That was all Roger realized at first;—darkness and pain that was little more than discomfort at his chest, and a smarting soreness at his face. He didn’t know what had happened until he heard a sound—a moan. Then everything flashed back.
He was lying on the floor.
He couldn’t see where, but the moan was so near that he knew he was in the room.
There was a dull pain in his groin, and when he tried to get up, the pain became sharp and he collapsed, grunting. The moaning went on—a steady trickle of sound. He turned gently on to his right side, and began to get up. His head swam, but he managed to stand. He put out his right hand and touched the wall, swayed towards it and then leaned against it; his lungs still felt tight and locked.
Outside, the wind was howling.
He heard a different sound, neither the wind nor the woman—rather that of a car on the road. It faded. He bent down, and the blood rushed to his ears as he groped for his torch, found it, and switched it on. The light was so bright that it hurt his eyes. He didn’t switch off, but swivelled the light round slowly until at last it fell upon the woman.
She lay on a single bed, two yards away from him, one arm hanging over the side—a slim white hand. Her body was flat, and she lay on her back. Her clothes were dishevelled, her long legs, sheathed in nylon, were nice legs. As the light travelled up, he saw enough to judge that she was young and comely; not her face, the light didn’t touch her face yet—just her body. Her white blouse was open at the neck. The light fell upon the point of her chin, and it might be Janet’s. Then it travelled to her face and her head——
He dropped the torch.
It crashed on to the floor and went out, plunging the room into darkness.
When the worst of the shock was over and his mind began to work, one thought came absurdly into it: how could she be alive? How could anyone so injured be alive?
Then he heard the car again—much nearer. He didn’t at first realize what it was, but when the engine stopped and a door slammed, he knew that someone had arrived outside. He didn’t move, but stared towards the bed. He heard footsteps, and then a heavy banging on the front door.
Someone shouted; he didn’t catch the words.
He said aloud: “I’m a policeman. I’m used to seeing dead bodies.”
He wasn’t used to such a sight as that—or to the thing which brought the real horror—the possibility that the woman was his wife. Dark skirt, white blouse, long, slim legs, long, slim, slender arm and hand—he had seen the right hand, which had been ringless; Janet wore no rings on her right hand, but she often wore a dark skirt and a white blouse.
There were other sounds, now, of men walking in the house, then along the passage. He heard them talking, but still couldn’t catch the words. There were two or three men downstairs. They started to come up. He put out a foot, feeling for his torch. He didn’t touch it. Faint light appeared; the men were coming cautiously and carrying a torch.
He licked his lips and called: “Who’s there?”
The footsteps stopped on the instant, and the light went out.
He called: “It’s all right. Who’s there?”
He heard a shuffling sound, and then the creaking of boards—and suddenly a beam of light stabbed into the room and into his face. He shut his eyes against it, before he saw the two husky men and the third, behind them. Next moment, he felt powerful hands on his arm, and he was held tightly. When he opened his eyes, the torch light was shining towards the bed.
For a long time—minutes—no one spoke. Then one of the men said in a thick voice:
“You swine.”
Roger said: “Don’t be a fool. I——”
“Shut up!”
He didn’t want to talk, explanations could come later. And these were policemen; before the night was out, they would be turning somersaults in order to please him. Two of them were police-constables, anyhow, the third was in plain clothes. Roger didn’t recognize his lean face, and that wasn’t because of the poor light. He couldn’t be expected to know every plain-clothes man in the Surrey C.I.D. What he was expected to know didn’t matter. Fear had been driven away for a spell, but came back in waves of terror.
Was that
The man in plain cloths said: “Better have some more light. Light the lamp outside, Harris.”
“Yes, sir.” Harris, the policeman nearer the door, seemed reluctant to release Roger’s arm. When he did, the other man held on more tightly, and hurt; but that wasn’t important, all that mattered was finding out whether the woman was Janet.
The woman had stopped moaning.
The plain-clothes man approached the bed.
Roger said: “Look at her right shoulder.”
The man, his back turned on Roger, appeared to be shining his torch into her face.
“Look——” began Roger.
“You keep quiet,” said the big policeman, and dug his fingers more deeply into Roger’s arm.
“This will be the doctor,” said the plain-clothes man.
