TEN GLASS EYES
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," December-January 1948.
Imagine a seemingly perfect murder, with no witnesses, no clues... except
the dubious one of a missing eye made of glass. The police are even more
disturbed when, on the lookout for the eye, they wind up with ten of them. Ten
glass eyes shimmering in silent glee!
CHAPTER I
IT began, if these things ever have a beginning, when a man darted across
a street in broad daylight.
Dashing through the traffic like a mad moth bent on immolating itself in a
flame, he made his way through the tangle of juggernauts. Broken field running,
he was thinking, was never like this.
Is there any stop, he wondered, once you begin to run? Is there any
escape? But there was no time for thought. Behind him, tenacious as death, came
that tall, thin man whose face kept popping up so often that it had become a day
nightmare.
The man who was running chanced a glance behind him. Had the traffic lost
the... no, there was that aquiline face. Persistent as death.
Into a department store. The man knew he should not run, but it was hard
to slow down to a walk with that menacing presence so close. Through shoppers,
mostly female, past counters that offered the treasures of Araby at ten percent
off, he made his way.
That elevator there... could he duck in just as the doors came to a close?
He wandered around as though there was not a thought in his head. Then, just as
the doors started to close, he darted within the cubicle.
He sighed. He was alone. Alone but for the twenty or thirty people in the
car. The elevator operator intoned in a voice laden with the weariness of all
time, "Second floor, gents furnishings, ties, shirts, suits, outdoor furniture,
anyone out?"
There was no answer. The man who was running from his fate edged his way
back as far as he could when the car door opened at the third floor. A bevy of
women left the car. Ahead through the open door he could see girdles, slips,
and various other completely female appurtenances.
He scrunched back into the now slightly more empty car. He had no plans
now. Where were those careful plans he had made? He smiled a sour grin. Where
are the snows of yesteryear? The careful plans had vanished as if they had
never been, when that other man had appeared in the background. What use was a
new identity, a mustache, colored glasses, a stooped walk, the new name, when
all the time that harsh face was somewhere in the environs?
It had all seemed so simple at first. Maybe it always looked simple.
Perhaps the Greeks were right, perhaps you did carry your fate inside you.
The door opened on the fifth floor. The car was now almost empty. He
walked out of it just as if he were a carefree shopper. Ahead lay what?
