Fool Errant (11 page)

“Where is she? Quick!”

He was remembering that the policeman had passed him just as he reached the house.

“In there.” She pointed across the landing.

“Is she drugged? What have you given her? I heard—”

She wrenched her arm away sobbing.

“I couldn't do it. She looked like Min. He said, ‘Put it in her coffee.' And Cissie went out, and I gave her the coffee—but I threw the stuff away—I thought I'd give her a chance—Min didn't have any chance.”

Afterwards he wondered who Min might have been. He had no time to wonder now; whilst she was gasping out her broken sentences he was across the landing trying the other door. It was locked.

“Who's got the key?”

“I've got it—but—”

“Give it to me!” He ran back and took her by the arm again. “Quick! Give it to me! Is there a back way out?”

“Yes—but they'll kill me.”

“Come too!”

He had the key and was half across the landing, when they both heard the front door open; there was a sound of feet, a sound of voices.

“It's too late.” It was the most agonized thread of a whisper.

Hugo turned the key in the door, and as it turned, he felt the woman snatch at it.

“He'll kill me!”

The steps and the voices were coming up. There was a flashing light below. Hugo wrenched open the door and stumbled into utter darkness; for a moment he lost his balance. And in that moment the door was shut and locked behind him.

CHAPTER XVI

The jerk with which he recovered his balance and the click of the turning key came together. As he stared into the blackness, he heard a sobbing breath from the other side of the locked door and the soft patter of the woman's hurrying feet; he heard her door shut, away across the landing.

He called into the darkness.

“Loveday! Loveday! Loveday!” And then, on the same low urgent note, “Loveday, it's Hugo Ross. Are you there?”

Ahead of him a door was pulled open.

“Loveday, are you there? It's Hugo Ross.”

The door opened wide. The room was dark, but the windows showed the sky—a black sky, but not so black as the blackness of the house—and through the open window half a gale blew in, not cold, but wet with the breath of rain.

With the opening of the door and the blowing of the wind there came Loveday's voice—the voice that he remembered in the lane:

“I'm frightened. Where are you? I'm frightened.”

He said, “Loveday!” and she ran to him with a quick, light rush as if the wind was blowing her. He felt her touch him, and it was like being caught in a soft flurry of snow; her touch was so light and so cold. He put his arm about her, ran to the inner room, and shut the door upon them both.

“They're coming. Is there anything we can jam up against the door?”

“The chest of drawers.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

He barked his shins against it. They pushed and pulled. It was heavy. They got it to the door.

“I'm frightened!” said Loveday panting. “What is it? Who's coming? Cissie—”

He cut her short.

“The window! What's outside?”

“A bit of roof. We can't—”

“We
must
.” There was an urgency beyond his safety or hers—the bigger game—the game he had set himself to play—the game that would be lost if he were found here.

Hugo was at the window, leaning out, staring, straining to see. After the darkness of the house the night outside seemed clear; it was a black night, but the air was clear instead of dense; things could be seen, if only as strange, formless shadows.

The window was in the side of the house. Hugo looked down on the roofs of other houses a story lower. If one hung by one's hands, there would be a six-foot drop. Too much for Loveday. But he could let her down. He called her.

“Quick! I must let you down.” And then as he still stared over the drop, he discovered that it was not sheer. The wall went down four feet or so, and then a piece of roof slanted to meet the roof of the lower house.

Loveday was climbing out on to the sill, and as she turned to face him and he caught her wrists, they both heard a woman's scream. It came through the two closed doors, and terror came with it. She gasped and swung down from the sill. Hugo leaned over, taking her weight until her feet were on the slanting roof and he caught a whispered “All right.” He let go with a horrible feeling at his heart.

Loveday slid into the gutter between the houses, and as he climbed through the window he heard the outer door open. He let himself down and dropped slithering on wet slate that slipped away from his clutching fingers. He went down four or five feet and fetched up sprawling in the gutter. His hands were out in front of him. He lay all along and looked down—a most horrible, long way down. His hands were over the edge, his head was over the edge. He looked down, and saw the street below him. He could see two faint lamps a long way apart, and, immediately beneath him, the lights of a taxi. He could hear the ticking of the engine. He must have been dizzy, because a shadow seemed to pass when he heard the ticking and saw the lights. And immediately Loveday touched him and he drew back his hands and scrambled up. She pressed against him and said “Hugo!” and laughed, the least little ghost of a laugh. And then, through the open window, there came a banging sound and the grate of the heavy chest of drawers which they had rammed against the door. He felt her shiver. And then they were climbing a low parapet on to the roof of the next house.

There were four of these lower houses, each divided from the next by a parapet. Looking back over his shoulder, Hugo could see the house they had left rising in a black mass. Voices came from it, and a light flashed at the window. In front of them there was a narrow gangway from which the roof rose slanting on either side. These four houses had been built with lofts to front and rear. The gangway ran between the lofts. Faint oblongs of windows showed here and there against the slate, and the chimneys stuck up like masts.

He held Loveday, and they ran. The loft windows were all empty, all dark. They climbed three more parapets, and then the low roofs ended. The next house was tall; it rose in their path and blocked the way. They stopped running, holding one another and listening. How far would they be followed? Would they be followed at all? Would the men who were following them risk showing a light? And without a light how far would they come?

Someone slipped on the next roof—slipped and swore. Loveday pressed close to Hugo in the dark. The side of the house rose up before them with its slant of slated roof, slippery and unclimbable; behind them, footsteps and gruff murmuring voices, but, thank Heaven, no light. And then all of a sudden there was a light; not where the voices and the footsteps were, but overhead in a window like the window out of which they had climbed. Someone had lighted the gas in the room just above them, and through the open window came the sound of a man singing in a lusty bass:

“The animals went in two by two.

