The Black Gang

with a dead man at one’s feet in a strange house is not the best way of securing a hospitable welcome. What to do with the body⁠—that was the first insistent point. There was no time for intricate schemes; it was a question of taking risks and chancing it. So for a moment or two he listened at the door of the room opposite that on which he had heard Phyllis tapping, and from which the man had sprung at him⁠—then he gently opened it. It was a bedroom and empty, and without further hesitation he dragged his late opponent in, and left him lying on the floor. By the dim light from the uncurtained window he could see that the man was almost deformed, so enormous was the length of his arms. They must have been six inches longer than those of an average man, and were almost as powerful as his own. And as he saw the snarling, ferocious face upturned to his, he uttered a little prayer of thanksgiving for the presence of his clasp-knife. It had been altogether too near a thing for his liking.

He closed the door and stepped across the passage, and the next moment Phyllis was in his arms.

“I thought you were never coming, old man,” she whispered. “I was afraid the brutes had caught you.”

“I had a slight difference of opinion with a warrior outside your door,” said Hugh, grinning. “Quite like old times.”

“But, my dear,” she said, with sudden anxiety in her voice, “you’re sopping wet.”

“Much water has flowed under the bridge, my angel child, since I last saw you, and I’ve flowed with it.” He kissed her on the right side of her mouth, then on the left for symmetry, and finally in the middle for luck. Then he grew serious. “No time for hot air now, old thing; let’s have a look at this jolly old chain effect of yours. Once we’re out of here, you shall tell me everything and I’ll eat several pounds of mud for having been such an unmitigated idiot as to let these swine get hold of you.”

He was examining the steel chain as he spoke, and gradually his face grew grave. He didn’t seem to have gained much after all by breaking in; Phyllis was just as much a prisoner as ever. The chain, which was about six feet long, was fastened at one end to a big staple in the wall and at the other end to a bracelet which encircled his wife’s right wrist. And the bracelet could only be opened with a key. Any idea of breaking the chain or pulling out the staple was so preposterous as not to be worth even a moment’s thought; so everything depended on the bracelet. And when he came to examine it more carefully he found that it had a Yale lock.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and she watched him anxiously.

“Can’t you get it undone, boy?” she whispered.

“Not if I stopped here till next Christmas, darling,” he answered heavily.

“Well, get out of the window and go for the police,” she implored.

“My dear,” he said, still more heavily, “I had, as I told you, a little difference of opinion with the gentleman outside the door⁠—and he’s very dead.” She caught her breath sharply. “A nasty man with long arms who attacked me. It might be all right, of course⁠—but I somehow feel that this matter is beyond the local constable, even if I could find him. You see, I don’t even know where we are.” He checked the exclamation of surprise that rose to her lips. “I’ll explain after, darling; let’s think of this now. If only I could get the key; if only I knew where it was, even.”

“A foreigner came in about an hour ago,” answered his wife. “He had it then. And he said he’d come again tonight.”

“He did, did he?” said Hugh slowly. “I wonder if it’s my friend the Italian. Anyway, kid, it’s the only chance. Did he come alone last time?”

“Yes: I don’t think there was anyone with him. I’m sure there wasn’t.”

“Then we must chance it,” said Hugh. “Say something; get him into the room and then leave him to me. And if for any reason he doesn’t come I’ll have to leave you here and raise the gang.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer, boy, to do that now?” she said imploringly. “Suppose anything happened to you.”

“Anything further that happens to me tonight, old thing,” he remarked grimly, “will be as flat as a squashed pancake compared to what’s happened already.”

And then because she saw his mind was made up, and she knew the futility of arguing under those conditions, she sat on the bed beside him to wait. For a while they sat in silence listening to the monotonous thudding noise which went ceaselessly on; then because he wanted to distract her mind he made her tell him what had happened to her. And in disjointed whispers, with his arm round her waist, she pieced together the gaps in the story. How the man had come about the electric light, and then had offered to fetch her a taxi, he knew already from Denny. She had got in, never suspecting anything, and told him to drive to the Ritz⁠—and almost at once she had begun to feel faint. Still she suspected nothing, until she tried to open one of the windows. But it wouldn’t open, and the last thing she remembered before she actually fainted was tapping on the glass to try to draw the driver’s attention. Then when she came to, she found to her horror that she was not alone. A man was in the car with her, and they were out of London in the country. Both windows were wide open, and she asked him furiously what he was doing in her car. He smiled, and remarked that so far he was not aware he had sold it, but he was