Free Man on a Rope by George Harmon Coxe Page B

the ship was made ready for its return trip. While here, those who could afford it would take the charter flight to Kaieteur Falls; others might go up the river or make the round trip to Bartica. Still others, having exhausted the local sights in one day and finding very little to shop for, would sit around writing postal cards and drinking Planter’s Punches. Barry watched them with interest as he finished his coffee, and he was just putting down his cup when Arthur Hudson stopped at his table.
    â€œYou finished, Dawson?” he said. “Well, look. Wait for me, will you? I won’t be more than ten minutes if I can get some service…. Waiter!” he said, snapping his fingers and pulling out a chair. “See you in the lobby, hunh?”
    â€œEither there or in my room,” Barry said.
    He walked from the room and turned left, and it was then, as he passed the registration desk, that the idea of doing a bit of breaking and entering came to him. There had been no premeditation and he was not sure. what prompted the impulse, but when he saw the long board with the room keys hanging below the proper numbers he suddenly knew he would like to take a quick look at Hudson’s room.
    There were a great many things he wanted to know about Arthur Hudson. He had been curious about the man before the murder; he was more curious now as he remembered the buried pouch beneath the frangipani tree. He had ten minutes that should be safe from interruption, and when he saw that Hudson’s key was missing from the rack, he continued along the corridor, past his own room to the second one beyond. Here he hesitated as the first doubts came and his enthusiasm waned. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all. What, exactly, did he intend to look for? If the door was locked, as it probably would be, he was stymied before he started.
    But now that he had come this far, some pressure of pride or stubbornness vetoed a retreat and demanded an effort. He made it by reaching for the knob and turning it. When he heard the latch click he opened the door, stepped inside, closed it. With no further hesitation he walked past the closed bathroom door which formed a hall of sorts, and now the room opened up before him, a cluttered room it seemed in that first glance.
    There were twin beds here and one of them was mussed, its mosquito netting thrust aside. At the far end a tray with bottles and glasses stood on the window seat. Two traveling bags stood along the wall and a third one, a squarish, fabric-covered piece, lay open on the unused bed; only when he stopped near by and glanced at it did he notice that its contents were unmistakably feminine.
    The discovery jarred him and some new intuitive thrust told him to get out. He did not stop to ponder the inconsistency, but wheeled, hearing now the click of another door, knowing it had to come from the bathroom. He was standing like that, rigid and helpless, when the girl stepped into the little hall, quite naked except for the towel in one hand.
    For one fleeting instant as she spotted him and jerked to a stop they stared at each other in a state of mutual shock, neither uttering a sound. Then the girl twisted and her arm flashed up to make magic with the towel as it flicked out full length and spun like a sorcerer’s cape to cover her from shoulders to knees.
    But the eye is quick and to Barry the image remained even as his confusion increased. He knew the legs and shoulders were tanned, that this was a tall blonde girl with slim flanks and a surprising bust. He saw the wide-open brown eyes beneath the penciled brows, the movement of the mouth, and because he was afraid of what might happen next he spoke at once, his tone urgent and a little desperate.
    â€œDon’t scream!”
    The sound of his voice seemed to do something to the girl. She did not move, but her mouth relaxed. If she felt embarrassed she did not show it, and now the brown eyes were