He stared at the car, slowed down—and then raised his hand in salute. Rollison forced a smile for he had been recognised and if he didn’t acknowledge the salute the constable would wonder why and might ask questions of the local copper’s nark.
He was still feeling a little sick.
Snub said: “Think the Doc will play?”
“Yes.”
The car purred along the winding street, forced to slow down as two horse-drawn drays came out of the gateway leading to a warehouse. Two turnings to the left and they came to a road along a wharf with ships on one side and a pub, painted bright red, on the corner; above the pub, starkly outlined against the hazy sky, was a huge red lion. Not far along this street was a large, corrugated-iron shed; alongside it several Nissen huts. The whole area had been razed during the bombing and these were temporary buildings. Beyond them row after row of prefabricated houses, like pale white boxes, made a slight change in the drab scene. Dozens of men and women walked or cycled along this road, many more than there had been in Asham Street.
The tin building and the huts were surrounded by a wire fence and the double gates were open. Snub turned the car into it and pulled up in front of one of the huts. A huge signboard carried the word MEDICAL CLINIC and beneath them the hours of attendance. A nurse in neat uniform came out of the big building and looked curiously at the car.
“I wish it were dark,” said Rollison.
“Have a slice of the moon,” Snub said. “We aren’t going to get away with this one; the Doc won’t play.”
He got out and, as he approached the Nissen hut, the door opened and a middle-aged man appeared. He looked burly in an old tweed suit with baggy trousers and bulging pockets.
He had a round, ruddy face and a frizzy grey head, bald at the top.
Rollison called: “Emergency, Doc. You may need oxygen. Coal-gas poisoning.”
The doctor pursed his lips, as if in disapproval, turned and disappeared.
Snub had the back of the car open and eased Mellor out. His face was still pink-tinged, his eyes were closed, he didn’t seem to be breathing.
They carried him between them into the Nissen hut and the doctor called out:
“In here, Rollison.”
He stood in a small room where there were two empty beds, painted with green enamel, covered with sheets and blankets. The room was spotlessly clean. Several pieces of apparatus stood about it including an oxygen cylinder, stand and equipment, by the head of one of the beds. Snub and Rollison put Mellor down and the doctor said:
“Collar, shoes and belt loosened, quickly. You ought to have undone them before. Close the door, will you?”
He spoke in a quiet, unflurried voice with a slight north-country accent and went unhurriedly about his business, sparing time even to look hard and long at Rollison.
“Press down that top switch by the bed, will you? Electric blanket,” he added. After a pause: “If you’d given me a ring, I could have had it all ready.”
He put on a long white coat.
“Sorry,” said Rollison.
“My wife’s in the kitchen,” said the doctor. “Get her to make some coffee, will you? Have a strong cup yourself.”
“I’ll stay, thanks,” said Rollison. “Snub, pop along and be nice to Mrs Willerby,”
Snub went out, closing the door carefully behind him, and the doctor turned from the oxygen mask and bag which he was fixing over Mellor’s face. “Well, Doc?”
“Asking for miracles again?”
“He isn’t dead—or he wasn’t.”
“No. I think we might pull him round. That’s not the miracle I was talking about.”
Rollison smiled. “I get you. Yes, I’m asking for miracles again.”
“Who is he?”
“You’d better not know.”
“Hmm. If we do save him, what do you want?”
“I’ll look after that if you’ll keep him here for the night and attend to him when he’s moved. I don’t want anyone to know that he’s alive. In fact—” He paused and shrugged his shoulders. “The less you know the better, Doc.”
“Is he wanted?”
“Yes but if they tried him, he would get off— or should. If I can stall for a bit while I look round I think I can save him from trial.”
“Hmm!” There was a ghost of a twinkle in the keen grey eyes. “You don’t change much. Did he do this gassing job himself?”
“I don’t know and you don’t know.”
