The Nude Wore Black

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This wasn't too surprising, since Archer was frequently a mystery to himself. Quite often he was befuddled by the-he supposed-subconscious motivations which seemed inevitably to result in an action, or sequence of actions, landing him in untenable situations. His present predicament was a good case in point.

He was squatting inside a large, walk-in bedroom clothing closet with the door closed. In one hand he held a bottle of Scotch. Half the quart was in the bottle; the other half was in Archer. His eyes were at keyhole level. His vision was filled with a luscious, young, completely nude female who was preening herself before a mirror in the bedroom beyond.

Yet Archer couldn't keep his mind on the delectable keyhole view. He was too busy worrying what might happen if she discovered his presence. She'd scream, he supposed. Loud and long. People would come. The police would be called. There would be a scandal. He'd be carted off to jail. His family would never speak to him again. His career would be ruined. He'd be a convicted sex offender and the label of "pervert" would follow him for the rest of his life. And all because…

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