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Authors: Donald Hamilton
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on my way.”
8
Olivia Mariassy had a room on the third floor, two below mine. I used the stairs. Nobody seemed interested in where I was going. Nobody seemed to be hanging around the corridor in front of number 310, either. I had the feeling I was in the clear, but I didn’t take time to make sure. I just went right up to the door and knocked.
A feminine voice responded promptly. “Who is it?”
I drew a long breath. I guess I’d been really worried. After a moment of relief, I started to get angry. Our tame scientist was still alive and, from the calm sound of her voice, unharmed, but apparently she expected me to shout my name and business through the panels; and what the hell was the idea of having the desk refuse to call her, anyway?
“The password is flattop,” I said softly, “like in aircraft carrier.”
“Oh.”
There was a little pause; then the door opened. She was still fully dressed in her tweed suit. Her only concession to the lateness of the hour was that she’d unbuttoned her jacket. She was fastening it up again primly as she stood there. She even had her shoes on, although I would have been willing to bet she hadn’t had them on a minute earlier. No woman, no matter how intellectual and proper, sits and reads late at night in high heels.
That’s what she’d been doing when I knocked: reading. A light burned over the big chair in the corner, and she was holding a fat book with her forefinger marking the place. The title, I noted, was The Algebra of Infinity, whatever that might mean.
Standing there facing me she looked, I thought, like a not unhandsome spinster librarian about to ask me sternly why I couldn’t get into the habit of returning my books on time.
“What are you doing here?” was what she really asked. “I mean, is this wise, Mr. Corcoran? After all, we’re not supposed to be acquainted yet, are we? That abortive incident in the bar hardly constituted an adequate introduction.”
“Are you all right?” I asked, watching her face. “Are you alone in there?”
She looked startled first and then indignant. “Alone? Of course I’m alone! What do you mean?”
I relaxed. It was obvious from her behavior that nobody was holding a gun on her from a hidden corner and telling her what to say. I pushed past her. The room was empty. So were the closet and bathroom. I came back to face her and reached out to shove the hall door closed.
“Now,” I said, “what’s the big idea, Doc?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean the phone bit. We tried to reach you. No go. Somebody had told the desk you didn’t want to be disturbed. Naturally, knowing that under the circumstances—particularly after the bar scene—you’d be much too smart to cut yourself off from us, in fact you’d be waiting for me to call, we got just a little concerned.”
Her hand went to her mouth, ingénue fashion. It was an oddly girlish gesture for a woman with her severe appearance. “Why, I never thought! I guess I’m not a very good secret agent, Mr. Corcoran. I’m terribly sorry. I just... well, it was a personal matter. Somebody with whom I didn’t want to speak.”
“Personal,” I said. “This is a hell of a time for personal matters, Doc.”
“People with medical degrees rarely like to be called Doc, Mr. Corcoran.” She was her stiff, precise self once more. “And you are hardly in a position to criticize, after the way you left our business unfinished this evening to chase after that child in pink—leaving me, I must point out, in a very humiliating position. I remember your saying on the ship that you ran after women, but I didn’t realize it was compulsive!”
I stared at her. “You don’t think I went off with the kid for fun, for God’s sake!”
“What else could I think?” Her voice was cold. “And I must say I’m disappointed in your taste, Mr. Corcoran. That shiny little dress, so tight, so short, so bare. Why do the little tarts all feel it’s charming to
8
Olivia Mariassy had a room on the third floor, two below mine. I used the stairs. Nobody seemed interested in where I was going. Nobody seemed to be hanging around the corridor in front of number 310, either. I had the feeling I was in the clear, but I didn’t take time to make sure. I just went right up to the door and knocked.
A feminine voice responded promptly. “Who is it?”
I drew a long breath. I guess I’d been really worried. After a moment of relief, I started to get angry. Our tame scientist was still alive and, from the calm sound of her voice, unharmed, but apparently she expected me to shout my name and business through the panels; and what the hell was the idea of having the desk refuse to call her, anyway?
“The password is flattop,” I said softly, “like in aircraft carrier.”
“Oh.”
There was a little pause; then the door opened. She was still fully dressed in her tweed suit. Her only concession to the lateness of the hour was that she’d unbuttoned her jacket. She was fastening it up again primly as she stood there. She even had her shoes on, although I would have been willing to bet she hadn’t had them on a minute earlier. No woman, no matter how intellectual and proper, sits and reads late at night in high heels.
That’s what she’d been doing when I knocked: reading. A light burned over the big chair in the corner, and she was holding a fat book with her forefinger marking the place. The title, I noted, was The Algebra of Infinity, whatever that might mean.
Standing there facing me she looked, I thought, like a not unhandsome spinster librarian about to ask me sternly why I couldn’t get into the habit of returning my books on time.
“What are you doing here?” was what she really asked. “I mean, is this wise, Mr. Corcoran? After all, we’re not supposed to be acquainted yet, are we? That abortive incident in the bar hardly constituted an adequate introduction.”
“Are you all right?” I asked, watching her face. “Are you alone in there?”
She looked startled first and then indignant. “Alone? Of course I’m alone! What do you mean?”
I relaxed. It was obvious from her behavior that nobody was holding a gun on her from a hidden corner and telling her what to say. I pushed past her. The room was empty. So were the closet and bathroom. I came back to face her and reached out to shove the hall door closed.
“Now,” I said, “what’s the big idea, Doc?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean the phone bit. We tried to reach you. No go. Somebody had told the desk you didn’t want to be disturbed. Naturally, knowing that under the circumstances—particularly after the bar scene—you’d be much too smart to cut yourself off from us, in fact you’d be waiting for me to call, we got just a little concerned.”
Her hand went to her mouth, ingénue fashion. It was an oddly girlish gesture for a woman with her severe appearance. “Why, I never thought! I guess I’m not a very good secret agent, Mr. Corcoran. I’m terribly sorry. I just... well, it was a personal matter. Somebody with whom I didn’t want to speak.”
“Personal,” I said. “This is a hell of a time for personal matters, Doc.”
“People with medical degrees rarely like to be called Doc, Mr. Corcoran.” She was her stiff, precise self once more. “And you are hardly in a position to criticize, after the way you left our business unfinished this evening to chase after that child in pink—leaving me, I must point out, in a very humiliating position. I remember your saying on the ship that you ran after women, but I didn’t realize it was compulsive!”
I stared at her. “You don’t think I went off with the kid for fun, for God’s sake!”
“What else could I think?” Her voice was cold. “And I must say I’m disappointed in your taste, Mr. Corcoran. That shiny little dress, so tight, so short, so bare. Why do the little tarts all feel it’s charming to
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