Glancing at the Bentley again, I spotted the expensive-looking item in the seersucker suit.
He was standing by the car, looking to right and left.
“Your friend won’t like this,” I said. “He’s waiting for you now.”
She laughed, a hard, humourless little sound that made me stare at her.
“He’s not a friend: he’s my husband,” she said, and moved quickly to the door. “I won’t be
five minutes. Don’t let anyone in.” She was gone before I could stop her.
I crossed the room and shot the bolt. Now I was alone the room seemed horribly empty. I
returned to the window. Her husband was pacing up and down beside the car. As I watched
him he took out a cigarette-case and lit a cigarette. By the way he threw the match on the
ground I could see he was exasperated.
A faint sound behind me made me turn quickly, my eyes going to the door. I saw the door
handle begin to turn. Someone the other side of the door pushed gently against the panels.
The bolt held, and the handle slowly reversed.
Well, they were out there now. I guessed they thought it was safe to call on me now the
stadium was nearly cleared. Over the loud-speaker system dance music was blaring: loud
enough to drown the sound of a shot.
I tiptoed across the room and examined the bolt. It wasn’t too strong. I heard someone
40
whispering outside. I couldn’t hear what was said, but the sound made the hair on the nape of
my neck bristle.
I caught hold of the rubbing-table and pulled it across to the door and wedged one end
under the handle. I was thinking fast now: a little scared, but not in a panic. They knew the
lay-out of the stadium a lot better than I did. They’d know the climb down from my window
wasn’t difficult, and as soon as they found they couldn’t break in they’d guess it would be by
the window I’d try to escape, and Pepi would be there to pick me off.
It wouldn’t take him three or four minutes to get down the concrete steps, around to the
side door and out to the parking-lot. He was probably on his way now. I had to get going at
once.
As I swung my legs over the window-sill someone drove his shoulder against the door. The
table held the door solid. I didn’t look back, but climbed out of the window on to the ledge.
In my hurry to get to the drain-pipe I took a false step and my foot shot off into space. I
managed to dig my fingers into the chinks of the uneven concrete wall, and hold myself
steady. It was a pretty nasty moment. If I hadn’t had strong fingers I would have fallen.
Somehow I managed to regain my balance. I slowly drew up my foot and found the ledge
again. With my heart hammering I kept on, reached the drain-pipe and began to climb down.
Ten feet from the ground I let go and dropped.
I heard a car start up. I heard, too, the sound of running feet. For a moment I was tempted
to bolt towards the car, but decided it would be safer to remain in the shadow of the wall
rather than go out into the brightly lit car-park.
The Bentley swung towards me. She hadn’t turned on the car lights. Beyond, and away to
the left, I spotted Pepi. He was about a hundred yards from me, standing still, looking
towards the window of the dressing-room as if waiting for me to appear, and I realized he
didn’t know I was already down. Then I heard a loud crash and knew the door of the
dressing-room had been forced open.
The Bentley slowed down as it reached me, and the door swung open.
“Get in - quick!” Della cried, keeping the car on the move.
I scrambled in beside her and she shot the car forward. I managed to get the door shut as
the car raced down the broad drive-in.
As she leaned forward to snap on the lights, she said, “Did they spot you?”
