Read Shadow on the Sun for Free Online

indignant.
    â€œWhat’re ya creepin’ up behind me for?” he asked.
    â€œWho is that man?” asked Ethel Vance, pointing toward the stairs.
    Harry swallowed his indignation and added it to the indigestable mass already in his frustration-bound stomach.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said. “He just come in and asked for Perfessor Dodge.”
    â€œHe’s not in,” said Ethel.
    â€œI know he’s not in,” whined Harry. “I told him so.”
    â€œThen what’s he going up for?” demanded Ethel.
    â€œHe’s going up because—”
    Harry broke off. “I don’t know why he’s goin’ up!” he said, exasperated. “I didn’t tell ’im to. He just went.”
    â€œThen you just march up there after him, Harry Vance,” she ordered. “I won’t have strangers walking around in my hotel.”
    There it was God Almighty.
Her
hotel! As if he hadn’t worked like a damn horse to make it a going proposition. Just because her old man left it to her in his will. Her hotel. Christ.
    â€œWell?” asked Ethel.
    â€œWell?” Harry echoed faintly. “What?”
    â€œAre you going up there?” she challenged. “Or are you just going to stand here and let him break into our rooms.”
    â€œOh, for—” Harry twisted irritably. “He ain’t no robber.”
    â€œHow do
you
know?”
    By Christ—the thought drove an icy needle into his heart—how
did
he know? Suddenly, he saw that man again, standing across the desk from him; tall, swarthy, with those dark, implacable eyes. Good Christ, he might even have been an Indian! And the way he spoke, almost mechanically. Harry shuddered. And he’d yelled after the man like—
    â€œAre you
going
?” demanded Ethel.
    â€œYes, yes, of course I’m going,” he snapped. He stepped away from his stool and lifted the counter board. Then he hesitated.
    â€œWell?” she asked.
    Swallowing, Harry lowered the board and moved over to the drawer. Pulling it out, he reached inside and picked up the loaded derringer. Ethel looked at him with nervous speculation.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she asked, somewhat less authority in her voice now.
    â€œWell,” he said, “you can’t tell. How do we know who he is?”
    For a moment, he felt a stir of pleasure at the alarmed expression crossing Ethel’s face. Then the cold prickle of dread was on his spine again and he found himself raising the board once more, found himself advancing toward the staircase.
    â€œWait,” Ethel said suddenly.
    Harry twitched and looked around. “No need for—” he began to say, then shut up. Well, the truth of it was he was more than glad for Ethel’s company. There was something reassuring about her presence for all her furies and edicts.
    The two of them started up the steps.
    â€œYou didn’t get his name?” she asked.
    â€œHe didn’t give it,” answered Harry.
    For some reason, they both spoke in whispers as if, tacitly, it had been agreed between them that the stranger in the hotel was a menace.
    â€œYou—think he has a pistol?” asked Ethel.
    Harry swallowed dryly. “Probably,” he said. He tried to sound casual but failed.
    At the head of the staircase, they turned left and moved cautiously into the hallway. They both stopped.
    â€œ
Where is he
?” asked Ethel.
    Harry stared down the empty hallway. “I don’t know,” he murmured.
    â€œYou think he’s in the perfessor’s room?” she asked.
    â€œHow could he be?” countered Harry. “The perfessor always locks his door when he goes out. He has valuable specimens in there.”
    Ethel swallowed.
    â€œThen where is he?” she asked.
    â€œMaybe he thought I said thirty-nine,” suggested Harry. “Maybe he’s up on the third floor.”
    â€œGo look,” said