He walked close to the walls of the houses, so that he could not be seen easily, nodded to his cabby, who was reading a paper-covered book, and entered the gloomy doorway of the house. It was gloomy because the landing windows were boarded up, but it had recently been repainted, and there was a smell of paint in the passage. On the first floor landing two men in overalls were busy on the woodwork. They paused and wished him good-day. He nodded amiably, but wished them anywhere but at Leeming House. However, when he reached the next floor and glanced down, he saw that they were beginning to pack up for the end of the day’s work.
On that floor was Flatlet 6a.
It was one of two flatlets on the right-hand side of the landing; those on the left-hand side were number 5 and 5a. Except for the murmur of voices from the workmen, there was no sound, although he pressed his ear close to the door of the nurse’s flat, in the hope of hearing a snatch of conversation. Instead, he could get no confirmation that anyone was inside.
He hesitated before he examined the lock of the door. It was old-fashioned, and anyone with a pen-knife and some dexterity could open it. He had a pen-knife . . .
The front door opened on to the small, gloomy hall, a box of a place from which two doors led. Both doors were closed, now he could hear the murmur of voices, and one of his fears —that the nurse might have been hurt—faded. He stepped close to the door from which the voices were coming, and heard a girl say sharply:
“Must I tell you again? No!”
“Now look here, Phyl.” began a young man.
“I will not do anything more!” declared Phyllis Armitage, and judging from the tone of her voice she was on the point of losing her temper. “I wish I’d had nothing to do with it at all! I was a fool. Why, I might lose my job and my references, I might even have my certificates cancelled!”
“Oh, nonsense! You couldn’t help being ill.”
“I’m
“No one else knows that,” said the man. “Honestly, Phyl. you’ll be doing a lot of people a good turn if you’ll go back and take on night duty.”
“I said no, and I meant no. They’ll realize at once that I was malingering if I get back by eight o’clock. Even if I were to go, I can’t be sure that they would post me to her room. And if I did go back and they did post me to her room and she talked all night, I wouldn’t pass on a word to you.” She sounded almost in tears.
The man spoke again.
His voice had altered, and Rollison frowned as he heard the words, carefully uttered and with just the degree of menace which might be expected to take effect.
“You know, Phyl, now you’ve started, you can’t very well back out.”
“What—what do you mean?”
“Supposing someone was to drop a hint that”
“You—
sharp sound; very much like a slap, and a thud, as if the slap had taken the man by surprise and he had staggered back against the wall. There followed another silence, broken only by the laboured breathing of the girl.
Then: “You’d better be careful.” said the young man who, according to Jolly, had a pleasant countenance. “You’ll fly into a temper once too often. I won’t try to make you see sense any more to-night, but you’ll go on duty to-morrow
The girl did not answer.
“Or you’ll have cause to regret it,” said the young man, and there was the sound of footsteps.
By then Rollison was at the front door. He went out but did not close it. He stepped up the stairs and reached the next landing before the young man appeared. He caught a glimpse of fair, curly hair and a round, ingenuous face, on which was a look of some surprise. Rollison stepped out of sight. The young man stood on the landing for some time, and then he seemed to make a decision, for the door closed with a snap and he walked quickly down the stairs. By the time Rollison was on the landing again, an engine was starting up in the Court. The boarded windows prevented Rollison from looking out, but he felt sure that Jolly would not lose the man, and he knocked at the door of Flatlet 6a.
There was no immediate answer.
He knocked again. The knocker was a small one of brass, and there was no bell. If the girl were in the inner room, she might not hear, unless the inside door were open. He gave her a minute by his watch, then rapped loudly.
He heard her footsteps in the hall.
When she opened the door, she backed away, startled at the sight of a stranger, although the stranger was smiling. Her face was pale, and she looked as if she had been crying. He thought she had hastily wiped her eyes and put on powder, which was more expertly applied than Gwendoline’s had been.
Phyllis Jane Armitage was better looking than Gwendoline Barrington-Ley. She was fair, and her hair was in loose, probably natural curls, making her head look round. Only a nose which was nearly snub prevented her from being really lovely, but it was somehow the right nose in the right place. The look of surprise on her face was not altogether because of Rollison—she had an air of perpetual surprise.
“Good-evening,” said Rollison.
“Good-evening.”
“May I see Miss Phyllis Armitage?”