Hurrah! Hurrah!”

He paused, struck a match and sucked at a pipe, puffed, and went on:

“The animals went in two by two,

The elephant and the kangaroo.

They
all
—
went
—
into
the ark

For
to get out of the
rain
.”

Hugo felt Loveday tremble. She stood close to him, very close, and they heard the silence. Everything seemed to be holding its breath out here. Their roof was still, and the next roof was still, and all the roofs beyond were still, with the stillness of suspense; but overhead in the lighted room there were all manner of cheerful sounds—pleasant everyday sounds of a man pushing the fire with his foot, moving a chair, whistling, and presently breaking again into song:

“The animals went in three by three,

Hurrah! Hurrah!

The animals went in three by three,

Hurrah! Hurrah!

The animals went in three by three,

The hippopotamus and the flea.

They
all
—
went
—
into
the ark

For
to get out of the
rain
.”

Loveday put her lips so close to Hugo's ear that the soft breath tickled him. The soft breath said, “I don't sing it to that tune—I sing ‘One more river to cross' for the chorus.”

Hugo slipped his hand up and covered the whispering lips. He was afraid to say “Hush” because of the silence. They stood very close together. He felt her lips move against the palm of his hand. And then the silence broke. From the next roof came the sound of feet moving, slipping, going away.

Hugo watched the other window, the window of No. 50. It was dark. He watched it until a light sprang up in the room behind it. Figures moved to and fro against the light; one of them was a woman. He wondered if Cissie had come back—he thought it was Cissie. Then someone came to the window and shut it, and a hand pulled down the blind. All this time they had stood there motionless and tense; now all of a sudden Hugo became aware of how strange it was to be standing there in the dark, so close to Loveday, with her lips against his hand. His palm burned.

He stepped back, and he heard the little tiny ghost of a laugh and felt Loveday's hand on his arm.

“Where are you? Don't go away.”

“Ssh!”

“I am—Hugo, I am. Don't go away and I'll whisper.” Her lips were at his ear again. “No one can possibly hear me, and I'm bursting to know what it's all about. I don't know anything. I've been frightfully good. Why are we running away?”

“Ssh!” said Hugo again.

“They've gone away.”

“I'm not sure. They'd want us to think so.”

“D'you mean that someone's
lurking?
How
horrid!
”

“Yes.”

“Who are they?”

“I don't know. They meant to carry you off—they had a taxi.”

She pressed up against him.

“Why?”

“I don't know. Look here, Loveday, we've got to try and get out of this.”

The little laugh tickled his ear.

“How?”

“I don't know.”

“We really want a parachute, or an aeroplane, or—Hugo”—she pincned him—“we might get through one of those little windows, the funny little slopy ones in the roof—we might do that.”

“They'll be shut.”

“One of them is nearly always open—I see it from my window. It's open first thing in the morning, and it's open at sunset, and I believe it stays open all night except when there's a frost. They keep plaints there, and they put them out on the roof when it rains—I've often watched them.”

“Which roof is it?”

“The next, I think.” She tugged at his arm. “Do come and see.”

It would not be very dangerous to venture on to the next roof. They climbed over the parapet, and then stood waiting, listening in a breathless hush for a sound that did not come. There was no sound.

They crept between the sloping roofs to where one of the oblongs of window showed against the slate. It caught a faint reflection and looked pale. It looked different from the other windows; it looked pale and it looked different because it was propped open a couple of inches, catching some faint diffusion of light.

Hugo knelt, slipped his hand through the gap, found and loosened the metal stay, and lifted the window. There was a space big enough to climb through; but so dark—if you stepped on pots, they would make all the noise in the world and bring an enraged gardener-householder on the scene with the police to his aid. Beastly things pots!

He let himself down very gingerly indeed. Down was only about three feet, and there were no pots where his feet landed He felt with his hands, found the space beneath the window clear, and whispered to Loveday. She slid down, gave a little gasp of surprise when she found the floor so near. And then on the top of that sound there was another. Someone moved on the roof over there by the parapet. Someone—

Hugo pulled the window down noiselessly, using his own hand as a pad. He slipped his fingers out, found the bolt, and slid it home. They crouched below the window and heard a slow, slow foot go by. Loveday pinched him so hard that he very nearly cried out.

The step went by, and suddenly from beneath them there arose a sound of splashing. They crouched motionless. The splashing went on. Hugo strained to listen for the step, and after a long, slow time it came again and passed them by and was gone. From the bathroom below came the sound of the bath running out; someone moved to and fro; the water gurgled noisily. Presently it stopped gurgling. The door shut with a bang.

CHAPTER XVII

Loveday drew a long breath. Then she shook the arm that she had pinched.

“
Now
we can talk! I'm bursting—simply
bursting
.”

Hugo was feeling his way. Twice his hand touched pots—finally a packing-case. He wanted to get away from the sky-light, and he too wanted to talk. He felt as if he had come a long way and through strange places to talk to Loveday.

He said, “Here”; and she fetched up beside him with a whispered “Now—Hugo, tell me—quick—why are we running away?”

“I don't quite know. I had to get you away. Who's the woman in the room opposite yours?”

“She's a friend of Cissie's. I don't like her husband very much.”

“She had been told to drug you.”

“Oh!” Loveday gave a gasp and came closer. “How horrid! She brought me some coffee—I thought she was
kind
—I
drank
it.”

He felt her shiver, and put his arm round her as they sat there leaning against the packing-case. It seemed quite natural to put his arm round Loveday.

“It's all right. I say, don't be frightened—she didn't do it—she said she couldn't—she said she wanted to give you a chance. And she opened the door and let me in.”