“I’m always quick when prodded. Then you found me again.”
“That’s right. You were coming out of another kiosk and disappeared into the tube.”
Hitchcock wished she’d be done with the damned cigarette. He also wished he were carrying a portable lie detector. “You must be prescient to have located me several hours later in King’s Cross/”
She smiled. “Not at all. When I was looking at that manuscript on your kitchen table, I did manage to scan most of the first page before you took it away from me. It said Orwell’s church in King’s Cross. I knew that particular line traveled to King’s Cross, so I drove to King’s Cross. I knew I’d be there ahead of you, so I stopped for a sandwich. When I got to the church, I saw you being admitted to the basement. Then, when you came tearing out of there, I rolled down my window and shouted at you, but you didn’t hear me. You seemed to be in a panic.”
“I’d had a bread knife thrown at me.”
“In church?”
“Oh, yes, stands to reason. There’s so much blood and gore in the Bible, right?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never read it.”
“Oh, you should. Some of it’s quite racy.”
“Well, anyway. I kept after you. I saw you accosted by that woman.”
“She was a whore. I disapprove of whores.”
“And then I thought you’d go back into the tube, which I must say made my heart sink. I hadn’t the vaguest idea where I could pick up your trail again.” She stubbed out her cigarette in the dashboard ashtray. “But my luck held. You went past the tube, and I followed you to the fish-and-chips shop.”
“Why didn’t you join me there?”
“Frankly, I wasn’t quite sure how to explain my presence.”
“But you are now.”
“Rescuing you from the buskers made it easy.”
Hitchcock looked perplexed and then said, “Well, I suppose your being there was quite fortuitous, and I thank you. But here is where we part company.”
She grabbed his wrist as he started to open the door at his side. She had a very strong grip. “Mr. Hitchcock, you need me.”
Hitchcock bristled with indignation. “I need you to let go of my wrist, young woman.”
“Mr. Hitchcock. I know why you’re running. I, too, know someone at Scotland Yard. I know your wife has been abducted. I know a policeman was murdered in your flat, and I know you are the Yard’s number-one suspect.”
“With your sublime talents, Miss Adair, you should soon be ruling the world.”
She smiled. “Just a small portion. I’m not greedy.” She removed her hand from his wrist. “I phoned my friend while I was having my sandwich. He pleaded with me if I knew where you were to tell him so he could capture you and win a citation. But I protected you.”
“What a good story. All that’s missing is some heavy breathing. “
“You need me, Mr. Hitchcock. You’re a celebrity on the run. A very fat celebrity. Alone, you are easily identified. With me, you are a heavy-set man traveling with a younger blonde companion. Think it over, Mr. Hitchcock. By tomorrow morning, there’ll be a hue and cry. You are now involved in two murders and your wife’s abduction. This fog won’t cover the city forever. Once it lifts, it narrows your chances of escaping detection. You’ll soon be recognized. You need me.”
Hitchcock did some heavy thinking. She was lighting another cigarette, and he resisted the urge to tear it from her mouth and fling it out the window. Miss Adair, he now realized, was most certainly a formidable woman. As an opponent, she was a serious threat. As an ally, she might indeed be quite useful. “In my films,” said Hitchcock, “the young woman accompanying the man on the run is usually an unwilling accomplice, marking time until a chance to escape and grass to the police. You’re not unwilling, but I’m sure if I say no, you’d tell the police about me, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe yes. Maybe no.” There was something continental now to the lilt in her voice, and for the first time since meeting her, Hitchcock studied her face. Even in the darkness of the car, because she had prudently not turned on the inside light when they parked, he could see a hardness in her face. She wore too much makeup, especially the mascara on her eyelashes and the heavy application of rouge and lipstick. She was probably at least five years younger then he we was and about ten years shrewder. “Well, Mr. Hitchcock?”
“Miss Adair, I realize I am in what is best described as a tight spot. And for a man my size, as you have eloquently emphasized, it’s an uncomfortable squeeze. Yes, I can use an ally, and I shall confer that dubious honor on you.” His voice deepened. “But I warn you, should you at any time betray me, I will involve you as my accomplice. I will show you no mercy. “
“Mr. Hitchcock, the fact that I’m here, and not turning you in to the police, already brands me a criminal.” She gunned the motor. “Where to, Mr. Hitchcock?”
“A village called Medwin. It’s somewhere beyond Brighton, but farther inland. I assume you have a map of England?”
“There’s one in the dashboard compartment.” She pulled away from the curb. “It’s late. We should think of somewhere to spend the night.”
Hitchcock blushed, but in the darkness, she couldn’t see this. “I’m not in the least bit tired.”
“You will be.” She laughed. “Don’t worry. I know you won’t make any improper advances.”
“But what about you?”
“Mr. Hitchcock, I assure you, you’re not my type. Now then”—she was peering ahead through the windshield— “somewhere along here there’s a ring road that gets us on the road to Brighton. Ah, there it is.” They drove in silence for a while. “A penny for them, Mr. Hitchcock.”
“Oh, to you they’d be worth a great deal more.”
“You are thinking about your wife?”
“I always think about Alma. Now more than ever, but somehow, I think the police
