“What name is it, please?”
“Allen—Robert Allen.”
“I
There was another long wait Barbara hooked a chair with her foot, drew it close to the table and sat down. She felt so weak. It was half-past six now.
“Hallo,” said the girl.
“Mr. Allen left just after four o’clock,” the operator reported. “I’ve spoken to someone who was in the office at the time. I’m sorry.”
“That’s—all right,” said Barbara. Thank you very much.”
She replaced the receiver and stared blankly in front of her. If Bob hadn’t been detained at the B.B.C., who had telephoned to say that he would be late? Where was he? The mystery which created his fear and her unhappiness closed down upon her.
Bob hadn’t returned at nine o’clock.
Barbara had not left the flat, had spoken to no one. Wearily at first, she had tidied up; the rooms were more or less in order now. She couldn’t think of anything that was missing. The few pounds, the ready money she always kept tucked away in a drawer, had been on the floor; if the thieves had wanted to take money, why hadn’t they taken that? Her few oddments of jewellery were still on the dressing-table. All her clothes and Bob’s were there, and yet the man had searched every nook and cranny, even the larder.
The Waste-paper basket overflowed with oddments of paper, old powder-puffs, an accumulation of rubbish. She emptied the basket into the fireplace, and put a match to them, then watched them flare up.
She felt better, and rather hungry. She made herself some tea and ate some biscuits—the tin lid had been left off by the intruders. The tea was hot and stung her lips and mouth, so she cooled it with more milk. Her face was badly swollen but not so sore. She had done her hair and wiped off her lipstick; she looked a sight, but that didn’t matter.
What had the man meant by “late”?
Was it “late” now?
If only Bob hadn’t been so insistent about not going to the police, she would have telephoned them, but she could not doubt that the burglary was connected with the mystery, and she couldn’t let him down. But if he didn’t return soon, she’d
Or eleven?
At half-past ten she went into the bedroom, aimlessly, perhaps partly to keep away from the telephone. Ringing up the police and reporting that Bob was missing seemed the only thing to do, but—was he really missing yet? How she hated that word!
She remembered their talk after lunch about Snub Higginbottom, a useful man in a tight corner. In a frenzy, she picked up the newspapers and spread them out over the bed. If she couldn’t consult the police, she
There it was!
She skimmed what he had said as she searched for his address; she did not find it, but there was an address further down the page.
She didn’t trouble to read on from there, but went into the hall and looked for “Higginbottom” in the directory. There were several, but she couldn’t be sure which was James or “Snub”. She looked for Rollison. The entry was there all right,
CHAPTER THREE
IT was some time before a man with a deep voice announced: “Rollison here.”
“I—I’m sorry to worry you,” said Barbara. “Can you please tell me where to find Mr. Higginbottom? Mr. James Higginbottom? I think—you once——”
“I know Mr. Higginbottom,” said the man with the deep voice, “and I can give you his address, but you won’t find him in to-night, I’m afraid.”
“Oh no,” said Barbara.
All her dismay and despair sounded in that single exclamation.
“Perhaps I can help you,” the man suggested.
“I—I don’t think so,” said Barbara. “I just wanted——” She couldn’t go on.
“I might be able to get in touch with Mr. Higginbottom, if it’s really urgent,” said Rollison.
