He was coming up fast now and she guessed he was moving in a wide sweep to head her off. Any moment she expected him to crash into view and sobbing for breath, she suddenly shied into a thick clump of bushes and stopped running.
She stood there, trembling and panting, her ears pricked and her eyes wide with fear.
Butch came on and then he too stopped because the sound of Susan’s headlong flight had ceased. She had stopped! He pulled up in a little clearing, motionless and menacing, his head on one side, his eyes intent.
Susan, not more than twelve yards away, knelt in the cover of the bushes and watched him. She began to pray under her breath feverishly and with childish panic. “Oh, God, please don’t let him find me. Please don’t let him find me,” she kept saying to herself.
Butch felt that whoever it was he was chasing could not be far away. The idea that this person might be watching him from some hiding place infuriated him.
“You better come out,” he shouted suddenly. “Do you hear? I can see you, so you better come out!”
Susan caught her breath in a gasp of relief. As he spoke he had turned his back on her. That could only mean he had not as yet guessed where she was.
Butch began to walk slowly forward. Susan watched him move away. Her heart began to beat more steadily. It was going to be all right. He had missed her and she would give him a few minutes’ start and then she would run back the way she had come. She saw Butch move further and further away until she lost sight of him. She listened until finally she could no longer hear his stealthy steps.
Softly she moved out of her shrub and walked into Rollo.
They stood staring at each other in the moonlight. Rollo was the first to recover. He reached out and took her arm. The power of his grip made her fall forward on her knees. She beat at his great fist with her free hand, but it was as if her arm was seized in a vice.
“So,” Rollo said, peering down at her. “Joe’s girlfriend. Yes? that’s who you are, aren’t you?”
Susan couldn’t speak. She just remained on her knees before him, feeling the blood drain out of her heart.
“Butch!” Rollo roared, “Butch! Come here. I’ve got her.”
In the distance she could hear Butch coming, crashing through the undergrowth with a recklessness that told her he was coming to kill her.
She bit Rollo’s hand. Her sharp teeth sank into the fleshy heel of the hand that held her. The taste of his blood made her feel sick. He was taken by surprise. He let go and started back with an oath.
Instantly she was on her feet and away. She heard his bellow of rage and she heard Butch coming swiftly. She put her head down and ran blindly. She suddenly stumbled and then under her feet she felt the hard gravel drive. She had left the wood behind and she was now in the open. She did not pause or attempt to get back into the undergrowth. She ran.
Footsteps pattered after her. Footsteps that seemed to be gaining on her. But she did not look back. She kept on, running like a deer, startled to find how swiftly she could move.
She was on the road now, and she was running towards the Green Man.
Ahead of her she saw someone walking towards her. Behind her, the footsteps suddenly died away. She glanced back. A dim shadowy figure was standing watching her. She slowed down to walk, as a lone policeman drew near. He glanced at her suspiciously and it was only with the greatest difficulty that she did not let him see her distress. She kept on walking and when she reached the Green Man, she began to run again.
chapter five
Jack Fresby regarded Susan dubiously and nibbled at the ends of his moustache. Something was up, he decided. She looked as if she’d been out all night and her nerves were obviously in a shocking state. He eyed her, noting that there was a streak of dirt under her chin and one of her stockings was laddered.
Shouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t been having a roll in the hay, he told himself. He looked at her again and grunted.
Well, perhaps not. She didn’t look the type.
He flattered himself that he could spot a wrong ‘un and there was nothing bad about this young woman. Anyway, she wasn’t at all the smart young woman who had called on him previously.
He scratched his head, humming under his breath. Frankly, he didn’t know what to do. Joe had said, “Every morning at half-past ten, I’ll ring you. If I don’t ring, you must go at once to 155A Fulham Road and give this box to Miss Hedder.”
It was now twenty to eleven and Joe hadn’t rung and this young woman, jumpy as a cat and suspiciously dishevelled, was asking for the box. Had anything happened to Joe? Fresby had a pretty good idea what was in the box. If he could be sure that Joe was out of the way, he could open the box and destroy its contents. But he would have to be careful. “I may be trying you out,” Joe had said. “If you don’t deliver the box, you know what I’ll do?” And he would too, the dirty little rat!
He decided to hedge. “What box?” he said, looking up at the ceiling.
“Anyone could come here asking for a box. Do you think I make ‘em! I don’t. I’ve other things to do.”
That ought to put her off, he thought, mildly pleased with himself. What’s she going to say to that?
Susan, very white and breathless, but coldly determined, leaned forward.
“You know what I mean! Joe told me things about you. He said if you tried to play tricks I was to go to the police and I will if you don’t give me the box.”
Another of them! Fresby glanced away so that she shouldn’t see the sudden murderous look that came into his eyes. He muttered under his breath, and then, “What things did he tell you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper.
“You know as well as I do,” Susan said, drawing back. “I’m not going to talk about it—it’s too unpleasant.”
Bluff, of course, but she guessed whatever he had done must have been pretty bad otherwise Joe would have told her about it. Anyway, she could see she had said the right thing.
Fresby’s face seemed to fall apart and he hurriedly looked away to hide the fear and dismay in his eyes.
“What’s happened to Joe?” he asked, after a long pause.
. Susan got to her feet. “If you won’t give me the box, I’m going,” she said firmly. “I didn’t come here to talk about Joe.”
“Here,” he said, “that’s a pawn ticket. I thought it’d be the safest place for it.
Herring and Hobbs in Greek Street. They’ll give you the box for ten shillings. I don’t see why I should pay for it.”
Susan snatched the ticket from him. “I’ll be back,” she said. “I want to talk to you again.”
Fresby mumbled to himself. “All right,” he said finally, “I can’t stop you. But don’t blame me if something happens to you. I don’t like girls like you. You’re a hard little piece.”
In less than an hour, Susan was sitting in the basement of a Lyons tea shop.
The steel box, a cup of coffee and a roll and butter stood on the marble-topped table before her. The table was in a corner and the basement was nearly empty. No one was paying her any attention.
She took from her bag the key that Joe had sent her and opened the box. The pile of treasury notes startled her.
Gathering them up hurriedly, she crammed them into her bag. There must be several hundreds there, she told herself, hoping that no one had seen what she was doing.
At the bottom of the box was an envelope, addressed to her in a fine spidery handwriting.
Joe had written: I’ll be dead when you read this. The man in the black shirt was here this afternoon, He told me to clear off or else I’d be sorry. He’s a killer. I know what he’ll do, so I’m taking precautions. As soon as they get rid of me, they’ll go after Mr. Kester. They want his money and unless someone stops them, they’ll get it. You must stop them.