Gilded Nightmare Read Free Page B

ludicrous but I found my impulse to laugh choked off abruptly in my throat. Charmian Zetterstrom’s hidden glance rested on me for a moment, held on me steadily. A cold wind ran along my spine. I felt like a helpless insect about to be pinned to a collector’s card.
    Then she looked away, and I realized my hands had been clenched so tightly that my fingers hurt.
    Helwig was at the desk, talking to Mr. Atterbury.
    Charmian Zetterstrom stood a few feet away, surveying the lobby with an air that wouldn’t have pleased Chambrun. She gave the impression that the Beaumont looked pretty run-down to her.
    Johnny Thacker, the day bell captain, and half a dozen bellhops came staggering through the revolving door with the gaudy luggage from the third Cadillac.
    And then it happened. Stephen Wood was standing face to face with Charmian Zetterstrom.
    “Charmian!” he said. His voice cracked like a pistol shot.
    She looked at him, apparently completely undisturbed. If the sight of him made her blood run cold, as Sam Culver had predicted it might, there was no way to tell. And there was no time for a second reaction from her.
    Masters, the bodyguard, acted so swiftly I couldn’t really follow his moves. The back of his right hand seemed to catch Wood on the Adam’s apple, like an axe blade. There was a gurgling cry from Wood as he tottered backwards. Masters’ left hand, a triphammer, then caught him on the point of the jaw and Wood went over in something approximating a back somersault, and lay still. Masters was instantly standing over him, waiting for him to move, which he didn’t.
    Jerry Dodd, caught off base for one of the few times in his career, gave Masters a shove which wasn’t expected and sent him staggering a few steps away from the prostrate Wood. Instantly there was a gun in Masters’ hand, pointed straight at Jerry. Somebody screamed. I think it was the girl with the pet poodle.
    “Put that away and get your whole goddamned army out of here,” a cold voice said.
    I turned to look at Chambrun, who was walking straight toward the gun, placing himself squarely between Masters and Jerry Dodd. I tried to move, and felt as if I had on diver’s boots. It was Masters who wavered, not Chambrun. The bodyguard slowly lowered his gun and dropped it back in the pocket of his trench coat.
    Charmian Zetterstrom was at Chambrun’s elbow. “I apologize for Masters,” she said, her voice as cool and clear as brook water. “I have been in some danger recently and he was only doing his job. You are Mr. Chambrun?”
    Chambrun turned. “I am Pierre Chambrun.”
    “George Battle has spoken of you with the utmost regard.”
    “And he engages me to run this hotel, Baroness. I will not have this kind of horseplay.” He looked over to where Johnny Thacker and two of his boys were helping Stephen Wood to his feet. The man’s eyes were glazed, and a little trickle of blood ran from one corner of his slack mouth. “You know this man?”
    “I’ve never seen him before in my life,” Charmian Zetterstrom said, looking steadily at Wood. “His approach was so sudden, so startling, that Masters did the only thing he could do. You will concede, Mr. Chambrun, that a bodyguard can’t wait until after an attack is made to go into action. It couldn’t matter less what happens after it’s too late. You do agree, don’t you?”
    Helwig, his face expressionless, his eyes hidden by the black glasses, moved in. “Your rooms are on the nineteenth floor, Baroness. They are ready.” Chambrun might not have been there so far as Helwig was concerned. He signaled to the bellhops, the gigolo, the doctor, the Amazon, and the poodle carrier. They all started toward the elevators.
    Charmian Zetterstrom gave Chambrun a bright, questioning smile. “With your permission, Mr. Chambrun?”
    “No more gun-wavings,” he said. “No more strong-arm stuff.”
    “Unless it is absolutely necessary,” she said. She turned toward the elevators, and came