CHAPTER IVThe Death Trap
JOHN LUX woke the next morning tense, irritable, and in a vile mood. He had slept poorly, tossing and turning, his dreams a jumble of harrowing hair’s-breadth escapes from silent, menacing, shadowy figures. Fumbling with the watch on the bedside table, he saw it was seven A.M. Presumably, he was now safe and could contact his lawyers without fear of giving himself away to the forces that sought his death.
He washed, conscious of a day’s growth of beard and the lack of clean linen, and left the hotel in search of a place to eat. It was a gray, overcast day, and the air was raw. On his way to the bar and grill, he found a small drugstore and purchased a razor, shaving cream, a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. He devoured the badly cooked breakfast with gusto,
