Spy Killer Read Free Page A

happened to you. It will not be well for you to roam the streets of the city. Until I need you I shall have to keep you hidden. One flare of temper and . . . whack—off goes your head.”
    “You mean you—?”
    “No, no,” she laughed. “Not I. The authorities—and perhaps another. You must promise to stay here until I can tell you when to leave.”
    “Maybe if you let me in on some of this, I could help you better.”
    “No, I do not think I am at liberty to tell anyone.”
    “I trusted you,” he reminded her.
    “But my secrets are not my own. There is much to be done, American—things which are greater than ourselves.”
    “If this has anything to do with Russia—” began Kurt, suddenly waking up to the danger of his position.
    “Hah, you think that I am a Russian spy, eh? But no, I am a White Russian. This has to do with China and Japan. Great forces are at work. You will undoubtedly know of them soon enough.”
    Kurt sat forward. He smiled, displaying close-set teeth in a scimitar’s arc. “I have nothing to do but escape. The reason I talked to you at the tea house is easily enough explained. I thought I could do something for you and you could help me get out. But you seem to know more about the setup than I do. You seem to know more about me than my own mother. How is this?”
    “We watch everything, American.”
    “And who do you mean by ‘We’?”
    Varinka stood up suddenly. She touched his shoulder lightly. “You want escape. Perhaps that will come too. But first, help me. Stay here until you are wanted. She will be here soon. You will wait for her.”
    Abruptly she pulled back his head and gave him a hard kiss upon the mouth. Before he could voice his surprise she stood halfway through another door.
    “I hope to see you soon, American,” she said, and disappeared.
    He tried then to follow her, but he found that she had locked the door behind her. He tried another door and it, too, was locked.
    Suddenly something like panic came over him. He was a prisoner again, and although his captor was fair, and although he had no definite reasons for alarm, the late brig sentence had given him a taste for freedom he never again would forget.
    Kurt found that the windows had iron bars across them, though the bars were masked by carved sandalwood. He strode up and down the room. What a fool he was to let himself get taken in by a Russki spy! Perhaps she was even then going for the police—and it would be Chinese police, too. Not American or British. The Rangoon was under Chinese Nationalist registry.
    “Whack—and off goes your head,” muttered Kurt.
    He found a decanter and poured himself a drink. Then, peering into the glass, he decided that even a decanter could not be trusted. He set the drink down untouched.
    Funny girl, that Russian. She had kept him from questioning her by the sheer force of her personality. She seemed to have some numbing power over him which fell as tangible as a cloak.
    He felt angry at that. It didn’t make him feel strong or masculine. And now he was trapped again, waiting for . . .
    What was he waiting for? What rubbish was that about China and Japan? Maybe this girl had a need of him. Maybe he was supposed to strong-arm for her in her work. Maybe she had had him released and had had him trailed to that tea house.
    And now that he thought about it, he had been released. Cell doors do not open by accident.
    And that sampan had been handy, too.
    But why should anyone take an interest in him? He wasn’t anybody but a bucko mate off a coastwise tramp. Plenty of available white men could speak Chinese and Japanese and more dialects than he could.
    He sat down in the chair again. Grinned, recovering his sense of humor. Here he was, and he didn’t exactly mind after all. Hadn’t the girl kissed him? Women didn’t kiss you and then go find a guy who would cut off your head.
    Or did they?
    A light footstep brought him to his feet. A key grated in a lock and the door swung