Spy Killer Read Free Page B

inward. Kurt, who had been expecting the return of the Russian girl, gasped in surprise.
    “Anne Carsten!” exclaimed Kurt.
    The woman who entered was slender, well poised and very beautiful. Her hair was light brown, matching her eyes. Her face was aristocratic and well molded. Her body was sheathed in a satin gown which whispered as she walked. She had the air of one who is born to command, but her eyes were kind and her smile was gentle. She gave Kurt her hands and looked at him for many seconds without speaking.
    “I have not seen you for two years, Kurt,” she said. “Since that night you told me that you were just a bucko mate, destined for the sea, and left me so precipitately. Did I scare you badly, Kurt?”
    Surprise still held him motionless. His mind went back to a sailor’s holiday when he had been invited to a gay social function in the Concession. He had met this girl there, had met her amid the tinsel and pomp and dreamy music. Anne Carsten, then, had ruled the social world of Shanghai through the position of her merchant prince father, a man who had since died. Their interest in each other had been heightened by the romance of the night, until . . .
    “I could have given you so much,” said Anne, accusingly. “I could have made you a king of captains, but you were frightened, weren’t you?”
    Kurt laughed, embarrassed. “I didn’t want to be known as Anne Carsten’s husband. I wanted to be Mr. Reid, not Mr. Carsten.”
    “You told me that I had been made for silk and spice, that I belonged in luxury and that your path led through hardship, that you wanted your woman to be as bold as yourself. Silly thoughts, weren’t they? But then, it might have been the music.”
    “Or your eyes,” said Kurt. “You’re more beautiful than ever. I’ve thought about you—”
    “You never gave me another thought. Don’t lie for the sake of gallantry. How handsome you are and how rugged. Then you were dressed in a tuxedo. I never suspected—”
    “And now I’m a hunted killer,” said Kurt with a twinge of bitterness, dropping her hands and stepping back as though his presence defiled her. “I heard about your father. I wanted to return and tell you . . .”
    Anne Carsten smiled again. “I see that you know my friend Varinka well. Look in the mirror.”
    Kurt wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. It came away smeared with lipstick. He had the good grace to blush.
    “Tell me,” said Anne, “do you love this Varinka now?”
    “No, no,” he replied hastily. “I only met her tonight. How is it that she comes here?”
    “She is my friend. An exotic creature, isn’t she? So mysterious. I never know when she will come or when she will go. But she is my friend, and whatever her business, my home is hers. Are you sure you don’t love her now?”
    “I respect her nerve,” said Kurt. “But tell me what you’re doing here, all alone in the native city.”
    “One cannot live cheaply in the Concession.”
    “Is it that bad? I thought your father had a great deal of money.”
    “He left little enough, Kurt. But somehow . . .” She moved closer to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes searched his face for a full minute, and then with a sigh she placed her head on his broad chest.
    He realized then that she was tired and worried, but he could find no words with which to comfort her. His own worries were forgotten for the moment. Funny how their paths would cross again after two years. Then she had been so arrogant, so satisfied with her station. And now she lived in the native city, probably broke, away from her friends.
    She thrust herself away from him with a smile. “But then, you probably won’t remember me tomorrow. You have Varinka to think about.”
    “No, listen, Varinka doesn’t mean anything to me. She’s a Russki. You don’t marry Russkis. And besides . . .”
    She laughed at his confusion and sank down in a long chair. However poor might be her pocketbook, she