One Night with Nora

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The night was hot, humid, and still in Miami. Clad only in pajama bottoms, Michael Shayne lay spread-eagled on the double bed, hoping for a vagrant breeze to cool his rangy body. For hours he tossed restlessly, and at last fell into a fitful sleep.

A slight sound awakened him. He opened his eyes and lay motionless, listening. The dim light of a waning moon shone through the open windows. He wondered what time it was and how long since he had fallen asleep. He turned on his side, and yawned groggily. He was about to close his eyes again when he saw the rectangle of yellowish light coming through the bedroom doorway.

A shuffling, slithering sound reached his ears. Wide awake now, and alert, he swung his long legs cautiously over the edge of the bed and stood up. Two steps took him to the bedroom doorway. The living-room door was ajar, and the light from the hotel corridor faintly outlined objects in the room.

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