Free Man On The Run by Charles Williams Page A

her?”
    ”Sure,” I said. “But we wore it out fighting. She wanted me to quit the ship and get some kind of job ashore. But hell, there’s nothing I could do ashore that would pay anything like the same money. I couldn’t stand it, anyway.”
    “What was she like?”
    “Nice, but hot-tempered. A redhead with one of those complexions you can almost see through. She’s a couple of years older than I am. A nightclub singer. Not a very good one, I guess, and when I met her she wasn’t singing in very good clubs, but she hated to give it up. She was married once before.”
    She frowned thoughtfully, checking the lipstick. “If it was all over and you were about to break up anyway, why did you want to fight Stedman? That was childish.”
    “I know, I know. It was stupid. But I just didn’t like the smug bastard.”
    She clucked chidingly. “De mortuis—”
    “What’s that?”
    “The smug bastard’s dead. Call him something else.”
    “All right.”
    She removed a grayish fur coat from the closet and draped it across her shoulders. “Don’t get absent-minded and answer the phone if it rings. Or the buzzer downstairs.” She went out.
    I made it to the bathroom on legs like overcooked spaghetti and had a shower. I found the safety razor, put in a new blade, and shaved. My face was gaunt, as if I’d lost ten pounds in the past four days. The puffy place on my jaw was better now and was hardly noticeable, but the eye was still discolored even though some of the swelling was gone. I put on the pajamas and robe she’d told me about and went out in the living room.
    It was a large room, carpeted in gray, with a long picture window on the left. The rose-colored curtains were closed, but they let in a little light, and when I parted them slightly and looked out I saw the building faced a park. The weather had turned clear now, but it was sunset, and the bare trees looked cold. I turned away and switched on a light.
    There was a screened fireplace of Roman brick beside the window, and the whole wall next to the bedroom was lined with books. Opposite the window, near the front door, was a long blond console that appeared to be a hi-fi system, and three watercolors in heavy, bleached wood frames. The sofa and chairs were lightweight and modern-
    There were two doors at the far end of the room. I went over and looked in the one on the left. It was a small study, lined solidly with books except for one window that was covered with dark green drapes. There was a desk that held a covered typewriter. A shaded lamp was suspended above it.
    The other door led into a small dining room, and just beyond it was a long, rather narrow kitchen. I went in and switched on the light, feeling faint with hunger. The only thing edible in the refrigerator was a piece of cheese and half a bottle of milk. I ate a slice of the cheese and drank a glass of milk. Then I ransacked the cupboards. I found some vermouth and gin and an unopened can of salted peanuts. Locating a pitcher, I broke out some ice cubes, mixed a batch of Martinis, poured one, and put the rest in the refrigerator. Opening the can of peanuts, I carried them out into the living room.
    Something dropped on the rug outside the door. It sounded like a newspaper. I put down the Martini and peanuts and listened for a moment. Then I peered out. The corridor was empty, and the evening paper was lying just under my feet. I snatched it up and closed the door. Switching on a reading light at the end of the sofa, I took a sip of the Martini and spread it open. I was across two columns of the front page.
    SEAMAN CONTINUES
TO ELUDE DRAGNET
    “Feb. 21 . . . Russell Foley, local seaman sought in connection with the slaying last Tuesday of police detective Charles L. Stedman, was still at large this afternoon in spite of an intensive search now going into its third day. Police are convinced he is still in the city, and all bus and railway terminals and the airport are being closely watched .