get into trouble if they find out?’
‘Yes, I know,’ she said. ‘I was sorry for you.’
He bit down on his lower lip. No one had ever said that to him before. Sorry for him! He didn’t like that. He didn’t want her damned pity!
‘You’d bet er get out,’ he said furiously. ‘There’l be shooting.’
She turned back to the window.
‘They may not come,’ she said.
Cautiously, Baird touched his wounded side. He wondered if he was still bleeding. His fingers moved over a wad, bound tightly against his side. He realised she must have taken off his coat and shirt. He touched the pad wonderingly.
‘Did you stop the bleeding?’ he asked.
‘Yes. You’d bet er not talk. You may be heard. The wal s are very thin.’
‘Is it bad?’ he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. ‘It feels bad.’
‘It’s bad enough, but the bleeding’s stopped. You mustn’t move. It may start again.’
‘What are they doing now?’ he asked after a long pause.
The street was suspiciously silent.
‘They’re standing about,’ she said, watching intently. ‘One of them is looking up here. They seem to be waiting for something. Some of them have machine-guns.’
Baird grinned savagely. He remembered Chuck Fowler, who had been trapped in a house. He had been one of the crowd that time, watching the fun. He had seen the police shooting it out with Chuck. He remembered how they had sprayed the front of the house with their Thompsons. The stream of lead had smashed windows, broken window-frames, brought down plaster. It had been hell while it lasted. Then they had tossed in their tear-gas bombs and had gone in, shooting like madmen the whole time; wrecking the house, smashing down the front door, shooting their way up the stairs; and Chuck had been dead long before the final assault.
‘You’d bet er get out,’ Baird said. ‘I know what’s coming. They’l cut this room to ribbons.’
‘There’s nowhere for me to go,’ she began, then stopped, and he saw her stiffen, her hands going once more to her breasts.
‘What is it?’ he asked, knowing at once what it was.
‘I think they’re coming now,’ she said breathlessly.
Again he made the effort and raised himself on his elbow. This time he succeeded in getting both feet to the floor.
‘Help me up,’ he gasped. ‘I don’t stand a chance on the bed.’
‘You must stay there,’ she said, turning. ‘You must. You’l start the bleeding again.’
‘Help me up!’ he snarled. ‘Goddamn it! Do you want me to shoot you?’
She came over to him.
‘They’l hear you,’ she warned. ‘You must keep your voice down.’
He caught hold of her shoulder. His fingers felt the thinness of her. Her skin was tight over the bones.
He pulled himself upright and leaned heavily on her. He felt her wilt under his weight. She was only a tiny thing, he thought. Her head was just above his shoulder.
‘Get me against the wall near the door,’ he panted, ‘and then get out.’
A violent hammering sounded on the street door. A voice bawled, ‘Come on, open up!’
Baird felt a little trickle of sweat run down his face. Five minutes: no longer. Well, upright and on his feet, he wouldn’t go alone.
She helped him across the room and against the wall. The Colt hung heavily from his hand, too heavy to raise. He set his shoulders against the wall. The pain in his side made his breath hiss through his clenched teeth.
‘Get out!’ he said, giving her a feeble push. ‘Tel them I’m here. They won’t do anything to you if you tell them I’m here. Go on, get out.’
She went to the door, unlocked it and opened it. A shaft of light came in from the passage, and he saw her plainly for the first time.
He had only a quick glimpse of her. He saw the long, sensitive face, the wide, dark eyes and the firm, bitter mouth of a girl who was good-looking rather than beautiful: a girl of about twenty-three or four, whose young-old face had a force of character that had come from a life of hardship, poverty and sorrow.
She was wearing a white slip that clung to her thin but beautifully proportioned body, no stockings, and her narrow, long feet were thrust into a shabby pair of heelless slippers.
He watched her go out on to the landing, leaving the door ajar. From where he stood he could see through the opening without being seen.
A buzz of voices drifted up from the ground floor: men’s voices, and a woman’s voice screaming hysterically.
More hammering sounded on the front door. Then a hard, loud voice bawled, ‘Okay, okay, break it up! Get back to your rooms and stay in them. Hey, you! Seen a big guy in a brown suit around? He’l be a stranger, and he’s wounded. Come on, now! Open up! The guy’s a kil er!’
Baird ached to lie down on the bed again. The pain in his side was torturing him, and his legs began to sag. He pulled himself together, pressing his shoulders against the wall, his lips coming off his teeth in a snarl.
