drawn.
It was cold among the trees. He glanced at his watch, and remembered that Miss Quincey would be waiting in the car. He set out briskly across the field, hurrying to reach the cottage. He was aware of a desire to find it empty, to hurry back to the waiting car and to London.
The gate of the small front garden stood open. The walls of the cottage had been whitewashed, but winter rain had cut channels in it, leaving rust deposits from the corrugated iron roof. Outside the back door, a water butt was full to overflowing.
He banged the rusty knocker, calling: Austin!
When there was no movement from inside, he shouted:
Is anybody home?
He was suddenly struck by the thought that the place might be under observation by the police. He turned and stared at the clump of trees he had just left, at the bare hedges, and the haystack covered with tarpaulin in the other corner of the field. As he looked, he heard a movement inside the door. He looked round, and found Nunne's eyes looking at him from the letter-slit under the knocker. He stared back, too startled for a moment to speak. The flap closed and a chain rattled; several bolts moved back. The door opened, and Nunne stood there in his shirtsleeves. His face looked unshaven and exhausted. Sorme said:
Hello, Austin.
Nunne smiled unsteadily; a smell of whisky came to Sorme. He said:
Come in, dear boy. Childe Roland to the dark tower came…
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was as if they were meeting for the first time. In the past two days, Nunne had ceased to strike him as a reality. His relief expressed itself as a desire to laugh. He said:
It's good to see you, Austin!
Thank you, Gerard. Your face is also welcome.
The small kitchen smelt of damp; behind the door stood a Calor-gas cylinder with the seal intact. The sink, stove and washing machine were all obviously new. On the draining-board stood three empty whisky bottles.
Which way?
To your left.
The room looked like a smaller version of the Albany Street flat. The carpet was the same eggshell blue; the walls were distempered in cream and navy blue. It was stiflingly hot; a paraffin heater with a hemisphere of glowing wires burned in the grate; the room was lit by two paraffin lamps with tall chimneys. The room had an appearance of disorder; there was a great deal of cigarette ash on the carpet and shells of monkey-nuts. On the table were the remains of a meal, and two whisky bottles, both full. Nunne threw a newspaper and some books off a chair, and said:
Sit down.
Thanks. Mind if I take my coat off?
How did you get here?
Gertrude brought me.
Where is she?
She's gone back to the hotel.
Nunne dropped into an armchair, and picked up a glass from the table. He said:
Help yourself to whisky. Open a fresh bottle. Why did you decide to come?
Sorme tore the lead foil off a bottle of White Horse, and poured himself a large one. He said:
The police have been looking for you.
He squirted soda, then turned round. Nunne was smiling. The teeth looked yellow and fang-like. He said:
I see.
Sorme took off his jacket and dropped it over the back of a chair. He said:
Mind if I open a window?
Do. Where did they visit you?
At Gertrude's.
When?
This morning.
I see.
Nunne was still smiling. Sorme anticipated the question, and was prepared to answer truthfully. Instead, Nunne said:
How long will she wait for you?
All day, if necessary. Or I could phone her at the Crown.
Good. Perhaps we'll do that later. I can drive you back to town.
Sorme allowed no surprise to appear on his face. He said:
Good. You're going up today?
I expect I may as well… now you've come. Allow me a few hours to sober up.
He stretched in the chair, yawned, then emptied his glass.
So you've come all this way to warn me? That's rather sweet of you.
Thanks. It's nothing.
Nunne crossed to the table, and poured more whisky. He was drinking it straight. On his way back, he stopped by Sorme's chair and placed his hand on Sorme's head. He said:
I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, dear boy.
Sorme recognised the note of sincerity through the whisky. He said:
Thanks.
Nunne leaned on the back of the chair. He was still swaying slightly. He said:
You are a friend, aren't you, Gerard?
Sorme looked up at him, and felt again the sudden knowledge of affection. He said:
Yes. I'm a friend.
Nunne smiled down, then walked unsteadily to his chair. Sorme said:
But if you intend to sober up, you won't do it that way.
Nunne said slowly:
No. I think you are right. Yes. I don't wanna get stinko yet.
He returned to the window and emptied his glass outside. He said:
Unfortunately, I need something to drink once I start. No milk.
He went back into the kitchen. Sorme heard him say:
Don't suppose champagne'd improve things. Or Niersteiner. That leaves baby pol or lemonade.
He returned carrying three bottles of lemonade and an opener. He poured a bottle into his empty glass and tasted it. He said:
Ugh! How disgusting!
He set it down on the arm of the chair as if it were nitroglycerine, then seated himself carefully. He said:
Well, go ahead. What did the police want?
Just to know where you were.
I see. Did they say anything more?
No. But when I asked Macmurdo if he wasn't in charge of the Whitechapel murders, he said yes. And he told me there was another murder last night.
Nunne said indifferently:
And did he give you any details?
No.
