogers. Wouldn't you need the car? Oh, well, I suppose... I was looking forward to the drive. No. You don't mind? Of course. You pick up the car though in the morning, Mr. Mayers. I had promised Mr. Stephens I'd take him for a ride. Sure, of course. Thanks for your trouble, Mr. Mayers. Oh, glad to help. This is such a little town. We all know each other and like each other and like to help each other. And so, Mrs. Rogers? Yes. Yes. Good night, Mrs. Rogers. Oh, I'm glad to have met you, Mr. Stephens. The rest of the drive was uneventful. The street lights were on now, and flashes of light from them darted into the car and lighted up the sullen face of the man who sat tensely by my side. I tried to remember all the conversations I had had with him to find the reason for his choosing me out of all the people who must have placed the persons that day as the person with whom he would hide out. For by now, my dear niece, I was convinced that Mr. Bruce had deliberately set out to murder Mr. Stephens for some reason and hide out in my house where the police were the most unlikely to look for him. But why my house? Why had he chosen me? When we got to my house, Mr. Bruce directed me to leave my car on the street and we went up the dark pathway to the front door. Mr. Bruce a few steps behind me all the way. It's quite dark tonight, isn't it? Yes. Why are we going inside? I have to make a phone call. Oh, I see. Open the door. How's that light? Pardon me? Turn off the light. Oh, sorry. Pull the blinds down on that window. Yes. Now the light. Now get the telephone. Ask Long Distance for Crestview 9177 in Los Angeles. I'd like Long Distance, please. Crestview 9177 in Los Angeles. All right, give it to me. Mary, look. Meet me at ours as soon as you can get here. Something's wrong. No, no, no, I'm all right. I'll tell you later. Get here fast. Well, you got any pets you want to feed before we leave? Where are we going? A little trip. You ready to go? Don't answer that. It might be the operator calling back. She'll wonder. Well, okay, answer it. But I'm right here. Hello? Residents, say oh yes operator. Oh, yes operator. Is he still there? Say yes or no operator. Yes, operator. Well, stall him a little. Thank you, operator. Dear Mr. Mayers, he'd understood me, and he told the police. And they were going to save me. But you just can't imagine, I felt exactly like the heroine in an emotion picture. I simply had to prevent Mr. Bruce from leaving the house. Just a few minutes, the officer said. Just time enough for them to get here. All right, let's get going. I wish I knew where we were going. Do I have to take anything with me? Will we be gone long? Yeah. A long time. Okay. Then I need several changes of clothes. Now, let me think. My brown suit with the grey be better. It's older. Come on, come on. You won't need anything. Oh, the heater. What? I left the heater on in the other room. I'd better turn it off. I don't like anything to catch on fire while we're gone. Fire? You mean those heaters could set the house on fire? No, no, no, not really. I meant that, well, I'd rather not pay a gas bill that's been run up against me because I neglected to turn the heater off. All right, I'd be fast. Well, what's the trouble? This thing always sticks. I never can fix it. I remember it did it last fall. I was just starting off to meet my niece Mary. And here, let me do it. There. Oh, thank you. Now, I feel better about it. I'm sure there must be something I've forgotten. Now, let me think. Come on, come on. You ready? Yes. I'm ready. It was quiet on my street. Peaceful and dark. All the neighbors' lights were out except for the gangsters across the way. One night was on upstairs in the back of their house. It threw a diffuse pattern diagonally across the pavement. And I thought for a minute that I saw a figure move suddenly towards us. Mr. Brooks motioned me to go ahead and I walked slowly down the park towards the car. I could feel Mr. Brooks a few steps behind me. Suddenly, it happened. All right, Bruce, get down, Mrs. Rogers. What? I'll... No. Mrs. Rogers, are you all right? Yes, I... I'm all right. Thank you. I'm all right. And there it is, Mary. The explanation I promised you. I feel as your aunt that I should tell you how you happened to be in the penitentiary. When Mr. Allen, the Roadhouse, first mentioned your name I was suspicious. But not until Mr. Brooks made the phone call to you did I begin to piece the story together. You had suggested the advertisement. Your husband answered it and implored me. If only you told my dear that you'd gotten married when you were in Los Angeles. After all, I'm your only living relative and I could have come to your wedding. Then this whole thing wouldn't have happened, would it, dear? Because I would have known Mr. Bruce all the time. Let me know after the trial watch on your addresses to be and I will continue writing. As always, Aunt Emily.