Free The Handshaker by David Robinson

before Danny’s eyes and suddenly the volunteer was wide-eyed and alert.
    “All right, Danny?” Croft asked, crossing back to his table.
    “Yeah. Fine, Mr C.”
    “Good.”
    Croft pressed the play button on his cassette recorder and the room was filled with the sound of Elvis Presley singing Hound Dog . Danny leapt to his feet and began miming to the music, his lip curled, hips swaying, holding an imaginary microphone before him. The small audience laughed, but Danny appeared completely unaware of their presence.
    Croft allowed the humorous demonstration to run for about 30 seconds, then cut the music off. Abruptly, Danny ceased all activity, and frowned in puzzlement.
    “You okay?” Croft asked.
    Danny nodded. “Yeah. Great, Mr C. Never felt better.”
    “Good.” Croft held out his hand. “Shake hands, Danny.”
    Danny took the paw. As he did so, Croft ordered, “Sleep,” and Danny’s head lolled forward once more.
    The hypnotist stared directly at Millie.
    ***
    Another 45 minutes passed before Croft brought the lecture to an end, detailing the work he expected the students to cover before the next tutorials. While his class filed out and he packed away his notes and equipment, Millie left the rear table and joined him.
    “So, Inspector Matthews, you decided to take me seriously?”
    “Ernie Shannon doesn’t believe one word of your theory of The Handshaker using hypnosis to take his victims,” she admitted, “but we’ve been on this investigation so long that he’s prepared to consider anything. The trouble is, you left us with more questions than you answered and I’m hoping you can fill in a few gaps.”
    Croft picked up his cassette player and briefcase. “Let’s retire to my room. At least we can get a decent cuppa there.” He led the way out.
    Coming out onto the bland, first floor corridor, Croft closed the lecture room door. To the right were two wall slots holding signs in chocolate brown with white lettering. One read, Quiet please, lecture in progress , and the other, Mr A Croft, Hypnosis . Croft paused to remove the signs, and tucking them under his arm, ambled along the corridor towards the lift. “No doubt you checked me out? Beyond what you know from having read my book, that is.”
    “We know all about you, Mr Croft,” Millie nodded. “Right down to the council tax bill on your mansion.”
    “Please call me Felix. You looked over my website?”
    She nodded. “I told you. If there’s anything to know about you, we know it. I thought it was interesting what you had to say about smoking and hypnosis. Everyone claims it’s the miracle we smokers have been waiting for, yet you insist it’s no better and no worse than other methods.”
    He gave a wry smile. “Your lackeys did do well.”
    She frowned. “I can assure you, Mr Croft… Felix, I’m no lackey.”
    Croft paused a moment to telegraph that her rebuke to his offhand remark had struck home. “You did well, Millie – may I call you Millie – and the one thing you should have learned from your research is that I am the authority on hypnosis.”
    “Modest too.” She gave him a cynical smile.
    “Modesty is a British problem,” he declared. “It’s the reason we lag behind so much of the world when it comes to business.”
    Reaching the lifts, Millie, in deference to Croft having his hands full, pressed the call button. While they waited, she said, “I was impressed with your mastery of your subject back there.” She jerked her head in the direction of the lecture room and her blonde curls swayed seductively about her dusky face.
    Croft shuffled the bits and pieces he was carrying, easing the slight discomfort caused by their weight. Millie offered to take some from him and he declined with a smile.
    “That was child’s play,” he said, finally answering her observation. “Any half competent stage hypnotist can do that with a day’s training and the right subject. Danny always acts as my volunteer and I’ve