Durval was in the middle of the hallway when he noticed, through the gap of the library door, a shadow moving inside. There was indeed someone with him in the house.
If what Dolores had said was true, he was in danger at that moment. First, the killer had threatened Durval by letter. Then he had tried to kill him by pushing him off a cliff inside his Corcel. This had landed him days in the hospital and a broken leg. Now, alone in the house, it would be easy for the scoundrel to take his life after all. But Durval would not give in so easily. He raised his cane, holding it with both hands, and limped toward the library door. Perhaps he would die in moments, but first he would at least land a solid and well-aimed blow to the killer’s head. It was a pity that the cane had a rubber tip to prevent it from slipping when it touched the ground. He wished he had bought the metal one instead of this lightweight wooden one.
He thought it best to open the door with one hand and keep the cane at the ready in the other in case the killer lunged at him. Slowly, Durval began to open the library door. The yellow light from the English lamp above the desk cast a slanted shadow on the walls filled with books. He pushed the door a little further. And then the shadow moved, and something charged toward him quickly. Everything happened in a fraction of a second; it seemed that the thing had jumped into the air. His heart was beating so hard and fast that he thought he was going to have another heart attack. Durval let out a roar and swung the cane at the empty air.
On the desk, looking at him with big blue eyes, was the white cat. Durval looked around to see if the entire threat really boiled down to an albino kitten that had jumped from the floor to the table.
The cat licked one of its paws; it was so white that it almost glowed in the dim light of the library. Durval let out a dry, nervous laugh, almost a cough. The cat responded with a meow.
It couldn’t be possible that Dolores was talking about the cat when she said the killer was inside the house with Durval. Dolores was neither demented nor had such a morbid sense of humor to joke about something like that. Moreover, she knew very well that Durval detested jokes like that. If he knew Dolores well, and he had known her for over 50 years, there was indeed someone in the house with him. He forgot the cat and turned back to the hallway. Cane at the ready.
He went to the back door and turned the doorknob. What he wanted most at that moment was to return to his home with Dolores. The door did not open. Trying not to make a noise, Durval forced the doorknob once more. Locked. Someone was indeed there with him and had locked the door that just minutes before had undoubtedly been open.
The only thing left for Durval was to confront the killer.
Episode LVII continues in the next edition.
JOSÉ GASPAR
Writer, trader, and collector of strange words
www.historiasdooutromundo.com
www.josegaspartrader.com