A Gun for Sale

       Raven could hear every word. He couldn't imagine what they were after. He knew he'd left no clues; he wasn't a man who imagined things; he knew. He carried the picture of that room and flat in his brain as clearly as if he had the photographs. They had nothing against him. It had been against orders to keep the automatic, but he could feel it now safe under his armpit. Besides, if they had picked up any clue they'd have stopped him at Dover. He listened to the voices with a dull anger; he wanted his dinner; he hadn't had a square meal for twenty-four hours, and now with two hundred pounds in his pocket he could buy anything, anything.

       'I can believe it,' the old man said. 'Why, tonight he even made fun of my poor wife's crib.'

       'A bloody bully,' the girl said. 'I shan't be sorry when you've locked him up.'

       He told himself with surprise: they hate me.

       She said, 'He's ugly through and through. That lip of his. It gives you the creeps.'

       'An ugly customer all right.'

       'I wouldn't have him in the house,' the old man said. 'But he pays. You can't turn away someone who pays. Not in these days.'

       'Has he friends?'

       'You make me laugh,' Alice said. 'Him friends. What would he do with friends?'

       He began to laugh quietly to himself on the floor of the little dark box: that's me they're talking about, me: staring up at the pane of glass with his hand on his automatic.

       'You seem kind of bitter? What's he been doing to you? He was going to give you a dress, wasn't he?'

       'Just his dirty joke.'

       'You were going to take it, though.'

       'You bet I wasn't. Do you think I'd take a present from him? I was going to sell it back to them and show him the money, and wasn't I going to laugh?'

       He thought again with bitter interest: they hate me. If they open this door, I'll shoot the lot.

       'I'd like to take a swipe at that lip of his. I'd laugh. I'd say I'd laugh.'

       'I'll put a man,' the strange voice said, 'across the road. Tip him the wink if our man comes in.' The café door closed.

       'Oh,' the old man said,' I wish my wife was here. She would not miss this for ten shillings.'

       'I'll give her a ring,' Alice said. 'She'll be chatting at Mason's. She can come right over and bring Mrs Mason too.

       Let 'em all join in the fun. It was only a week ago Mrs Mason said she didn't want to see his ugly face in her shop again.'

       'Yes, be a good girl, Alice. Give her a ring.'

       Raven reached up his hand and took the bulb out of the fitment; he stood up and flattened himself against the wall of the box. Alice opened the door and shut herself in with him. He put his hand over her mouth before she had time to cry. He said, 'Don't you put the pennies in the box. I'll shoot if you do. I'll shoot if you call out. Do what I say.' He whispered in her ear. They were as close together as if they were in a single bed. He could feel her crooked shoulder pressed against his chest. He said, 'Lift the receiver. Pretend you're talking to the old woman. Go on. I don't care a damn if I shoot you. Say, hello, Frau Groener.'

       'Hello, Frau Groener.'

       'Spill the whole story.'

       'They are after Raven.'

       'Why?'

       'That five-pound note. They were waiting at the shop.'

       'What do you mean?'

       'They'd got its number. It was stolen.'

       He'd been double-crossed. His mind worked with mechanical accuracy like a ready-reckoner. You only had to supply it with the figures and it gave you the answer. He was possessed by a deep sullen rage. If Mr Cholmondeley had been in the box with him, he would have shot him: he wouldn't have cared a damn.

       'Stolen from where?'

       'You ought to know that.'

       'Don't give me any lip. Where from?'

       He didn't even know who Cholmondeley's employers were. It was obvious what had happened: they hadn't trusted him. They had arranged this so that he might be put away. A newsboy went by outside calling, 'Ultimatum. Ultimatum.' His mind registered the fact, but no more: it seemed to have nothing to do with him. He repeated. 'Where from?'

       'I don't know. I don't remember.'

       With the automatic stuck against her back he even tried to plead with her. 'Remember, can't you? It's important. I didn't do it.'

       'I bet you didn't,' she said bitterly into the unconnected 'phone.

       'Give me a break. All I want you to do is remember.'

       She said, 'On your life I won't.'

       'I gave you that dress, didn't I?'

       'You didn't. You tried to plant your money, that's all. You didn't know they'd circulated the numbers to every shop in town. We've even got them in the café.'

       'If I'd done it, why should I want to know where they came from?'

       'It'll be a bigger laugh than ever if you get jugged for something you didn't do.'

       'Alice,' the old man called from the café, 'is she coming?'

       'I'll give you ten pounds.'

       'Phoney notes. No thank you, Mr Generosity.'

       'Alice,' the old man called again; they could hear him coming along the passage.

       'Justice,' he said bitterly, jabbing her between the ribs with the automatic.

       'You don't need to talk about justice,' she said. 'Driving me like I was in prison. Hitting me when you feel like it. Spilling ash all over the floor. I've got enough to do with your slops. Milk in the soap-dish. Don't talk about justice.'

       Pressed against him in the tiny dark box she suddenly came alive to him. He was so astonished that he forgot the old man till he had the door of the box open. He whispered passionately out of the dark, 'Don't say a word or I'll plug you.' He had them both out of the box in front of him. He said, 'Understand this. They aren't going to get me. I'm not going to prison. I don't care a damn if I plug one of you. I don't care if I hang. My father hanged... what's good enough for him... Get along in front of me up to my room. There's hell coming to somebody for this.'

       When he had them there he locked the door. A customer was ringing the café bell over and over again. He turned on them. 'I've got a good mind to plug you. Telling them about my hare-lip. Why can't you play fair?' He went to the window; he knew there was an easy way down—that was why he had chosen the room. The kitten caught his eye, prowling like a toy tiger in a cage up and down the edge of the chest of drawers, afraid to jump. He lifted her up and threw her on his bed; she tried to bite his finger as she went; then he got through on to the leads. The clouds were massing up across the moon, and the earth seemed to move with them, an icy barren globe, through the vast darkness.

4

Anne Crowder walked up and down the small room in her heavy tweed coat; she didn't want to waste a shilling on the gas meter, because she wouldn't get her shilling's worth before morning. She told herself, I'm lucky to have got that job. I'm glad to be going off to work again, but she wasn't convinced. It was eight now; they would have four hours together till midnight. She would have to deceive him and tell him she was catching the nine o'clock, not the five o'clock train, or he would be sending her back to bed early. He was like that. No romance. She smiled with tenderness and blew on her fingers.

       The telephone at the bottom of the house was ringing. She thought it was the doorbell and ran to the mirror in the wardrobe. There wasn't enough light from the dull globe to tell her if her make-up would stand the brilliance of the Astoria Dance Hall. She began making up all over again; if she was pale he would take her home early.