Read Online Delicate Ape by Dorothy B. Hughes - Free Book Online

going to do a spot of theater.”
    The little blue eyes sharpened. “What you talking about?”
    Piers said, “I thought you might as well know. Dinner and the theater. You’re coming, aren’t you?”
    Cassidy shifted his feet. “It’s none of your business where I go, is it? Or is it?”
    “You are following me,” Piers smiled. “I’m just making it easy for you. I might get lost in the crowd, you know.”
    “Suits me.” Cassidy studied his thumb.
    “And me,” Piers laughed.
    “If you get lost,” he put the side of his thumbnail between his teeth, “I’ll find you again. New York isn’t so big.”
    “I know,” Piers admitted. “But there are hiding places.”
    “You’d come out by Sunday.” Cassidy wasn’t interested but he knew something he shouldn’t know, that no one here should know.
    Piers erased his sudden frown, spoke easily. “Can I stand you a drink before we start out—separately, if you prefer?”
    Cassidy would have refused. He should have refused. Suspicion narrowed his eyes and he shifted again. But he’d had a long vigil and his feet must have hurt. There were no chairs here. The bar was near with sweet and acrid odors of stimulants and soporifics.
    He said finally, reluctantly, “I could use a beer.”
    “That’s better,” Piers approved.
    The man lagged behind him as if still following the letter of his orders. The bar was a little less crowded now, the dinner hour. There was no sign of Bianca Anstruther and her party. Cassidy pulled out a chair at a small table, sighed into it. “Bottle of Budweiser,” he said.
    “You won’t mind if mine’s an aperitif, Mr. Cassidy? I haven’t dined.” He directed the waiter.
    “How do you know my name?” Cassidy wasn’t at ease.
    “I made inquiries.” Piers laid his package of cigarettes across the table.
    Cassidy struggled with deep thought. “That damn Sarachon. Used to play the drums in a band here.”
    “Perhaps.” Piers held across a light. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me why you’re following me?”
    “Who said I was following you?”
    Piers’ look was level and ironic. “I can’t believe your private tastes are as catholic as the greensward of the park and the bar of the Astor.”
    Cassidy’s knobbed hand cooled on the bottle of beer. He relaxed after he tasted.
    Piers said, “I’ve followed men myself in my time. Perhaps that gives one a sixth sense.” He sighed. “I presume now that I’ve spotted you there’ll be a new man put on me.”
    “That don’t make no difference,” Cassidy said.
    Piers sipped. “It surprises me that you should be the shadow.”
    “Why’s that?” The demand was belligerent.
    “I should say that the New York detective force would not be interested in my itinerary.” He glanced at his watch. “Time for another beer before I push along.” He beckoned the waiter, repeated the order. “As far back as mind serves, quite a way back that is—I was born in New York—I’ve never caused any trouble in this city. Not even a filched banana or a slug in a gum-vending machine. Yet I’m of interest.” He softened his voice. “Or is it for my protection?”
    “You need protection?” Cassidy watched the foam rise in his glass.
    “My room was searched today. Is that part of the service?”
    The detective grunted, “I don’t know nothing about that.” He didn’t; surprise had quickened his face.
    “I didn’t think you did.” Piers let his hand flat on the table. “It wouldn’t surprise me if we were both being followed, Mr. Cassidy.”
    “Who’d be doing that?” the detective scowled.
    Piers stabbed out lightly. “There might be others interested in Secretary Anstruther’s whereabouts.”
    Cassidy pulled himself up in the chair. The mask was pushed from his face. Behind it was revealed a man of brain, a hunter of strength, stubbornness.
    “I can tell you you’re wasting your time.” Piers matched the coldness. “I do not know where the Secretary”—he