The Toff In Town

speak, but he raised his hand for silence.

“What——” she began huskily.

“Hush,” murmured Rollison. He put his hands on the arm of his chair and stood up, a swift movement. He looked towards the closed door, and when the sound came again.

“What room is next door?” asked Rollison softly.

“The—the kitchen.”

“And a door to the fire-escape is there?”

“Yes.” She caught her breath.

“Is the kitchen door open or closed?” As he asked that, he approached her. “Don’t get worked up. This may be a false alarm—or it may be just the thing to put us right. Is the kitchen door——”

“It’s closed.”

“Good, said Rollison. “I’m going to put the light out. Just stay where you are, I’ll be back in a moment.”

He crossed the room and put his hand to the switch; there was a faint click, and the light went out. Barbara stood in the darkness, staring towards the door. She heard it open and thought there was a faint creak as Rollison went out. A second creak was much louder; the kitchen door squeaked, he was opening that. A moment later a window rattled—very loudly.

It kept rattling, as if a high wind were buffeting it, but the window of the sitting-room didn’t move, so it couldn’t be the wind.

CHAPTER FOUR

INTRUDER

INSIDE the flat all was quiet. Rollison stood by the kitchen door, seeing the outline of the window and the starlit sky beyond— and the head and shoulders of a man outside.

He waited only long enough to convince himself that a man was standing on the fire-escape, then closed the door. The key was on the outside; he turned it, and went back to the sitting-room. He could just make out Barbara Allen, standing in front of her chair.

“Can you see me?” he called softly.

“Ju—just,” she answered unsteadily.

“A man’s trying to get in,” said Rollison in a matter-of-fact voice. “Will you do exactly what I tell you?”

“Yes.”

Then go to your bedroom, undress and get into bed,” said Rollison. “He’s probably come to question you, as the flat’s already been searched. We might find out what he’s after. You’ve several minutes to get ready, I’ve locked the kitchen door. All clear?”

“Yes,” whispered Barbara. She was shivering.

“We might find out what’s behind it all,” Rollison said. “He won’t dream that I’m listening. Which is your bedroom?”

“Opposite this room.” She was calmer now; he’d given her both confidence and hope.

“Good—come on,” said Rollison

He drew to one side as she came towards him, her figure a clear silhouette against the window. She made no fuss, passed him and went through a doorway—he couldn’t see her then. The bedroom door closed. The rattling at the window stopped and after a pause he heard a thud; the man was now in the kitchen.

There was no sound at all from the bedroom.

Rollison backed towards the telephone, groped cautiously, touched the table, pressed close to the wall and squeezed into a recess.

Scratching sounds at the door told him that the intruder was working on the lock. Soon, the kitchen door squeaked open loudly.

The light from a torch flashed on, striking the wall opposite, and was reflected from the glass of one of the small pictures. The intruder lowered it and moved it round slowly. It shone on the telephone, and Rollison, pressing tightly against the wall, prepared to act if he were seen.

The beam of light moved away, missing him, and made a complete circuit of the hall until finally it came to rest on the bedroom door-handle. The circle of fight on the door grew larger, and in the reflection Rollison could just make out the man’s figure. The light grew whiter as the torch drew closer to the wall. Suddenly part of it was hidden by the man’s figure. A short, squat fellow, he moved with great stealth. The shadow of his hands appeared on the door as he changed the torch a florid, ugly-looking creature with powerful shoulders and a thick barrel-like torso.

“Get up,” ordered Rollison.

The man didn’t move.

“Get—up.” Rollison leaned over the bed, bent down and grabbed the man’s wrist, pulled him to his feet and gave him a shove against the wall. He came up against it with another thud and nearly fell again. He shot out a hand and clutched the dressing-table for support. The trinkets rattled, a brush fell to the floor.

“I should get back to bed if I were you,” Rollison said to Barbara.

She obeyed; her nightdress was thin and the room cold. She sat down and pulled a blanket round her shoulders, looking first at Rollison and then at the burglar.