More Deadly Than The Male

"It wants adjusting really, only I haven't bothered. I'll never use it here. At one time it had a hair-trigger, it would fire at the slightest touch; but it's a little out of order now."

"How do you adjust it?" she asked, taking the gun from him and curling her slim finger round the trigger. By holding the gun in both hands and pressing very hard, she managed to raise the hammer an inch or so. "Phew; it is stiff! How do you adjust it?"

George sat on the bed by her side and explained the trigger mechanism to her.

"It's simple; only I prefer to keep the trigger stiff, just in case of accidents."

"You're scared of accidents, aren't you?" There was a mocking note in her voice. "Even when the gun isn't loaded, you're scared."

"It's better to be safe than sorry," he returned, and took the Luger from her. His hand touched hers, and for one brief moment he felt a flame shoot through him: a burning desire to take her in his arms.

He got up at once and put the gun away.

"Now perhaps you believe me," he said, with an embarrassed laugh.

"I believe you," she returned, stretching out on the bed. "Give me an apple, will you?"

He gave her an apple, and took the other himself. He went back to the window, feeling that it was too disturbing to be so close to her.

"I say!" he said, looking into the street. "It's beginning to rain."

"Oh, hell!" She raised her head. "Hard?"

"I'm afraid so." He leaned out of the window, feeling the rain on his face. "It looks as if it's set in for the night. I can lend you my mack, of course, but I'm afraid you'll get wet."

As she didn't say anything, he glanced over his shoulder. She was lying flat on her hack, staring up at the ceiling.

"This bed's comfortable," she said, as if speaking to herself. "I think I'll spend the night here. It doesn't seem much sense going out in the rain, especially as Sydney won't he back until late. Besides, I'm tired."

George realized that his breath was whistling through his nostrils. He felt his blood moving through his veins: it was a most odd sensation.

"You'll sleep here—?"

She seemed to become aware of him.

"Would you mind?"

"You mean—sleep in my bed?"

"Where else do you suggest . . . on the floor?"

"Well, no. I didn't mean that. I don't know what they'd say . . ." He floundered; excited, frightened and acutely conscious of wanting her in an overpowering way.

"Oh, I'd go early," she said indifferently. "They needn't know unless you tell them."

"No . . . I suppose not."

This was fantastic, he thought. She's offering to sleep with me, and I'm behaving like an idiot. He was suddenly stricken by tremendous shyness. This wasn't the way he had imagined it at all. In his imagination he had slept with many lovely women, but it was only after a long and arduous courtship. That really was the most exciting thing about love. Now that she was being so cold-blooded about it, he felt frightened, although his desire was at fever heat.

"Then you don't mind?" she said impatiently. "Make up your mind. Can I stay?"

He moved slowly towards the bed.

"Of course," he said, standing over her. "I—I'd love you to, Cora."

This was the first time he had used her name. It gave him great pleasure. Cora! It was a lovely name

She looked up at him and yawned.

"And you don't mind sleeping in the chair?"

He stood very still.

"The chair?"

"Perhaps you've got another bed somewhere," she said, and then, seeing the expression on his face, she sat up abruptly. "Oh, God!" she went on. "Did you think you were going to sleep with me?"

George could only stare at her, dumb, embarrassed misery in his eyes.

She swung her legs off the bed.

"I'm going," she said. "I was forgetting you don't know me very well."

George shook his head.

"No, don't. It was my fault. Please stay. The chair's all right."

He crossed to the window and stood looking out, trying to recover from the shock and disappointment.

Of course she was right. He was glad in a way that she hadn't meant it. Only it was such an odd way of putting it. He couldn't be blamed for misunderstanding. She was really quite fantastic. What confidence she had in herself!

And how like Sydney! Taking his bed, making him sleep in a chair, no thought for his comfort. Had she managed to guess that he was easily scared, that he was timid and uneasy with women? Was that the reason why she was pushing him out of his bed—because she knew very well he wouldn't have the nerve to force his attention on her? He didn't think so. How could any girl be sure of that?

She was standing at his side.

"I'll go if you want me to," she said. "You mustn't let me impose on you. I'm selfish. If you don't want to sleep in the chair, turn me out."

As if he would.

"Of course not," he said eagerly. "I'm awfully pleased to have you here. I mean that. I'm sorry I was so stupid. I'm really ashamed of myself . . ."

She looked at him Was that odd expression contempt? He looked again, but her eyes had become expressionless.