More Deadly Than The Male

He pushed open the door, and for a moment hesitated, listening. There was no sound in the flat. He went into the sittingroom. There was no one there, but there was a distinct smell of sandalwood in the room. He stood very still, trying to remember whether the scent had been there before Eva came to see him. He couldn't remember. Anyway, Cora wasn't likely to have returned. But the thought disturbed him, and he went quickly to his bedroom. Then he paused and looked blankly round the room. His cupboard and chest of drawers were open and empty. His clothes were scattered all over the room. One look at them was enough. They had been systematically ripped to pieces. His flannel trousers were in shreds. His tweed coat was armless and ripped down the back. His shirts were a mass of holes. Even his shoes were cut with a knife. Everything he owned was torn to pieces, as if it had been set upon by a wild animal.

Cora! Of course! She had cone back to revenge Little Ernie. Then he remembered Leo, and he felt so sick and faint that he had to sit on the bed. As he did so, he became aware of something in the corner, half hidden by the dressing- table. He saw red streaks on the wall. He peered forward fearfully. In the shadowy light he could make out fur, blood, and then a squashed paw, and he closed his eyes. He sat there shivering. After a while, he began to cry.

19

Light rain began to fall, and islands of sullen grey clouds knitted together to form a depressing curtain of mist that blotted out the watery moon.

George stood in a shop doorway, his collar turned up and his hat well down on his cars. He carried Leo, wrapped in a bath-towel; the bundle felt hard, a wood carving, against his side. He remained in the shelter of the doorway for some time, a lonely motionless figure, merged into the darkness, unseen.

One by one the lights behind the big window opposite, screened by the yellow muslin curtains, went out like the eyes of a robot figure closing in sleep. Several times the green-painted glasspanelled door with the gilt letters "Restaurant" on it, opened, and men and women, in pairs or singly, came out. George watched them disperse, their heads down, some arm in arum, moving rapidly to another more distant shelter.

There was only one light burning now. He could see the shadowy outlines of the big blonde woman, Emily, and the whitecoated Hebrew, Max, through the curtain. The woman sat at the cash desk. He guessed she was emptying the till. The Hebrew seemed to be clearing up at the bar, washing glasses, drying them and putting then away.

It was time to talk to them. George crossed the street, pushed open the green-panelled door and entered the restaurant. The long room was stuffy, and smelt of food, cigars and coffee. The shaded light above the cash desk threw off an isolated yellow pool in the dim, smoky room.

"We're closed," Max said, continuing to put the glasses under the counter.

George looked first at the Hebrew and then at the woman, Emily He closed the door and moved further into the light.

Emily recognized him.

"Max . . ." There was a quick, urgent note in her voice. She put her hand under the desk, and a bell began to ring somewhere in the building.

Max was bending down behind the counter, arranging the glasses in an orderly row. As he heard the hell and caught the sharp note in Emily's voice, he clashed the glasses together. One of them slipped from his fingers and dropped with a little thump on the carpet. He raised his head and peered at George, his pebbly eyes blank with alarm.

George waited. It was no use talking to them until they were ready to listen. At the moment their attention was concentrated in keeping him there, in trapping him.

"It's all right," he said, wanting to reassure them. "I've come to explain."

The two Greeks, black shadows, threatening, slid out of the darkness and stood between him and the door. The shaded light glittered on their razors.

"You mustn't let them touch me before I explain," George said quickly, not liking the expressions on the Greeks' faces. "That's why I've come."

Max straightened slowly. He put his veined hands on the counter, and his pale tongue touched the corners of his lips.

"Leave him be," he said to the Greeks.

There was a long pause. They did not seem to know what to expect or what to do with him now that they had got him.

George looked uncertainly at the Hebrew, and then at the woman. It seemed to him that since she was in charge of the cash, she should be the one he should address.

"May I tell you about it?" he said, looking at her anxiously.

Again there was a long pause, then Emily leaned forward. "You know what will happen to you, don't you?" George nodded.

"Then why have you come here?"

He offered her the bundle. Immediately she drew hack, suspicious, alarmed. The two Greeks made a slight movement: two blades of light danced on the ceiling as they lifted their razors.