“You bet I’m scared!”
“Prefer not to dance with me?”
“I’ll chance it,” she said. “You
She smiled tautly and swung her body to the rhythm. Rollison whisked her across the floor, slipped in between Mellor and Clarissa and the couple next to him. Clarissa was like a wooden block. Mellor held her tightly to him. More couples dropped out: the floor seemed empty now. Rollison scanned the doors and saw two men at each, powerful men, most of them obviously on guard. They were Mellor’s men. So he had taken over Old Nob’s. If the police came, if Ebbutt’s men tried a raid, they would be unable to take anyone by surprise.
Outside there were runners, ready to rush in with the news of police approach. Mellor would not have taken the slightest chance tonight.
Mellor was grinning.
His dark, pointed beard made his face seem pale. His eyes glittered and he looked as if he had been drinking heavily. He was well-dressed—better than any man here, after Rollison. Except for the beard, there was nothing unusual about him.
He said clearly:
“You’ll see who’s the boss around here, sweetie.”
Clarissa didn’t answer.
“Rollison thinks he’s clever but he’s going to find out his mistake.”
Rollison grinned across. “That’s what Waleski said.”
The smile faded. “You don’t have to remind me about Waleski. I was talking to Clarissa,” Mellor went on. “Keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you.”
They danced on. The blonde brushed her hair back from her forehead; she was sweating.
“I can’t stand this much longer,” she said. “You were crazy to come here.”
“You won’t have to stand it much longer.” They were near the band again and he winked at the band-leader and then stretched out his hand and touched Clarissa’s arm.
“Enjoying yourself?”
She didn’t answer.
“I told you—” began Mellor.
“Now, young Geoffrey, don’t get cross,” said Rollison. He released the blonde, whispered: “Go to the side,” and at the same moment Mellor dropped his arms from Clarissa. But he didn’t take up a fighting attitude: he just stood there, dumbstruck, as if the “Geoffrey” had drained away all his strength, as it had Clarissa’s.
* * *
Geoffrey Arden.
* * *
Rollison shouted: “Now!”
He grabbed Mellor round the waist and lifted him above his head as he snapped at Clarissa: “On the stage— now!”
He reached the stage a yard behind her and stepped over the low front as the bandsmen stopped playing and scrambled away. Men came rushing towards them, knives flashed, women screamed, the lights went out.
Rollison yelled at Clarissa: “The piano— hurry!”
She stumbled over a chair as torches shot out their bright beams. Mellor was kicking and struggling but still held above Rollison’s head. A glow of light came from the front of the piano, from the ground. Clarissa was outlined against it.
A knife flashed across the room, struck the front of the piano and set the wires tinkling and trembling.
Ebbutt stood at the bottom of a flight of wooden steps leading from the stage trapdoor to the cellar below. Rollison lowered Mellor and pitched him down.
A knife touched his shoulder, another the back of his hand.
Clarissa jumped down into the dimly lighted space below.
In the hall there was wild confusion, shouting, screaming, thudding footsteps. Men sprang on to the stage, cursing and roaring as Rollison jumped down. Ebbutt pulled the trap-door shut and rammed home the bolt. Feet and fists thudded on the door, the floor above their heads shook. A muffled roar rang out and a bullet smashed through the boards and sent a shower of cement chippings over Mellor, who lay helpless with Ebbutt’s knee on his chest.
All right, Bill—the passage,” Rollison said.
Rollison bent down and struck Mellor on the chin—a single blow enough to daze him. Ebbutt sprang towards a passage, where they were safe from shooting, pushing Clarissa in front of him. Rollison dragged Mellor. Several shots came, followed by more thumping.
Rollison brushed his hair back from his forehead.
“How long will it take the police to get here, Bill?”
“They won’t be long,” said Ebbutt, and added fervently “For once I’ll be glad to see the baskets. I—
