Something very heavy was passing along the road. There was so much noise that it was useless to speak until it had gone by. As the rumbling died away, Jacqueline laughed and nodded.
“That is when I shall shoot you, my dear Ione-when something like that is passing. And I shall go away and tell Mrs. Robinson how frightened I am about lifts-I walked down the stairs, and there was such a very odd-looking man coming up-I was quite glad when I got past him.”
Ione wasn’t sure-she couldn’t be sure-but she had an odd sense of not being alone any more. She couldn’t say that she had heard a sound from the hall-no one could have heard anything while that great lorry went by. But Jim could have opened the outer door on its safety catch and walked in. He could be standing behind her now in the little hall with no more than the slant of the door between them. It had been half open when she came into the flat, but she had begun to close it before she recognized Jacqueline Delauny. Nobody in the hall could now be seen from where Jacqueline stood.
Into these thoughts there thrust with harsh insistence,
“What have you done with those torn-out leaves?”
Ione allowed her voice to waver.
“Jacqueline, I really can’t go on standing with my hands above my head like this. If you want me to answer your questions you’ll just have to let me sit down.”
There was a small gimcrack chair with a brocade seat about a yard away on the left. Jacqueline considered it. Nothing within throwing distance. She nodded briefly.
“You can sit on that chair-until I’ve finished with you. Keep your hands in your lap, and don’t try anything on, or you’ll be dead before you know what is happening!”
It was a relief to sit down, and she was clear of the door. She didn’t quite know why, but that seemed important. If Jim was there in the hall… She began to wonder why she had thought that he might be there. If he was, then it could be very important indeed. They mustn’t be in the same line of fire. Yes, that was the thing that was eluding her. She must hold on to it. Jacqueline must not be able to hold them both up at once. If she showed any sign of firing at one, the other must be able to rush her. That was it-keep taut, be ready to spring and spoil the aim. And meanwhile time-time-time-
If she could be sure about Jim.
She wasn’t sure. When she had rung him up from the station there had been a kind of leaping gladness in his “Ione!” She had kept her own voice quiet.
“I’m in a call-box on my way to Louisa Blunt’s flat. She’s really gone at last, and I’ve got to measure things up. I suppose you couldn’t-”
“But of course I could! Just give me the address, and I’ll be right along!”
That was the way it had gone. And if “right along” meant what it sounded like, he could have been here by now. But was that the reason why she had thought there was someone in the hall? He could have been there. It mattered so much-but was he?-
It was no more than the faintest of faint hopes.
Out in the hall Jim Severn was standing within touching distance of the partly open sitting-room door. He had walked in whilst the heavy lorry was passing, checked at the sudden rush of noise, and as it died down, heard Jacqueline Delauny laugh and say, “That is when I shall shoot you, my dear Ione-when something like that is passing.” The words were quite incredible, but they froze him where he stood. He listened to Ione saying that she could not go on standing with her hands above her head. He listened to Jacqueline telling her that she might sit. As she moved to do so, he was aware that she was no longer in a direct line between him and Jacqueline. If he couldn’t think of anything better before another of those heavy lorries came by, he could try what a sudden rush would do. The chances were that Jacqueline would swing round, and that meant she would swing away from Ione.
She might not-she might fire first-the revolver might just go off-he might have to take that risk. An agony like cramp took hold upon his mind. He would have to take a chance, and the thing with which he would have to take that chance was Ione’s life.
In this moment, and once and for all, he knew just what it meant to him. He faced it as people do face unescapable danger, and with that the thing that was like cramp let go. He heard the women’s voices and what they said. He would be able to repeat what they said. But it did not take up all his mind. Thoughts and plans came and went there. He thought about standing at the front door and ringing the bell. But Jacqueline had gone too far. She had said what could never be taken back. There would be no way out for her except by shooting, and she would shoot Ione first. No, his original idea of a desperate rush was better than that. Better still, something that could be thrown.
He looked about him. An umbrella-stand-an oak chest-a thin salver of pseudo-oriental brass… With infinite caution he began to move in the direction of the bedroom.
Inside the sitting-room Ione sat with her hands in her lap and thought about time-how it galloped-how it lagged-
Jacqueline’s voice broke in.
“Where are those papers? Have you got them pushed down inside your things? Pull open your shirt and let me see!”
Ione undid the soft white bow at her neck and pulled the shirt away on either side. Even from across the room it was obvious that no pages from a schoolgirl’s exercise-book were concealed there.
Jacqueline spoke angrily.
“Then where are they?”
Ione was doing up her shirt, tying the bow again.
“They’re not here.”
“What have you done with them?”
“They are in a safe place. You won’t really expect me to tell you where, will you? But I can tell you what is in them if you like.”
Jacqueline stamped her foot.
“You read them?”
“Oh, yes.”
“In the taxi-in the train? There wasn’t time before you left the house! What did you do with them?”
Ione kept her voice level.
“Don’t you want to know what Margot said?”
The foot was stamped again.
“What did she say?”
“That you told her Geoffrey said she could have one of the old ropes from the potting-shed. I don’t wonder you were anxious to find those torn-out pages.”
“Where are they?” The words came quick and panting.
“I told you-in a safe place. If you shoot me, the police will have them.”
Jacqueline came a step nearer-a step-and another step. Under the grey wig and old-fashioned bonnet her eyes flared. Then with an unbelievable effort she controlled herself and took two slow paces back again. Her mind worked on the things which Ione could have done with those pages. Cloakroom at Wraydon-at the terminus-she could have made them up in a packet. Or she could have bought an envelope and posted them-to herself-to Geoffrey. If it was the cloakroom, there would be a ticket-it would be in her bag-she could use it when Ione was dead. She said,
“The cloakroom-you put them in the cloakroom!”
“Oh, no.”
“Then you posted them! You wouldn’t let a weapon like that right out of your hand, would you? You posted them to yourself! Or to Geoffrey! Yes, to Geoffrey, so that you could make him send me away! Very clever, but not quite clever enough, because I shall see to it that the letter never reaches him! And even if it did-even if it did-I shall have done too much for him-a great, great deal too much! He can never do without me now!”