Free The Shadowers by Donald Hamilton Page A

sober. “You’ve been very considerate, Mr. Corcoran, listening to the boring prattle of a lonely woman. No, you don’t have to see me to my room. I’m perfectly all right.”
    I cleared my throat. “Well, I was kind of thinking of my room, ma’am. It seems a pity to break this up. I’ve got a bottle in my suitcase. We could continue the scientific experiment, er, in private.”
    It was funny. We were acting—with some help from the drinks, of course. We were going through the age-old motions of the pickup for the benefit of anyone who might be watching. And yet the tight, embarrassed little silence that followed my suggestion was real enough. Olivia’s laugh was slow to come, and strained when it did come.
    “Oh, my dear man!” she murmured. “My dear man! Are you going to flatter the unattractive lady intellectual by making a real pass? Isn’t that carrying the Good Samaritan act pretty far?”
    “We’re going to have to do something about that inferiority complex, Doc,” I said. “I don’t like to hear a good-looking woman running herself down.”
    “You know I’m drunk, deliciously drunk, and you’re deliberately taking advantage of a foolish, intoxicated... Do I really want to be seduced, Mr. Corcoran?” I didn’t say anything. We faced each other for some long seconds; then she laughed again softly and recklessly. “Well, why not?” she asked, taking my arm again, in an intimate way. “Why not?”
    We stood very close in the elevator for the operator’s benefit; we didn’t speak because it wasn’t necessary. We got out at the fifth floor, turned left, and walked arm in arm to my door. I put the key into the lock. With the door opening under my hand, I turned to look at my companion.
    There was something I’d forgotten. I wondered if she had. There was one affectionate little scene still to be played for our public, if we had one, before we could escape into the privacy of the room and be our cool, distant and professional selves once more.
    I saw a sharp little glint in Olivia’s eyes, and I knew she’d been wondering if I’d try to leave this particular chore undone. I reached out, took the glasses gently from her nose, folded them, and tucked them into the breast pocket of her jacket while she stood quite still facing me. Then I kissed her. It wasn’t too difficult. The woman wasn’t actually revolting, and I was moderately tight myself. She wasn’t too clumsy, either. At least she knew where the noses went.
    I had time to be a little surprised at this. After all, she didn’t give the impression of having had much recent practice, if she’d ever had any. Then I sensed somebody behind me, and, releasing her, I turned, ready, and caught a glimpse of a man’s face that might have been handsome if it hadn’t been contorted with anger. It wasn’t a face I’d ever seen before.
    That changed the picture. I’d been expecting Kroch. I had to make a snap decision and I made it. Instead of going into action, I just stood there flat-footed and let a fist catch me on the jaw and knock me against the doorjamb. Another fist to my stomach doubled me up. A third fist—well, maybe my count wasn’t quite accurate, maybe the guy had only two but it seemed like more— took me alongside the head and knocked me down.

9
    It took a bit of doing, of course. No man really likes to be used as a punching bag in front of a woman, even if she isn’t quite Sophia Loren. There was even a certain risk, but an attacker who really means business seldom wastes his time and effort with the fists. You get so you can sense when there is real danger, and when the worst that can happen is getting your block knocked off in an amateurish way.
    A moment after I’d hit the hall carpet, Olivia was kneeling beside me. Her hand touched my face, but her words weren’t addressed to me.
    “That was brave!” I heard her cry. “To attack a man from behind, without warning! That’s just what I would have expected from