Death in Zanzibar Read Free

newspapers. Dany stepped out cautiously and picked up her own selection, the Daily Dawn. And as she did so her eye was caught by the heading of a column: ‘Man Murdered in Market-Lydon’.
    She opened the paper and stared at it, frowning. Market-Lydon…? Why, that was where she had been yesterday! The little town where ____
    There was a sharp click immediately behind her and she whirled round. But it was too late. The draught had blown the door shut behind her and she was locked out in the corridor.
    Dany dropped the paper and pushed futilely at the door. But it possessed a spring lock and remained blandly impervious to her efforts, and she turned from it to stare helplessly up and down the silent corridor. There was, fortunately, no one in sight, but she could see no sign of a bell either; and even if there had been one she could hardly use it when the chances were that it would be answered by a man.
    For the first time Dany regretted the purchase of that diaphanous and far too expensive nightgown. Nylon and lace might be enchantingly frivolous, but its purpose appeared to be to reveal rather than conceal, and she was only too well aware that to all intents and purposes she might just as well be naked. Why, oh why had she flung away those sensible, high-necked and sacklike garments of white winceyette that Aunt Harriet had considered to be the only suitable and modest night wear? If only ____
    It was at this inopportune moment that footsteps sounded on the staircase that led into the corridor some twenty feet from her door.
    Despite the heavy pile of the carpet the footsteps were clearly audible and noticeably uneven, and they were accompanied by a male voice singing in a blurred undertone the same song that had recently been running through Dany’s head.
    â€˜ “I want to go away — be a stowaway,” ’ announced the gentleman on the staircase, ‘ “Take a trip, on a ship, let my troubles ____ ” blast!’ The singer stumbled noisily on the stairs, and something — possibly a hat? — bounced down them.
    Inspiration born of despair descended upon Dany, and snatching up the fallen newspaper she retired hastily behind the front page of the Daily Dawn just as the owner of the voice reached the top of the stairs and turned into the corridor.
    He proved to be a tall, dishevelled young man in formal evening dress, wearing his white tie several inches off centre, and carrying a gaily coloured balloon and a large and fluffy toy cat with a pink ribbon round its neck. His dark hair was in a state of considerable disorder, and quite apart from his undeniably festive appearance he possessed an indefinable air of what an earlier generation would have termed ‘rakishness’.
    He stood for a moment or two swaying slightly and looking vaguely about him, and then his gaze alighted upon Dany.
    â€˜Well, say!’ said the young man, saying it in an unmistakably transatlantic voice: ‘what do you know about that!’
    He advanced until he was level with her, and then as the full beauty of her situation dawned upon him he gave way to immoderate mirth, and stood before her laughing his head off, while Dany glared back at him like an angry kitten, scarlet cheeked, helpless and infuriated.
    â€˜Be quiet!’ hissed Dany, ‘you’ll wake everyone up! Do you know what time it is?’
    â€˜ “Three o’clock in the mor … ning, I’ve danced the whole night through!” ’ carolled the young man, throwing his head back and giving it everything he had got in a blurred but pleasing baritone.
    â€˜And you look like it!’ said Dany in a furious whisper. ‘But it’s nearly six now, and I want to get back into my room. Don’t just stand there laughing! Do something! Get me a pass key — anything! Can’t you see I’m locked out?’
    â€˜I can,’ said the young man. ‘And let me tell you that I haven’t