He said at last, “You’re difficult to understand. I thought I was goin’ to have a lot of trouble with you. I see I was wrong.”
She swiveled round, her back to the window. “I still think you’re cute,” she said. Then she added, “I’m going to grow on you.”
Fenner’s eyes shifted past her, looked into the street. A black sedan was standing below. He’d seen that car before. Even as he started forward a man’s arm came through the curtained window. The sun reflected on a gun. That was the flash picture Fenner had, a picture that paralyzed him, making him seconds late. He heard a faint phut as Glorie screamed. Not a loud scream, soft, hoarse. Then she bent at the knees. Before Fenner could do anything about it, she slid to the floor.
The sedan went away fast. It all happened at such an incredible speed that no one seemed conscious of it in the street. Fenner leaned out of the window, saw the sedan swing round the corner and then disappear.
He stepped away and knelt down swiftly. As he turned Glorie, his right hand felt a wet patch on her side, just above her hip. She’d gone very white, but she was breathing. Fenner reached out and grabbed a cushion from a near-by chair and put it under her head. Then he ran into the bathroom. He filled a hand bowl with water, snatched up a small first-aid case he always kept with him and went back.
She watched him come across the room, her eyes wide with fear. She said, “I can’t feel anything. Am I badly hurt?”
Fenner knelt down. “Take it easy,” he said. “We’ll look an’ see.”
He opened the case and selected a scalpel. “I guess your dress’ll have to go,” he said, cutting the silk carefully.
She said, “I’m glad I was with you,” and began to cry.
Fenner cut the top of her girdle. “Keep yourself in hand,” he said, working quickly. “The shock’s bound to tilt you sideways.” He examined the wound, and then grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s only a nick. The slug’s just made a groove in your side.”