“What is it?” demanded Marion. “Please tell me.”
“Never mind.”
“Have you seen someone you know?”
“Yes. Please don’t talk.”
She fell into a reluctant silence. Janet took off her coat, the now shabby black sealskin which he had bought her years ago. Mark put it over the back of her chair, Janet was sideways towards Roger, not five yards away. She began to look round her, and he hated what he saw in her grey-green eyes. She was older—careworn and tense. Her hands were clenched in her lap. Her eyes sought out every man here, and Roger knew she was looking for him. She’d come here, hoping to see him, but the hope was already dying. She looked at him, but her gaze didn’t linger for a moment; she showed no interest in Marion.
Her eyes were so tired, her hair, dark yet usually so full of light, had lost its lustre. Mark Lessing gave her a cigarette, and she began to smoke nervously, agitatedly.
Mark sat back, looking about him with less obvious tension than Janet, but eagerly, searchingly. He was good- looking—in his way, handsome. His expression was austere, and those who did not know him well took him for a snob. His skin was rather sallow, his dark hair was wavy, and worn too long; it looked affected.
No two people knew Roger so well.
“Please tell me,” Marion whispered.
“A friend—of mine.”
“Oh. Kennedy——”
“Sent us here. This is a test of my nerves and goodwill. I’d rather not talk.”
“It’s your wife isn’t it?” Marion said in a flat voice.
Roger nodded.
“She’s——”
“Don’t.”
“She’s very sweet.”
“Let’s get out of here!”
“No! Kennedy’s watching.” Marion feared Kennedy so much.
Kennedy was grinning, as if to himself.
“Come on,” said Roger.
He led the way, and Kennedy still grinned. Mark glanced at him; was there a puzzled gleam in his eyes? Roger paid at the cash desk, and when he looked round, neither of the others was looking at him. He was sticky hot. He went into the lobby and saw a man sitting in an easy-chair, from which he could see into the ballroom. It was all Roger could do to look away from the watcher who was Detective Inspector Sloan of New Scotland Yard —and no man at the Yard knew Roger more intimately.
Sloan stared at him blankly.
* * * *
The film didn’t matter; all he saw was Janet. It was dark when they left. The male nurse was outside with the car. The journey to the nursing-home took an hour. He wanted to get to his room and be on his own, but Kennedy called him into the lounge. Marion made to follow.
“Not you,” Kennedy said. “Close the door and leave us alone.”
Marion obeyed.
Kennedy grinned. “Good, isn’t it, West?”
“Is it?”
“I’d call it good. In future, you’re to be known as Rayner—Charles Rayner. I’ve a passport, registration card, business, home, past history, and everything else you might need. Don’t forget, Mr. Rayner.”
“You forget my bad memory.”
“Your memory is all right, so far, but it won’t hurt for long. Marion’s a nice girl, and she’s yours for the asking. Oh—
“Well?”
“You might have the bright notion of sending word to your wife. Don’t. I sent her a message, saying she might see you in Worcester to-day. So she hasn’t given up hope. I knew she was on the way, when you left. Know how I knew?”
Roger didn’t answer.
Kennedy laughed.
“Your wife has a new maid. She’s spent so much time away on wild-goose chases after you that she had to have a reliable nurse for the boys. She’s got one. That nurse will be loyal to her for exactly as long as you’re loyal to me. Not a day longer. You’re no fool, West. If your wife got a message which convinced her you’re alive, she’d tell the nurse—or at least, give it away. Remember all this. The nurse is a nice girl, and fond of children. But she’ll do what I tell her. I don’t want to have to hurt the kids.”
* * * *
Roger left the house again a week after he had seen Janet.
