Free Man On The Run by Charles Williams

account, and there’s some savings and a few shares of Southlands Oil Company stock that all add up to about six thousand, but there’s no way I can get it.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “I could lend you money, but that’s not the big problem, anyway. If you’re to escape for good, it’s a matter of changing your whole identity and way of life. Naturally, you can never go to sea again.”
    “It won’t work,” I said. “Going to sea is the only thing I like or know how to do. I’d be like a fish with feathers, trying to live ashore. That’s what my wife and I fought about all the time.”
    “All right, let’s drop that for the moment and study another possibility. I don’t think you killed Stedman, so maybe we could find out who did. What did Lanigan have to say?”
    I told her.
    “Hmmm,” she said thoughtfully. She blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling and studied it. “That has a definitely intriguing ring. Especially the coincidence about Stedman’s partner. What was his name again?”
    “Purcell,” I said. “Jack Purcell.”
    She nodded. “I’m pretty sure I remember reading about it. And that girl sounds interesting.”
    “There are probably several thousand good-looking brunettes in a city this size,” I said. “And maybe she didn’t have anything to do with it anyway.”
    “You never find out why pigeons bob their heads by dismissing it as an optical illusion. The thing to do is try to find her. But you can’t even think of going out of here until that black eye fades.” She raised herself on an elbow and looked at my face with critical appraisal. I studied the interesting curves this gave her breasts and put my hand under one.
    She smiled and shook her head. “The forever undefeated, or at least hopeful. But about that eye—it’ll probably be another three days, at least. They have some very sharp descriptions of you, and the red hair is bad enough, along with your height, but those bruises are like carrying a sign with your name on it.”
    “I’m going to have to do something about clothes.”
    “That’s all taken care of,” she said. “Except I’ll have to buy you another hat and topcoat. The ones you had on last night are in the descriptions now. Let’s see—the coat was tweed, so I’ll get you a tan gabardine—”
    “Where did you get the others?”
    “Courtesy of my ex-husband. Or maybe I should say the more recent of my two ex-husbands. When he moved out, he left a trunk of his personal effects in the storeroom of the apartment house and never has sent for it. I went down yesterday and broke into it to see what I could find, since he’s about your size. There were two suits, both conservative, dark gray flannel, and a lot of shirts and other things. And I brought up some pajamas and a flannel robe for you to wear around the apartment. They’re in the closet.”
    She got up and went into the bath. I could hear her in the tub. After awhile she came out wearing a panty girdle and bra and sat down at the dressing table to put on her stockings.
    “There’s a safety razor in the cabinet,” she said.
    “Thanks,” I replied. I sat up on the side of the bed. Weakness and vertigo hit me and I almost fell over. I managed to prop myself upright, and watched her pull the nylon up a smooth and rounded thigh and clip it to the little tabs on the girdle. “You’re an exciting girl.”
    She rotated the ankle and tugged it straight. “Regroup,” she said. “You’ve had all the excitement you can take.”
    “Where are you going?” I asked.
    “Shopping,” she said. “We’ve got to get some food in you before you collapse. And I have to go to the library. I’ll be back in about an hour.”
    She went to the clothes closet and put on a slip and a knitted dress. Sitting at the dressing table, again, she slipped on her shoes and applied some lipstick. “Tell me about your wife,” she said, glancing at me in the mirror. Weren’t you in love with