Free The Shadowers by Donald Hamilton

taken the table I’d had earlier, over by the wall. I hesitated, discovering her there, and went over.
    “Well, did you ever learn how long it took, ma’am?” I asked.
    She looked up, startled, and frowned at me in a puzzled way. “How long?”
    “The bar. To go around.”
    “Oh,” she said quickly. “Oh, you’re the man... I didn’t recognize you.”
    “I was sorry to have to run off like that, earlier, but I saw somebody I didn’t know was in town. Do you mind if I sit down, ma’am?”
    “Why,” she said, “why no. Not at all. Please do.”
    “We could clock it now,” I said. “That fat man. We can see how long it takes before he gets back in front of us. Let me get you a drink...”
    Well, you can take it from there. We went through the standard getting-acquainted routine. I trotted out the story of my coming from Denver and being a newspaperman there, and she told me about coming from Pensacola and doing something scientific and secret she wasn’t allowed to talk about. She could, however, tell me, she said, if I was interested, about some phenomena she’d encountered in her work that weren’t classified. Take weightlessness, for instance...
    A couple of drinks later we were still talking weightlessness. “Of course, now that we’ve actually put men into space, we no longer have to simulate this particular situation, we can study it in actual practice,” she said. She remembered something and looked up quickly. “Oh, damn, our fat man is gone! The experiment is ruined, I’m afraid, Mr. Corcoran.”
    “Let’s try the brassy-blonde lady with the silver foxes. She looks pretty permanent; maybe she’ll stay for a complete go-round. How about another drink?”
    “Well, I shouldn’t,” she said a little uncertainly. “I’m afraid I’m just talking shop and boring you terribly. Well, maybe I will have just one more, if you don’t think I’ll be too intoxicated. I’m trusting you to keep track and not let me disgrace myself. Although I’m not at all sure you’re a trustworthy person, Mr. Corcoran.”
    She was putting on a much better show than she had earlier in the evening. By this time she had the flushed, bright-eyed, vivacious, faintly disorganized look of the unpracticed lady drinker who’s overdoing it. Anybody could tell her inhibitions were taking an awful beating. On more intimate terms now, we discussed my trustworthiness, or lack of it, at length and in laughing detail. I looked up to see the waiter standing by the table.
    “One more of each,” I said, shoving the empty glasses toward him.
    “I’m sorry, sir.” He gestured toward the bar, where the last man on duty was shutting up shop. We were alone in the lounge.
    “Oh, dear,” Olivia said, “Are they closing up? Do we have to go? We never did learn how long it takes to go around.”
    “The bar?” said the waiter. “It takes about fifteen minutes, ma’am.”
    I paid the bill, rose, and helped Olivia to get around the table the waiter pulled away from the bench.
    She held my arm to steady herself. “I’m afraid I’m just a wee bit inebriated, Mr. Corcoran. It’s a very interesting experiment. I’ve always wanted to try it—in the interest of science, of course—but I’ve always been afraid of making a fool of myself. Am I?”
    “What, making a fool of yourself?” I said. “Not yet, Doc, but I’m still hoping.”
    “Now I’m sure you’re not to be trusted!” She laughed, and stopped laughing. “Do I look all right? My hair isn’t coming down, is it? I look like an utter witch with my hair down. Not that I’m any beauty with it up, don’t think I have any illusions along those lines. It’s really very kind of you to... She stopped and drew a long breath, leaving the sentence unfinished. We were out in the lobby and they were locking the doors of the Carnival Room behind us. Olivia drew herself up and patted her hair, facing me. When she spoke again, her voice was brisk and business-like and