The Toff In Town

“If you leave without telling me what’s worrying you, I shall go to the police and tell them that since you’ve been back in England you’ve been—terrified. I shall tell them about the man on the telephone, and I shall say that I’m afraid you’ll do something desperate if you don’t get help.”

His grip was so tight that the pain almost made her cry out, but she clenched her teeth and returned his furious gaze. The little vein in his neck beat furiously, his lips were compressed into a thin line, his nostrils distended.

“You—wouldn’t—dare!”

“I shall,” she insisted.

“You mustn’t go to the police,” he said in a low-pitched voice, and although she hardly understood why, she had a feeling that something had changed within him, too. “I shall be all right, I shan’t make a fool of myself. It—it won’t last for ever.”

“It’s lasted too long,” she said.

Suddenly he let her go and pushed her away.

Then clear out!” he shouted. “Clear out! You’re tired of me, you’re tired of a sick husband, of a physical wreck. You haven’t any patience left, you hate the sight of me. Clear out, I tell you! You’ve still got youth and beauty on your side, plenty of men——”

“Bob!”

“Plenty of men would find you worth bedding,” he went on almost hysterically. “Men who stayed at home, men who weren’t hurt, the men who gave you a good time while I——”

She slapped him across the face.

He backed away and his right hand rose slowly to his cheek, fingering the spot where she had hit him. There was something akin to wonder in his eyes; at least she had driven that devouring fear away, if only for a few minutes.

Suddenly he turned away.

“Oh, God!” he groaned. “I’m sorry. But it’s no use. I’m no good to you. I never will be. But it’s my trouble, not yours. You shouldn’t try to share it.” He limped across to his hat, stooped down and picked it up. “The advice was sound. You’d better leave me, Bar.”

“I shan’t leave you,” said Barbara quietly. “I’ve told you what I shall do.”

He shook his head, turning to face her.

“You mustn’t go to the police,” he said. “That tells you plenty, doesn’t it? I am afraid of the police as well as a lot of other things. But I’m not going to tell you why, nothing will drag it out of me. I’m not going to involve you.”

“But, Bob, surely—surely you know that if you’re in trouble, I can’t keep out.”

“You needn’t jump in with both feet.” Allen’s voice was harsh and dry. “Stop this idea of the police, Bar. It won’t help. Might do a lot more harm. I’ve a chance of getting through. Saturday should tell.”

“Saturday?” She felt a flare of hope. “This Saturday?”

“Yes. So he said. Believe it or not, I don’t know him, but he knows a lot about me. Knows I once did a crazy thing.” He paused. “Forget it until Saturday. I’ll try to behave like a rational human being until then.”

It was tempting to press questions because he was in a mood when he might talk freely. On the other hand, they might send him back into his shell again, and this was the first time he had talked about it at all. She forced herself to accept his mood.

“All right, darling,” she said. “I will.”

The “darling” brought a hoarse cry to his lips. He gripped her hands again and this time pulled her close; they strained against each other. His hands played with her hair, with her shoulders, his fingers pressing deep into her flesh. When at last he let her go, a ghost of the old smile played at the corner of his lips and there was a brighter light in his eyes.

“Believe it or not,” he said, “I love you.”

“Talking of my foul innuendo, as one might say, ever see anything of Snub these days?” asked Allen.

They were in the sitting-room. The sun had broken through the clouds, brightening the red of nearby chimneys and the blue tiles of the block of flats opposite. In the distance some trees were touched with gold. The view from the flat had never looked better; and not since his return, had Barbara felt so light-hearted. He had been almost himself for nearly an hour.

“Snub?” echoed Barbara.

“Snub Higginbottom,” said Allen, grinning. “Don’t say you’ve forgotten——”

“Oh, Snub!” Her eyes lit up. “The last time he came up, was just after you’d been reported missing. What on earth made you think of him?”

“I caught sight of him in Regent Street the other day,” said Allen. “He was with one of those Tailor-and-Cutter types—I thought they’d died with the war. Didn’t see me. And I saw something about him in one of those old newspapers I’ve been reading—to try to bring myself up to date. Snub gave evidence in a nasty murder case, apparently he had quite a time. Useful chap, in a tight corner.” He did not appear to be thinking of his own tight corner. “Well, what shall we do this afternoon?”

“Anything you like!”

Allen gave her a meaning grin.