couple of minutes, then get on to the roof, slide down, and into the
yard. Go to Madge’s place. I’ll get in touch with you in a day or so.”
Her fingers touched my hand.
“Darling Steve,” she said.
“Bolt the door after me, kid,” I returned, pressed her hand,
peered into the passage. I listened, heard nothing, stepped from the
room, shut the door.
I heard Netta slide the bolt. I crossed the passage, entered the
sitting-room, groped my way across to the lamp. I found it after a
moment’s fumbling, removed the bulb, put it carefully on the floor. I
remembered finger-prints, took out my handkerchief, picked up the
bulb, wiped it, laid it down again.
I moved back to the door, stood listening, sweat on my face, my
heart pounding.
For some seconds I heard nothing, then a faint creak came to my
straining ears, followed by another creak. Someone was coming up
the stairs.
I stood against the wall on the far side of the door, waited. I heard
a door handle turn and knew the intruder had reached the top of the
stairs, was trying Netta’s door. I hoped she had the nerve not to
scream. I felt like screaming myself.
More silence. You could cut the stillness in the flat with a knife.
Then suddenly I felt rather than saw the door behind which I was
standing, opening. My mouth went dry, the hair on the back of my
neck moved. Inch by inch the door opened, then stopped. I saw a
white shape, a hand, groping down the wall for the electric light
switch, find it.
The click the switch made as it was snapped down was like a pistol
shot in the silent room. The room stayed dark, and I thanked my stars
I had thought of removing the bulb. I flexed my muscles, clenched my
fists, waited.
There was a long pause, the door didn’t open farther; there was
no sound except my own thumping heart. I waited, my nerves
stretched, my breathing controlled. To my straining ears came a new
sound; someone breathing. I wondered if whoever it was could hear
my breathing, and if that was what made him hesitate.
The door began to open again. I crouched against the wall, ready
to spring.
A dark shadow appeared around the door: the head and
shoulders of a man. I could just make out his blurred outline against
the blind. I knew I was invisible in the darkness, waited to see what
he’d do.
He peered around the room, took another step forward. Then I
heard a new sound, a sharp creak from Netta’s window, as she
pushed it up.
Instantly the man whipped around, dashed across the passage,
tried Netta’s door again.
“I hear you,” he shouted. “Open up! Come on! Open up.”
For a moment I was in such a panic I couldn’t move. Then I heard
Corridan throw his weight against Netta’s door, heard the door groan.
I didn’t dare hesitate a moment longer. I kicked over a chair which fell
against a small table. The racket the two things made as they went
over sounded to me like a mine going up.
I heard a startled exclamation from Corridan. A moment later he
entered the sitting-room. I saw him grope in his hip pocket, and I
crept towards him, crouching, prayed he wouldn’t hear me.
A second after the bright beam from an electric torch he had
taken from his pocket fell on Littlejohns.
I heard Corridan catch his breath. In that hard light Littlejohns was
enough to shake the toughest nerve. For a moment Corridan seemed
paralysed with surprise and shock. In that moment, I jumped him.
We went down together like a couple of buffalo, smashed the
small table to matchwood. I slammed my fist in his face, caught the
torch from his hand, flung it with all my strength at the wall. It went
out.
Corridan twisted under me, hit me a sledge-hammer blow in the
chest. I grabbed him, tried to hold him down, but he was much too
strong for me.
For two or three seconds we fought like animals. Both of us were
half crazy with fear, and we punched, bit and kneed each other in a
frenzy of waving arms and legs. Corridan was tough all right. He knew
every dirty trick there was to know in fighting. If I hadn’t had a Ranger
training as a war correspondent, I wouldn’t have lasted two minutes
with him.
I got a head lock on him after a moment, tried to throttle him by
squeezing his throat with my forearm, but he hit me so heavily about
the body, I couldn’t hold him. I broke from him, jumped to my feet.
He had me around the legs before I could step clear, and I came
down on my back. My breath whistled out of my body, and for one
second I was helpless. That was a lot of time to a guy like Corridan. He
was kneeling on my arms by the time I had my wind back, and it was
like being sat upon by St. Paul’s Cathedral.
“Let’s look at you, you bastard,” he panted.
I heard a rattle of matches. If he saw who I was I was done for. I
hadn’t a chance being caught with Littlejohns.
I made a terrific effort, brought my legs up, managed to boot him
at the back of his head. He fell forward on top of me and I got my
arms free. But he came back, grabbed at my head, tried to smash it
down on the floor. By keeping my neck stiff I defeated this move, sank
a punch into his belly that went in a foot.
He gasped, gagged, fell off me. My hand closed around one of the
table legs. I swung blindly at him, felt a jar run up my arm as the table
leg connected, heard him flop.
I lay gasping for breath, feeling as if I’d been fed through a
mangle. I knew I couldn’t waste a moment ; I struggled up kicked his
legs off mine, reached out and touched him. He didn’t move. For one
horrible moment I thought I’d killed him, but then I heard him
breathing. Any second now he’d come to the surface. I had to get out
