“You—you know,” gasped Blane.
“Just a little guess-work, Harold,” said Rollison, and turned to Barbara. “Ever seen this creature before?”
“I—no, no. He wasn’t one of the gas-men.”
“I shouldn’t imagine he’s a gas-man by profession,” murmured Rollison. The question is whether he’s one of the same party or whether there are two parties with the same idea.”
He moved again, and caught the burglar’s chin between the fork of his finger and thumb and banged his head against the wall. The movement startled Barbara almost as much as the victim, it was so swift and violent. And it was followed by a harsh-voiced:
“Are you one of the gas-men’s friends?”
“Yes!” gasped the burglar.
“That looks like the set-up, Mrs. Allen,” Rollison said. “Your husband’s supposed to have some diamonds, and some bad men want them. Simple greed, you see. Have you——”
“I’ve never seen any diamonds!” exclaimed Barbara. “Bob can’t have them!”
“They aren’t on Allen,” Blane said. They weren’t found here this afternoon, so they must——”
Two things are possible,” interrupted Rollison judicially. “Either Allen has hidden them in a safe place, or he never had them.”
“He had them all right!”
“As you’re so sure, where did he get them from?”
“I—I don’t know,” muttered Blane. He drew back, as if frightened of being hurt again. “I don’t know! I was told——”
“Who told you?”
“The Boss!”
“So the Boss told you,” said Rollison, shaking his head. “When in doubt, invent an all-powerful Boss and blame everything on to him, as with Cabinet Ministers. Who told you?”
“It’s true!” gasped Blane. “I’ve told you the truth, the Boss——”
“Who is this gentleman?”
“I don’t know!” Blane’s voice grew hoarse as Rollison took a step towards him, and raised the hair-brush.
“Well, well, isn’t that a remarkable thing,” marvelled Rollison. The Boss gives you orders and sends you out with a knife, and knows everything about Bob Allen and the mysterious diamonds, but you don’t even know the Boss’s name.”
He struck out with the brush.
Blane kicked at his groin, letting fly with all his strength, but Rollison moved again with bewildering speed, grabbed Blane’s ankle and thrust his leg aside. Blane crashed—the loudest crash of all.
“You hurt yourself that time,” said Rollison mildly. “Whichever way you move you’re bound to get hurt—one way more badly than another. Now, Harold!”
He yanked the man to his feet, pushed him into an easy chair, and demanded with deceptive gentleness:
“Who sent you here?”
Blane didn’t answer, but was desperately frightened now. His lips twitched, he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
Barbara broke across his words with a startled cry, Blane glanced towards the door. Rollison backed swiftly away—and saw another man standing on the threshold, gripping a walking stick in his right hand.
CHAPTER FIVE
CURIOUS BEHAVIOUR
“BOB!” cried Barbara, and jumped from the bed, sending Blane’s possessions flying about the floor. “Bob !”
There was anguish in her cry.
It was understandable, Allen’s face was bruised and scratched, there was an ugly cut on his forehead, and his clothes were torn. Although his eyes were glittering and he held the walking-stick as if it were a weapon, his mouth was wide open, and he breathed laboriously; he must have held his breath to keep silent while coming across the hall.
“Bob!”
“Keep away!” gasped Allen. “Don’t——”
Blane jumped out of his chair.
“Get me out of here!” he rasped. “If you don’t, you know what’s coming to you. Get me out!”
“We’ve different ideas about that,” said Rollison. “You stay where you are. Allen, I’m——”
“I don’t give a hoot in hell what you are,” growled Allen, motioning to Blane. “Get out—I’m not stopping you.”
“Now, Allen!” began Rollison.
“Bob—” Barbara’s voice broke.
Allen glared at his wife and advanced a step into the room, raising the stick threateningly. Blane went towards the door, watching Rollison out of the corner of his eyes. Suddenly he made a dive—for the knife, which was still on the bed. Rollison shot out a hand and pushed him away, then tossed the sheet over the knife.
Blane hesitated, and Allen shouted:
“Get out, you fool!”
“Allen——” began Rollison.
“Shut your mouth !” roared Allen, and when Rollison grabbed at Blane, he struck out with the stick. The carved handle caught Rollison on the shoulder. Barbara cried: “Bob, don’t!” but Allen pushed Rollison aside. Blane paused on the threshold, then turned and disappeared.
The front door slammed.
“Oh, you’re mad!” gasped Barbara. “Bob, you’re crazy!”
Allen tossed the stick on to the bed, and limped across to the chair. He sank into it. Perspiration beaded his forehead and his eyes looked glassy. The blood on his face had coagulated and was a dark-brown colour except in one place, where it still welled up a bright crimson. He leaned back, resting his head on the top of the chair, but didn’t close his eyes.
He looked at Rollison.
“Bob——” began Barbara.
“For pity’s sake, shut up!” muttered Allen. He winced, and pressed a hand against his stomach. He couldn’t breathe through his nose. As he looked at Rollison, he seemed to sag, and couldn’t meet that unnerving gaze. There was a moment of almost unbearable tension—then Rollison broke it
“Mrs. Allen, get a bowl of water and a towel.”
“But——”
“Please hurry,” said Rollison.
Barbara shot a glance at her husband, who did not look at her, then went out. Rollison stood a few feet in front of Allen, who looked towards the ceiling, wincing every now and again. Rollison kept silent until Allen cried:
“Who the devil are you?”
“A friend of Snub Higginbottom,” said Rollison promptly.
“Snub’s? Did she—send for you?” “For him, but he’s away. She’s had a rough time.”
“She’s had a rough time,” gasped Allen. It was nearly a sneer. “What do you think I’ve had?”
Rollison said slowly:
“You’ve had a beating-up, and from what I can see of things, you asked for it, and you’ve just asked for another.”
Allen said: “Okay, give me one. I can’t stop you.”
Defiance and challenge showed in his eyes, in spite of his plight; no one could question his courage. But Rollison’s manner changed, the pity faded, contempt replaced it
They heard water running in the bath-room; something clattered in the bath, loud enough to make Allen jump. Barbara had dropped the bowl.
“Well?” muttered Allen. “Get your damned questions out.”
“When you let Blane go, you invited another beating-up because he and his friends will come after you again,” said Rollison. “The police——”
“Keep your damned nose out of my business !” shouted Allen. “If you go to the police——”
“It might save your wife’s life,” said Rollison.
That broke Allen’s defiance and made him silent.
“It might even save yours,” went on Rollison, “but I don’t think that matters so much. At this rate, you’ll continue to make a little hell on earth both for her and for yourself. “Why were you beaten up to-night?”