George couldn't look at her. He wanted to hate her, but shame and desire seemed to be his only emotions.
She was listening again. Her eyes darted like those of a frightened animal.
The stairs creaked outside as someone moved cautiously up them.
'It's Poncho,' she whispered, bending forward. 'He's got in from the hack.'
George started up. The heavy Luger humped against his hip. He had forgotten the gun. Instantly he had it in his hand, and he thumbed back the safety catch.
'I'll kill him if he tries to get in here,' he muttered.
'They'll be sure of you if they know you have a gun,' she said, watching him intently. 'They'll know for certain you killed—'
'Shut up!' he said. 'I don't care. They know enough as it is.' He faced the door, waiting.
There was a long pause, then they heard the handle of the door turn. The door opened an inch or so and then stopped, blocked by the cupboard.
George raised the Luger. His hand was steady. He pressed the trigger, lifting the cartridge from the magazine into the breech. Then he waited, tense, sweating.
There was another long, ghastly pause. Cora was holding her head between her hands, her mouth was open, and her smeared lips formed a soundless scream. Someone outside was breathing softly, making a faint, whistling sound. Then footsteps went away. The stairs creaked. Once more there was silence except for the hum of distant traffic along the High Street and the excited ticking of the clock.
'He's gone,' George whispered, lowering the gun.
Cora lit another cigarette. 'Not far. They're used to waiting.'
'Let them wait,' George said. 'We'll see who gets sick of waiting.'
She lay back across the divan. 'I didn't think you had the nerve,' she said, a new note in her voice. 'You looked fine standing up to him.'
George scarcely heard her. He was staring up at the ceiling. 'We could get out that way,' he said. 'You can't live here any more, Cora. We'll have to find some place where they'll never find us.'
'We?' she said, rolling over on her stomach and looking at him. 'So you're not going to desert me?'
'Did you think I would? I may be a fool, but I love you. I don't know why, because you've always been rotten to me. But I love you, and I'm going to look after you.'
She held up her hand. 'What's that?' she asked, her eyes dilating. He listened. A murmur of voices floated up from the alley: whispering, hushed voices of people in church. He went over to the window, and without moving the blind, he listened. He heard a woman's voice and then a mutter of men's voices.
'Turn out the light,' he said. 'It's Emily '
Cora stiffened; she remained where she was. She heat on the pillow with her clenched fists.
George crossed the room and snapped off the light. Then he returned to the window and cautiously lifted the curtain.
The moon was rising above the roofs of the buildings, and part of the alley was no longer in darkness. Immediately below him he could see Emily, Max and Nick. They were standing before the front door. As he watched them he heard a bolt slam back and heard the front door open Emily said something, and then they all entered and the front door closed.
As George put on the light again, they could hear footsteps moving about in the garage below. They made no attempt to conceal their presence now. They talked. They opened and shut doors. Once Nick laughed. The noise they made was more menacing than their previous stealth. They were confident that they would be undisturbed, and that they had George and Cora in a trap.
'We've got to get out,' George said. 'They're up to something. We can't stay here any longer.'
Cora sat up. She was shivering, and she chewed her knuckles until one of them bled.
George went over to the window and opened it. He leaned out. The gutter above him was out of reach; the ground below was too far away. There was no escape through the window. He turned and looked up at the ceiling.
Footsteps came up the stairs and along the passage. The door handle turned and the door was opened until it was stopped by the cupboard. There was a fumbling sound at the door that sent a cold shiver of excitement down George's spine. He sprang across to the fireplace and snatched up a poker. Then he climbed up on the table and began to hack at the plaster of the ceiling.
'Turn it on,' Nick's voice called.
A hissing sound filled the room.
Cora screamed.
The sharp point of the poker sank into the plaster, and a large part of the ceiling came down with a crash. George was choked with fine white dust, and almost blinded. He went on hacking at the ceiling, tearing at the wooden laths with his hands.
A strong smell of gas filled the room. So that was what they were up to, he thought, not pausing in his efforts to make a hole in the ceiling. Well, they were too late. The window was open, and it would not he possible to build up a strong enough concentration of gas to suffocate them. But suppose they set the place on fire? It'd go up like a powder barrel!
He worked for a few seconds like a madman. Voices sounded in the alley. They had left the garage. Any moment they might set fire to the place. The hole was big enough to get through now. He shouted to Cora, but she just sat on the divan, coughing and wringing her hands.
