Allen swung round on her:
“You seem to have forgotten how to think or talk, all you do is to run round with a face as long as a wet week, bleating: “Oh, dear, what will happen next?” I’m fed up to the teeth with it.” He ignored the crushed look in Barbara’s eyes, and turned on Rollison. “Supposing Snub has caught a packet? That’s up to him—and up to you. I told you to keep out of it. I couldn’t have put it more clearly.” He stepped forward, and took Rollison by the shoulder. “You know where the door is— you know it a damned sight too well. I’m wondering if this was your little love-nest while I was away. Bar seems to think you’re the cat’s whiskers.”
Barbara cried: “Bob, oh, Bob!”
Allen pushed the unresisting Rollison again.
“Caught you out, have I? The guilty secret at last, and——”
Barbara said in a low, strangely clear voice:
“You’ve sunk about as low as men can sink. I’ve tried—how I’ve tried—to help you. But now——”
Allen shot out his hand and grabbed her shoulder. He pulled her towards him, as he had done when she had first threatened to ask the police to help. He seemed to have forgotten that Rollison was with them.
“You’ll stay here and do what you’re told I If you don’t, you’ll——”
He snatched one hand away and made as if to slap her across the face. Before his hand landed, Rollison jabbed a short-arm blow to the chin which made Allen’s head jerk back. He staggered away from Barbara, who stood as if petrified, her face white, her lips parted. Rollison pulled Allen forward and repeated the blow, and Allen slumped down, unconscious.
Rollison stopped him from falling heavily, then slipped his hand into Allen’s inside coat-pocket and drew out a foolscap envelope. Inside was a copy of the script which Rollison already had. There was also another typewritten sheet—and a glance told Rollison that it was the new version which Pauline wanted broadcast. He tucked the envelope into his own pocket.
“I think I had better get him away for a bit,” he said quietly. “He’s not himself, don’t forget that.”
Barbara drew aside in tacit acquiescence. Rollison dragged Allen to the door. Sam was in the hall, and his eyes rounded.
“Knocked ‘im cold?” he demanded eagerly.
“Help me downstairs with him, and then come up here— you’re on guard in the hall for the rest of the day,” said Rollison briskly. “Mrs. Allen will get you a comfortable chair. I’d rather you weren’t here on your own,” Rollison added to Barbara, who nodded vaguely, uninterested now.
They got downstairs without being seen, and the cab was so close to the entrance that it was easy to lift Allen inside without the man in the street noticing. Rollison climbed in and Sam slammed the door. Perky started the engine and drove away at moderate speed.
Allen’s head lolled back against the corner but he began to regain consciousness before they had reached Edgware Road. He blinked dazedly, sat upright and moistened his lips, then rubbed his jaw, which was already showing signs of swelling. He worked his mouth about slowly, but by then, there was an intelligent gleam in his “ Allison would not have been surprised had he tried to get out of the cab when they slowed down at a traffic jam. Instead, he looked at Rollison with sullen hostility.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To some friends,” said Rollison. “If you’ve any sense you’ll stay there, and you’ll be all right. Aren’t you tired of being Aunt Sally for Blane and his mob to knock down?”
“He’s not the only one who throws his weight about,” Allen growled. “Barbara shouldn’t—my wife shouldn’t be left alone at the flat,” he said. “It’s too big a strain on her.”
“So you have flashes of sanity,” said Rollison.
Allen drew in his breath—and then suddenly turned his face away. He gritted his teeth, as if to prevent himself from breaking down, took out a plump silver cigarette-case and rooted in his pockets for matches. Rollison gave him a light.
“What good will it do if I go into hiding?” Allen demanded at last. They’ll find me—they’ll always find me. They’re too strong for me and for you. It’s best to get it over; let them have their way. Perhaps I’ll be left in peace after that——”
“Isn’t it time you told someone what’s behind all this?” asked Rollison. “And why Pauline wants you to alter your script for to-morrow night?” When Allen did not answer, he went on: “This business appears to have started when you were half-way home from Burma. It followed something you did while you were in Burma. And it was something which made you more scared of the police than of Merino.”
“Who?” asked Allen, and added slowly: “You said something about Merino before—who is he?”
“Blane’s employer. Pauline Dexter’s boy friend,” said Rollison.
Allen shivered.
“No, I haven’t met him, and I hope I never do. And—I’m not talking. It’s my affair, I’m going to do what the girl wants me to on Saturday, and then I’m through. If they won’t leave me alone then, I’ll kill myself.” He shivered again. “You may think I’m fooling, but I’ve never been more serious. I’m worth nothing to anyone. Bar looked at me just now as if she hated my guts—I know, I know, I asked for it, we needn’t go into that.”
Rollison said: “All right, you won’t talk about what happened in Burma——”
“I didn’t say anything happened there!”
“Then you won’t talk about the reason for the trouble, if you prefer to put it that way,” said Rollison, “and while you keep it to yourself, no one can do much to help you.”
