Free Comes the Dark Stranger by Jack Higgins Page B

he was lost.
    He drew the smoke deep into his lungs and tried to steady himself. All that was needed was someone with a key to the attic door. Someone who was interested in frightening him away or in driving him insane, perhaps. Whoever it was would have had ample time to leave the attics while he had gone down to the hall for the porter.
    He went out into the corridor and moved along to the end. He tried the door to the attics again, but it was securely locked. There was another door behind him and he opened it and discovered a dark flight of stairs which he descended quickly.
    A stale smell of cooking rose to greet him and somewhere along a dimly lit passage he heard voices and the clatter of pans. A door faced him and when he opened it he looked out into the alley at the side of the hotel. He closed the door again and went back upstairs, his mind working furiously.
    It had to be someone he had met that day, someone who wanted to frighten him because they themselves were afraid. And then he remembered Adam Crowther. He had certainly lied about his association with Steele and if he had nothing to hide, why had he so deliberately avoided a meeting outside the Garland Club?
    For a little while longer Shane stood just inside his room, a frown wrinkling his brow as he thought about the whole thing and then he came to a sudden decision and reached for his trench-coat. A moment later he closed the door behind him and went quickly downstairs.
    To save time he took a cab from a rank in the centre of the town. Crowther’s address was in a quiet residential district not far from the university, and Shane told the driver to stop at the end of the street and walked the rest of the way, his collar pulled up against the rain.
    The place he was looking for turned out to be a bungalow, a modern Canadian-style place in mellow brick, pine board, and rough stone. It was sandwiched in between two large town houses in grey stone, each standing remotely in a sea of smooth lawns and flower-beds.
    Shane walked slowly up the drive and mounted a flight of shallow steps to the porch. He pressed the bell-push and waited. After a moment the porch was flooded with light. Out of the corner of one eye he became aware of a movement in the window of the lounge. A curtain fluttered, and as he turned his head a figure drew back into the darkness of the room and a hand twitched the curtain back into place.
    He waited for the door to open, but nothing happened. After a while he pressed the bell-push again, keeping his finger on the button, and the shrill clangour echoed through the house. A moment later he heard steps approaching and the door opened.
    A pleasant, dark-haired young woman with candid grey eyes and a firm mouth looked out at him inquiringly. ‘Yes, what is it?’
    ‘Mrs Crowther?’ Shane said, and when she nodded went on, ‘My name is Shane - Martin Shane. I’m an old friend of your husband’s. I wonder if I might speak to him?’
    She hesitated, and a slight frown appeared on her face.
    ‘I’m afraid that isn’t possible, Mr Shane,’ she said. ‘Adam came home from the university this evening with a temperature, and went straight to bed. He’s sound asleep at the moment.’
    ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Shane told her. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’
    ‘Oh, no,’ she said hastily. ‘A touch of flu, I think.’ She pushed back a tendril of dark hair with one hand. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, Mr Shane. Perhaps if you were to phone Adam at his office in two or three days. He might be all right then.’ She sounded genuinely sorry.
    Shane smiled at her. ‘Yes, I think I’ll do that, Mrs Crowther. Give Adam my regards, and tell him I’ll be getting in touch with him.’
    He went down the steps quickly, and walked towards the gate. When he reached it he looked back. She was still standing on the porch, gazing after him, but as he started to walk away she went inside, and a moment later the porch light went