Footsteps sounded on the concrete below, feet scraped, paused, came on. A woman’s shadow came into my vision. I couldn’t see the woman unless I moved the screen and leaned out of the window. I wasn’t going to do that. I studied the shadow.
A sudden electric thrill ran down my back. I thought I recognized the shape.
I turned quickly, grabbed my trousers, slipped them on, dragged on socks, shoes, snatched up my gun.
“Have they come?” Clair asked in a small voice.
“I think so,” I said grimly. “There’s a woman down there. I think it’s Lois. Stay here. I’m going to have a look.”
She whipped out of bed, clung to me.
“No, don’t,” she said. “Please, darling. Let’s call the police. They want you to go out there. They’ll be waiting for you.”
I patted her arm. “Okay, we’ll call for the police,” I said. “You better get some clothes on.”
I slipped out of the room, crept down the stairs. It was dark. I moved cautiously, silently. I suddenly remembered what Clairbold had once said about the art of stalking. It occurred to me that I might have put in a little practice in my room the way he had. It wasn’t such a dumb idea after all.
I reached the lobby, crossed to the front room where the telephone was. We had drawn the curtains before going to bed, but I didn’t risk putting the light on. I wanted them to think we hadn’t heard them.