have to see her. Then why was he hesitating? He would go to her flat now—this very minute. As soon as he had made the decision, a great weight rolled from his mind. The decision was something he had been longing to make for the past few days.
He picked up his hat, and as he crossed the room he looked at himself in the mirror. He stared at his white, drawn face in astonishment. It was as if he had only just become aware of himself, and the change shocked him He had aged; there were streaks of white in his hair at the temples. He had lost weight, his eyes were feverish and deep set, and the thin red scars from the razor-cuts gave him a look of menace. He continued to stare at himself for some minutes, then left the room, uneasy, worried. When he reached Southampton Row, he got off the bus and walked towards Russell Square. He glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes after four. He wondered if she would be in. What was he going to say to her? Suppose Sydney came to the door? He became more and more undecided as to what he was going to do. But he kept on, refusing to heed the warning note that was sounding at the back of his mind, determined, if he did nothing else, to look at her flat once again.
He turned the corner of her street. People busied themselves with their weekend shopping. The pavement before the row of small shops was crowded with women, small children and perambulators. He could see the greengrocer's shop over which was her flat. The greengrocer, elderly, bald and fat, was outside the shop. He was shovelling potatoes onto the scales while a tired- looking woman waited, a string hag ready to receive them. George stood for some time at the corner, unconsciously assuring himself that it would be safe to cross the street.
Finally, he made up his mind and walked towards the greengrocer's shop with mounting excitement. As he drew near, he looked up at the window of her flat. The drab muslin curtain told him nothing. For all he knew, she might be watching him, and the thought sent his blood racing through his veins.
He slowed down as he reached the shop. A smell of potatoes, fruit and onions hung in the air. He glanced at the door that led to her flat, and then he paused. There was a notice stuck on one of the glass panels of the door, and a sudden feeling of dread came to him
The greengrocer had gone into the shop: there was a momentary lull in trade.
George stepped quickly to the door. He read the sprawling handwriting on the notice:
FURNISHED FLAT TO LET
Two bedrooms, sitting room, kitchen, bath.
42/- weekly.
Apply: Harris & Son. Greengrocer. (Next door.)
So they had gone. They had packed up and bolted. In a way, he wasn't surprised. It was the obvious thing to do. They were making sure that no one would get on to them; that Emily and Max and the two Greeks wouldn't get the money from them.
He wondered how long they had been gone. It crossed his mind that they might have left a clue which would lead him to them. While he was hesitating, the greengrocer came out and glanced at him inquiringly. Without stopping to think, George blurted out, 'I'm interested in this flat.'
'Flat?' the greengrocer repeated. 'Yes, it's still in the market. It's a nice little place. 'Ave it meself if it weren't for the stairs. Can't manage the stairs now. Not as young as I was.'
'Can I see it?' George asked.
'I'll get the keys.'
There was a short delay. Then the old man returned.
'It'll be a month in advance,' he said, a hitter, injured note in his voice. 'I've 'ad enough of fly-by-nights. If yet want the place, it'll be a month in advance.'
'Had trouble with the previous tenants?' George asked, taking the keys.
'Done a flit,' the old man said, and spat in the road. 'Might 'ave known no good would 'ave come from those two. Wot 'e did for a living I never did find out, and she . . . My misses said she took men up there, but seeing's believing. If I'd caught 'er at it, I'd 've 'ad 'er out, but I never did. I wish I'd got rid of 'em before.'
George nodded, and turned to the door. 'Don't bother to come up,' he said. 'I'll have a look round and then talk it over with you.'
The old man grunted. 'I ain't coming up,' he assured him. 'Can't manage them stairs. You'll find the place in a mess. The misses' been cleaning it up, but it ain't quite finished. The way those two lived . . . like pigs.'
George's heart was thumping as he sank the key into the lock. He pushed open the front door and entered the tiny hall. The flat had obviously been cleaned, but there was still a faint smell of sandalwood in the air. It affected George. He felt alone, miserable.
He went into the sitting-room. Now that the curtains had been washed, the carpet swept and surrounds scrubbed, it looked quite a homely little place. He went through the drawers, looked into the empty waste-paper basket, and the cupboard, but he found nothing He went into Sydney's bedroom. He found nothing there, nor did the kitchen reveal anything. He purposely left Cora's room to the last. When he opened the door, a vein in his temple began to pound. The room had not been touched. He could tell that by the dust on the mantelpiece, the rubbish piled in the grate, and the soiled towel with a trace of lipstick that hung over the back of the chair
He entered the room and closed the door. He remained still for a few minutes, trying to sort out the various odours that hung in the stale, stuffy atmosphere. There was sandalwood and tobacco smoke, stale perspiration and dirt. There was an elusive smell which, although scarcely perceptible, excited him It was Cora's own intimate smell—a heady, slight smell, feminine, yet fleshly.
He pulled open the drawers of the dressing-table. They were filled with empty jars, sticky tubes, cigarette cartons, and bottles. Eye-black mingled with a spilt box of face powder. A tube of toothpaste oozed over a pair of sunglasses. A bottle of witchhazel—the bottle he had given her—had leaked, filling the drawer with a layer of white grease. He had never seen such a disgusting mess.
The second drawer was empty except for a soiled handkerchief. He closed the drawer with a grimace. Then he went to the fireplace and examined the scraps of paper, newspapers, a sheet of greasy brown paper that smelt strongly of decaying fish. He was very patient, and at last he found what he was looking for: a business card of an estate agent in Maida Vale.
He stood up, his eyes bright and excited. Maida Vale! Yes, they would fit in in Maida Vale. It had either to be
