More Deadly Than The Male

The mail walked as far as the street corner, and then stopped. He looked round furtively, noted that Cora was still coming towards him, and then looked tip and down, as if to assure himself that no one was watching him.

Cora came on. She looked at him enquiringly as she paused before crossing the street.

The man raised his hat and said something. Cora smiled. She waved her hand towards Old Burlington Street. From the doorway, George could see the man eyeing her figure. He said something, and then looked away.

Cora turned and began to walk casually towards Old Burlington Street, her hands in her pockets, her hips swinging. After giving her a start, the man followed her.

George came out of the doorway and followed them. They entered a tall building half way down the street, and when he was sure that they were safely out of the way he went up to the front door. There were three hell-pushes on the door. One of them had a little card: "Miss Nichols".

George stood looking at the card for several minutes, then he crossed the street and waited. He waited until the well-dressed man had left the building, and then he approached the place himself. As he was crossing the street again, he saw a man coming towards him. He thought it looked like Little Ernie, and he darted into a doorway, his hand flying to his gun.

It was Little Ernie.

George watched him coming down the street. Ernie called out cheerfully to a woman who was walking in the opposite direction. " 'Ullo, ducks; don't loiter. There's still an 'our before bye-byes."

George gritted his teeth. The little rat had made Cora into one of these women! All right, he'd fix him. The world would be well rid of a filthy little brute like Ernie.

He stepped out of his doorway as Little Ernie turned into Cora's building. A few quick steps, and George was on him, as he was opening the front door with a key.

"Hello, Ernie," George said softly. Little Ernie gave a squeal of terror. He spun round, throwing up his hands.

George rammed the gun into his side. "I warned you, you rotten little rat. You won't get a car this time," and he pulled the trigger three times.

The noise of gunfire crashed down the empty street. The flash blinded George. But he wasn't nervous nor frightened. He watched Little Ernie flop on the steps of the house and then, bending over him, he shot him again.

A woman began to scream at the other end of the street.

George slipped the gun into his pocket and stepped from the shadow of the doorway. There was still no one about. Without hurrying, he walked to Clifford Street and stopped a passing taxi.

"Hyde Park Corner," he said, and got into the taxi.

He glanced through the little window at the hack. People were appearing now. A policeman was running down Old Burlington Street. It was going to be all right. His luck was holding. In another few seconds he'd be out of danger. He sat back in the cab and closed his eyes.

He did not allow himself to think until he had paid off the taxi and was walking towards Knightsbridge. He had no horror at what he had done. It was as if he had stepped on a beetle, no more, no less.

What would Cora do? Would she tell the police? If she did that it would be the end of him; but he somehow didn't care. He was tired of this business, sick and tired of it. He wanted a little peace. Better keep away from the flat tonight, he thought. He wanted one more night of freedom. He'd go back the next morning. If the police were waiting for him, then he'd let them take him. But not tonight. He'd walk and walk, because he wanted to think He wanted to make plans.

He woke the next morning in a Salvation Army hostel off the Cromwell Road. He remembered walking until he could walk no more, and had crawled into this place at three o'clock in the morning. Now it was just after seven o'clock, and he decided to return to his flat immediately.

On his way back he tried to think about Little Ernie, but what had happened the previous night had a dream quality about it, and he could not get his mind to believe that it had happened.

Even when climbing the stairs to the flat high above Holles Street, he could not believe that the police might be waiting for him He was so tired, anyway, that he couldn't care one way or the other.