Free Delay in Transit by F. L. Wallace Page B

street. Too dangerous. Turn aside at the next deserted intersection
and let him follow the glow of your cigarette."
     
     
The lighter flared in his hand. "That's one way of finding out," said
Cassal. "But wouldn't I be a lot safer if I just concentrated on getting
back to the hotel?" "I'm curious. Turn here."
     
     
"Go to hell," said Cassal nervously. Nevertheless, when he came to that
intersection, he turned there.
     
     
It was a Godolphian equivalent of an alley, narrow and dark, oily
slow-moving water gurgling at one side, high cavernous walls looming on
the other.
     
     
He would have to adjust the curiosity factor of Dimanche. It was all
very well to be interested in the man who trailed him, but there was
also the problem of coming out of this adventure alive. Dimanche, an
electronic instrument, naturally wouldn't consider that.
     
     
"Easy," warned Dimanche. "He's at the entrance to the alley, walking
fast. He's surprised and pleased that you took this route."
     
     
"I'm surprised, too," remarked Cassal. "But I wouldn't say I'm
pleased. Not just now."
     
     
"Careful. Even subvocalized conversation is distracting." The mechanism
concealed within his body was silent for an instant and then continued:
"His blood pressure is rising, breathing is faster. At a time like
this, he may be ready to verbalize why he wants to murder you. This
is critical."
     
     
"That's no lie," agreed Cassal bitterly. The lighter was in his hand. He
clutched it grimly. It was difficult not to look back. The darkness
assumed an even more sinister quality.
     
     
"Quiet," said Dimanche. "He's verbalizing about you."
     
     
"He's decided I'm a nice fellow after all. He's going to stop and ask
me for a light."
     
     
"I don't think so," answered Dimanche. "He's whispering: 'Poor devil. I
hate to do it. But it's really his life or mine.'"
     
     
"He's more right than he knows. Why all this violence, though? Isn't
there any' clue?"
     
     
"None at all," admitted Dimanche. "He's very close. You'd better turn
around."
     
     
     
     
Cassal turned, pressed the stud on the lighter. It should have made him
feel more secure, but it didn't. He could see very little.
     
     
A dim shadow rushed at him. He jumped away from the water side of the
alley, barely in time. He could feel the rush of air as the assailant
shot by.
     
     
"Hey!" shouted Cassal.
     
     
Echoes answered; nothing else did. He had the uncomfortable feeling that
no one was going to come to his assistance.
     
     
"He wasn't expecting that reaction," explained Dimanche. "That's why
he missed. He's turned around and is coming back."
     
     
"I'm armed!" shouted Cassal.'
     
     
"That won't stop him. He doesn't believe you."
     
     
Cassal grasped the lighter. That is, it had been a lighter a few
seconds before. Now a needle-thin blade had snapped out and projected
stiffly. Originally it had been designed as an emergency surgical
instrument. A little imagination and a few changes had altered its
function, converting it into a compact, efficient stiletto.
     
     
"Twenty feet away," advised Dimanche. "He knows you can't see him, but
he can see your silhouette by the light from the main thoroughfare. What
he doesn't know is that I can detect every move he makes and keep you
posted below the level of his hearing."
     
     
"Stay on him," growled Cassal nervously. He flattened himself against
the wall.
     
     
"To the right," whispered Dimanche. "Lunge forward.' About five
feet. Low."
     
     
Sickly, he did so. He didn't care to consider the possible effects of
a miscalculation. In the darkness, how far was five feet? Fortunately,
his estimate was correct. The rapier encountered yielding resistance,
the soggy kind: flesh. The tough blade bent, but did not break. His
opponent gasped and broke away.
     
     
"Attack!" howled Dimanche against the bone behind his ear. "You've got
him. He can't imagine how you know where he is in the darkness. He's
afraid."
     
     
Attack he did,