In the Heat of the Night

Gillespie said.
    Sam nodded his agreement. “I always notice it,” he answered. “It’s a miasma in the air.”
    “A what?” Gillespie asked.
    “I’m sorry. A certain feeling, a kind of atmosphere.”
    “That’s what I meant,” Gillespie commented. “Don’t the Purdys live around here somewhere?”
    “We just passed their house,” Sam told him.
    He drove on another three blocks and then turned toward the highway. He slowed up for the stop that he always made even though the street was usually deserted at this hour. This time there was a car coming and he waited for it to pass. As it did so, the overhead street light outlined it enough so that Sam recognized it. It was Eric Kaufmann’s, or one exactly like it.
    Sam turned and followed in the direction of the diner. “I usually stop about now for my break,” he explained.
    “That’s OK with me," Gillespie said.
    Sam picked up speed and kept the car ahead of him in sight. As they neared the city limits, the other car slowed and turned into the diner parking lot. Sam slowed down and allowed Kaufmann enough time to get inside before he drove into the lot. Sam and Gillespie got out.
    “What about Virgil?” Gillespie asked.
    “I’ll wait here,” Tibbs said.
    “What would you like me to get you?” Sam asked him.
    “Nothing, I guess. If I think of something, I’ll let you know.”
    Sam and Gillespie walked into the diner.
    Eric Kaufmann looked up in surprise when they entered. Then he got to his feet to shake hands. “This is quite an unexpected pleasure,” he said.
    “For us, too,” Gillespie added. “How come you’re here at this hour?” It was a friendly question, but there was an undertone to it which suggested that Gillespie really wanted to know the answer.
    “I just came in from Atlanta,” Kaufmann explained. “I’ve gotten in the habit of driving at night. It’s cooler that way and there’s less traffic on the road.”
    “I see,” Gillespie said as he sat down. “Any news?”
    “Definitely,” Kaufmann replied. “I’ve managed to line up a big-name conductor, one of the very best, to take over in Enrico’s place. I’m not telling you who he is because I want George Endicott to be the first to know. And the ticket sales are excellent. You are going to have some real crowds here next month.”
    Sam sat down and wondered what to order. He motioned to Ralph, the counterman, to attend to the others while he thought about it. All that would come into his mind was the promise that tonight he would arrest a murderer. His shift was now almost half over and nothing yet gave signs of action. In a little while the daylight would come and when it did the mystery of the night would evaporate. Somehow it seemed to Sam that it would be too late then. The murderer had struck hy night; it would have to be at night, or so it seemed, that he would be captured. He became an unreal entity, not a normal person who walks down the street and who looks like everybody else.
    But how do you tell a murderer?
    Sam ordered a root-beer float and toast, a ridiculous combination, he realized a moment later, but he waited while Ralph made it and then just looked at it as it sat *n front of him. Then he heard a noise behind him. Sam turned to see Virgil Tibbs standing just inside the door. The Negro seemed pathetically weak at that moment, as though he was all too aware that he had ventured where he did not belong.
    Ralph looked up and saw him. “Hey, you, there! Out,” he ordered.
    Virgil hesitated and came a cautious step or two more inside. “Please,” he said, “I’m awfully thirsty. All I want is a glass of milk.”
    Ralph looked quickly at his guests and then back at Tibbs. “You can’t come in here, you know that. Go back outside. When these gentlemen get through, maybe one of them will bring a carton out to you.”
    “I will,” Sam offered.
    Instead of retreating, Virgil walked farther into the forbidden room. “Look,” he said. “I know you have rules down here, but I’m a police officer just like these gentlemen. I don’t have any diseases. All I want is to sit down and have something like the others.”
    Sam drew breath to arbitrate. Virgil was “out of line” for the first time since he had known him and Sam was suffering acutely from secondary embarrassment. Then, before he could speak, Ralph walked around the end of the counter and over to where Virgil was standing.
    “I heard about you,” Ralph said. “You’re Virgil