Shadow of a Tiger Read Free Page B

he should shoot a prisoner or not.
    â€œClaude, he is in some trouble?” he said.
    â€œLet’s say I’m watching him. I want to know your business.”
    â€œA private matter. Personal. I wish no trouble.”
    â€œGood,” I said. “Maybe I better take the gun.”
    I held out my hand, and he reacted. Like a snake. He jerked back, took two steps away. I could see him thinking. Somehow, though, he wasn’t acting like a man out to kill anyone. More like a man with a plan on his mind, weighing how important it was that he see Claude Marais. He decided.
    â€œI wish no trouble,” he said again as if his mind could hold only limited thoughts in English. “Claude is not important to me that much. Bitte .”
    He backed away, didn’t turn until he was past the desk. Then he strode out of the lobby. I wiped the sweat from my face. Killer or not, he was a man I wouldn’t want to cross where he had the advantage. I followed him out. Across the street I saw him climb into a blue Ford and drive away.
    I waited an hour hidden outside the hotel entrance. The German didn’t return. I had a pretty good certainty that he wouldn’t, not tonight, at least. It was twelve-ten, I had done my job, and I was tired. I went home to bed.
    I didn’t sleep much, not in the oven of my five shabby rooms. Not until just before dawn when a faint coolness seemed to wash in through the open windows. A gray dawn light, cooler …
    Then he was there. He had a gun.
    â€œWho are you, Mr. Fortune?” he said, a shape beside my bed in the dawn. “What do you want with me? With Exner?”
    I rolled onto my back under the sheet, blinked at him. He stood over the bed: Claude Marais.
    â€œHow’d you get in here, Marais?” I said.
    He waved the pistol. I was changing the subject. “A man learns to open doors. I want to know who you really are, what you were doing at my hotel last night?”
    His pistol was steady—an odd pistol. An unusually long barrel for a light gun—7.65-mm. A French Starr.
    â€œCan I get a cigarette?” I said.
    He hesitated. I realized that my empty sleeve was hidden under the sheet. Last night he hadn’t even noticed I had only one arm. A man busy with his own thoughts.
    â€œI’ve only got one arm,” I said, showed him.
    â€œAll right, get a cigarette,” he said. “A war injury?”
    â€œNo.” I smoked. “You know who I am. Your brother—”
    â€œMy brother said you are a detective. That doesn’t tell me of your past, of who you work for, or why you are mixed in my affairs. It doesn’t tell me why you were waiting for Gerd Exner, or how you knew Exner was coming to me last night.”
    â€œWhy was Exner coming to you?” I said.
    â€œMy business,” Claude snapped. “Did my brother send you?”
    â€œEugene? Why would Eugene send me? Does he know—”
    â€œDo not answer me with questions, Fortune. Gerd Exner says you claimed to be a policeman. That has alarmed him. Why did you scare him? For whom? What did you think you were doing?”
    â€œWhy does Exner want to kill you, Claude?”
    â€œKill me?” The surprise was genuine. Damn the woman.
    â€œYour wife said Exner wanted to kill you.”
    â€œMy wife?” He stopped. “Ah, I see. Yes.” He lowered the pistol. “I have not given her very much. No home, no life, no rest. I understand now. Has she paid you?”
    â€œYes.” Too much. I hoped he wouldn’t ask.
    He pocketed the pistol. “All right, but I am in no danger. My wife made a mistake. I will explain to her. Finished, yes?”
    He walked out. I lay back. I was home free. No more job, and I kept the money. I had some curiosity about Claude Marais and the German, but not enough to think about it very hard.
    I decided to surprise Marty with the ring. I went out and ate a slow breakfast, and then walked to the