Danger at my Heels by Gordon Meyrick

Author:Gordon Meyrick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2019-01-24T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER VIII

I went back up the passage, noiselessly and quickly. Unfortunately, the lay-out was strange to me, and it was impossible to see a thing in the dark. The police were knocking on the door as I reached a room at the end of the passage. My groping fingers found a kitchen table, and from there I worked towards the wall.

I brushed against a dresser, piled with crockery, and fell into a cold sweat—I had nearly knocked over a jug. There was a stove and a sink, and then hands touched a cloth and a chair.

I had to move with agonizing slowness. The place was full of things that, if upset, would make the dickens of a clatter. It was like a nightmare groping round that dark room—searching for a way out.

Behind me, the police had flashed on a torch. There came a tinkling sound as one of the glass panes of the door was smashed. In a few seconds a hand would come through this aperture and open the door.

Then, between the dresser and the sink, I discovered the back door. By some merciful Providence this opened noiselessly. Possibly Carr had oiled it for just such an emergency as this.

I found myself in a gravel patch surrounded by a low wall topped with trellis-work. There was no time to be lost, so I went over the wall—quickly. Here was another gravel patch, not unlike the one I had left. A cat sped away as I made for the next partitioning wall, but there was no sign of a human being, nor any noise from the houses. My idea being to get as far away from the police as possible, I did not trouble about my direction. I went across more backyards before thinking about trying to get out. Then, as I was crossing yet another tiny garden, something brought me up with a start. It was a man saying, “Did you want any place in particular, cock?”

I turned, a nasty feeling in my stomach, and tried to bluff it out.

“Sorry to come in like this,” I said, “but I’ve been locked out of my place. I was trying to get in the back.”

“Where are you from? Next door?”

“That’s right.”

“Number one?”

“Yes.”

He came out from the shadows, taking a pipe from his mouth. “That’s interesting, cock; number one’s the other part of the street!”

I braced myself, ready to fight, wondering whether I could land a strong enough punch to knock him cold. Apparently unconcerned about my lie, he tapped his pipe against the side of his shoe.

“Are you running away from someone?”

“Good Lord, no!”

My tone was a mixture of carelessness and surprise. In reply, he turned towards the back door.

“In that case, you’d better hide in here.”

There was nothing much one could say to that.

I followed him into the kitchen, which was a mass of unwashed crockery and empty tins. Clearly my host was a bachelor. We went into a sitting-room strewn with newspapers and copies of The Statesman and Tribune.

My

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