Free Comes the Dark Stranger by Jack Higgins Page A

isn’t my name,’ Shane said coolly. His free hand darted forward and fastened around Frenchy’s left arm just below the elbow, his thumb biting into the pressure point.
    An expression of purest agony flooded over Frenchy’s face and as he staggered back, Shane kicked him under the left knee-cap. He left him there, half-collapsed against the wall, mouthing obscenities and went down the steps that led to the stage.
    It was only a little after nine when he left the club and walked back through the streets to his hotel. The fog seemed to move in on him with a terrible weightless pressure that made him dizzy and light-headed.
    There was a dull ache behind his eyes and he felt weak and drained of all emotion. He got his key from the night porter at the desk and mounted the stairs to his room.
    It was quiet in there - too quiet and he was filled with a vague irrational unease. He lay on the bed in the dark and when he closed his eyes, coloured images flashed through his mind and night had a thousand faces.
    He had been lying there for five or ten minutes only when he heard a sound that made the flesh crawl across his body. Someone was moving across the floor of the room upstairs. Someone who dragged one foot behind him that slithered horribly over the floor.
    He lay there for several moments slightly raised on one arm, staring up at the ceiling, the hair lifting on the back of his neck. As the cold fear surged into his mouth, he scrambled from his bed, wrenched open his door and ran along the corridor looking for the stairs which led to the next floor.
    There were no stairs, but at the end of the corridor he found a door which was locked. He pulled at it vainly for a moment or two and then hurried downstairs to the hall and went to the desk.
    ‘I want to know who’s staying in the room above mine,’ he said.
    The porter looked at him in astonishment. ‘But there isn’t anyone in a room above you, sir. There’s only the attics up there.’
    ‘But I can hear someone walking about above my room,’ Shane persisted.
    The man shook his head. ‘That’s impossible sir. The door to the top stairs is locked and there’s only one key. I’ve got it here.’
    He lifted it down from a nail and held it up. Shane’s stomach was suddenly empty and for a moment he closed his eyes. When he opened them again he said carefully, ‘Would you mind if we take a look? I’m almost certain I heard someone moving about up there’.
    The man nodded and lifted the flap of the counter. ‘Certainly, sir. I’ll come up with you myself.’
    They went up to the top corridor and the porter unlocked the door which gave access to the attic stairs. He switched on a light and went up cautiously, Shane at his heels. When they reached the top, they crossed a small landing and entered an attic which stretched the length of the building. It was completely empty, the harsh light of a naked bulb reaching into the farthest corners.
    The porter turned with a little laugh. ‘Well, there you are. There’s no one up here. You must have imagined it, sir.’
    Shane nodded slowly and led the way back downstairs. He waited for the porter to lock the door and then walked along the corridor with him. When they reached the stairhead he said, ‘I’m sorry I troubled you.’
    The porter looked at him searchingly. ‘Excuse me for mentioning it, sir, but you don’t look too good to me. Is there anything I can get you?’
    Shane shook his head and moved across to the door of his room.
    ‘I’ll be all right when I’ve had some sleep,’ he said. ‘I’m rather tired - that’s all.’
    He closed the door of his room and stood with his back to it and waited, but there was no sound and only the quiet shadows waited for him in the corners of the room. He went and sat on the edge of the bed and smoked a cigarette, his head spinning. There had to be a rational explanation because if for one moment he dared to admit to the possibility that he had imagined the whole thing,