* * *
He didn’t know what time it was when the tumbler crashed to the floor but it woke him out of a deep sleep. He sprang up—and the glass of the window fell in. He saw the shadowy figures of two men outside.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Snub muttered: “Here it comes!”
He was conscious of three things at the same time. Mellor had woken up at the crash and was leaning on his elbow, staring towards the window; a man, head protected by his arm, was climbing in; and the dim electric light was just good enough for Snub to see the second man, outside the window, threatening him with a gun.
Snub said: “Good evening,” squirmed round and grabbed a pillow and flung it at the first man who fell back outside, arms waving; and who caught his wrist on a jagged piece of glass. Snub rolled off the bed and, as he touched the floor, heard a soft, coughing sound, as ominous as the report of a shot; it was either from an air- pistol which carried a lethal slug or a silenced automatic; and silencers weren’t as good as all that.
He shouted:
For a moment he knelt behind the bed, safe from a second shot—but he heard the “cough” again, swung his head round and saw Mellor clutch his shoulder. Mellor’s unshaven face and wild eyes were livid with fear. He was in line with the window, an easy target.
Snub yelled: “
He felt a sharp pain at the top of his left arm but it didn’t stop him. He grabbed the side of Mellor’s bed and tipped it up. Mellor slid to the floor; blankets and sheets toppled on to him, the bedside table crashed.
A door banged.
Snub ducked; another slug went over his head. He made for the door at a crouching sprint, changed his mind and his direction and joined Mellor behind the bed. As he flung himself on the floor he saw the first man climbing in again; blood showed crimson on the man’s wrist. Mrs Willerby called out: “Be careful!” The door began to open.
“Careful, Doc!” called Snub. “They’re armed. Haven’t got a shotgun handy, have you?”
Mellor was lying in a huddled heap, not moving but gasping for breath and the top of his head stuck out from the bedclothes. The wounded assailant was now in the room. He wasn’t badly hurt for, in his injured hand, he held a knife as if he meant business.
The other man began to climb in.
The door opened wide, the doctor’s arm appeared as he tossed something into the room. It struck the first attacker on the chest and broke. Snub, peering above the upturned bed, saw a cloud of vapour billow up and heard the door slam. Next moment the first assailant began to splutter and cough, the second gave an explosive sneeze—and gas bit sharply at Snub’s eyes and mouth, a gas with a powerful smell: ammonia.
Snub stood up, holding his breath. The two men were beating the air, the knife curving wild arcs through the vapour cloud.
Snub pulled the bed-clothes off Mellor, bent down and lifted him, grunting. His eyes began to water and he wanted to cough. Holding his breath, he staggered to the door as it opened wide. He didn’t see Willerby but heard his calm voice.
“That’s right—this way.”
He felt a steady hand on his shoulder, banged against the open door, then reached the passage. Glass crashed at the window: one of the men was climbing out. Snub wanted to get at them both but had to look after Mellor and his eyes were blinded with tears. He saw a pale shape—Mrs Willerby, in a filmy nightdress—and heard her call urgently:
“Darling, be careful!”
“He’s-all-right,” gasped Snub. “Where can—”
“This way.” Snub couldn’t see the woman’s expression but felt her clutch at his arm. He followed her blindly and knocked against another door. Tut him on the floor,” said Mrs Willerby and there was no hint of alarm in her voice now./
More glass smashed in the other room. There’d be no hope of catching the attackers.
Snub put Mellor down gently and reeled away.
“Just keep your eyes closed; you’ll feel better in a minute,” said Mrs Willerby and hurried out.
* * *
Mellor, thanks to the muffling bedclothes, was hardly affected by the ammonia gas and a flesh wound in his shoulder was much less serious than the shock symptoms.
Snub telephoned the Gresham Terrace flat, bathed his sore eyes, then his own wound; it was no more than a scratch.
* * *
“I was afraid of it but didn’t really expect it,” Rollison said. “Sorry, Doc. And thanks. Did you recognise either of the beggars?”
Willerby said: “No.”
“I think I’d know ‘em if I saw them again,” said Snub. “The lamp gave enough light for that.”
“It might help.” Rollison, looking as wide awake as if it were three o’clock in the afternoon and not the early
