John

CreaseyFears which he could not

properly understand him­
self crowded upon him.
It was time he talked
sharply to Gillian, make
her shake herself out of
these moods of terror,
this persecution complex.
Who did she think might
do her harm?
Mallen went forward,
very slowly, and stretched

C
out a hand, took Paul's

::s
wrist.
Of course he was dead ...
So Gillian was here at
Medley Holiday Camp.
The girl had said, "She's
at Chalet 321." He found
his way there, stepped
inside, and closed the
door.... He pressed the
switch down. Horror
struck him as if it were a
sword. Every muscle in
his body seemed to have
turned to stone. There
was Gillian - the Gillian
he loved - with a gaping
knife wound in her throat.
 Also by
JOHN CREASEY

THREE FOR ADVENTURE

FOUR FIND DANGER
TWO MEET TROUBLE
HEIR TO MURDER
MURDER COMES HOME
WHO SAW HIM DIE?
MURDER BY THE WAY
FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED
WHO DIED AT THE GRANGE?
FIVE TO KILL
MURDER AT KING'S KITCHEN
WHO SAID MURDER?
CRIME WITH MANY VOICES
NO CRIME MORE CRUEL
MURDER MAKES MURDER
MYSTERY MOTIVE
FIRST A MURDER
LEND A HAND TO MURDER
NO END TO DANGER
WHO KILLED REBECCA?
THE DYING WITNESSES
MURDER WEEK-END
DINE WITH MURDER
QUARREL WITH MURDER
TAKE A BODY
LAME DOG MURDER
MURDER IN THE STARS

A Falcon's Head Mystery 1:J

JohnCreasey
n

WORLD PUBLISHING
TIMES MIRROR
NEW YORK
 Published by The World Publishing Company
Published simultaneously in Canada
by Nelson, Foster & Scott Ltd.

First printing-1972

First published in Great Britain in 1953

All rights reserved
ISBN 0-529-04484-6
Library of Congress catalog carcl number: 72-80400
Printed in the United States of America

WORLD PUBLISHING
TIMES MIRROR
 CONTENTS

I. THE OPEN DOOR 7

2. THE VOICE OF REASON 14
3. BRIEF MESSAGE 2I
4· ESCAPE 29
5. FANE ADVISES 36
6. TOUCH AND GO 42
7. THE HOLD-UP 52
8. SO NEAR 63
9. THE WIND 69
IO. THE CAMP 77
I I. THE GIRL 84
I2. OFFER OF HELP 91
13. GILLIAN 9 8
14. THE SWOOP 10 5
15 . POLICE CORDON I14
16. STORY I2I
17. SHOCK 129
18. MARTIN FANE 136
r9. WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE 143
20. BARRIER 15 0
2I. BETTY 15 9
22. TWO MEN 166
23. BETRAYAL 173
24. ALL QUIET 18 0
25 . NO MISTAKE 187
 1
THE OPEN DOOR

THE bedroom door was open ; not wide, just an inch or

two. George Mallen stood outside it, surprised and
uneasy. Gillian had been so frightened, close to terror.
All she had wanted was to stay here, behind the locked
doors. It had been impossible to reason with her. She
had always been difficult to understand ; almost fey.
Perhaps that was why he loved her so much ; for her un­
worldliness, and the fact that she was so different from
everyone else.
He wasn't sure whether she knew that he loved her.
He closed the front door behind him, and went for­
ward slowly. He had allowed Gillian the use of his bed­
room, although with many misgivings. He'd slept on
the couch in the living-room since she had come here.
She told him she always kept the bedroom door locked
when he was out, except when she prepared a hurried
meal in the kitchen. Her door had been locked each
time he had come home.
Now it was ajar.
Mallen had wanted Gillian to see a doctor, knowing
that she really needed a psychiatrist. He had been
thinking of bringing one here, in the guise of a friend, so
that an expert could talk to her and decide what she
needed. He himself couldn't continue to give sanctuary
to a girl he loved, and who was the wife of his best friend.
One of the troubles with Gillian was that she drove
all original thought out of his mind. He could only think
in cliches. " The girl he loved." " His best friend."
Well, that was true, wasn't it? Whether Paul would
continue to be his best friend if he learned that Gillian
7
 MAN ON THE RUN
was staying in his flat was an open question. Paul had
a lot of faults, not least his temper. He made little
attempt to control it.
" Gillian," Mallen called.
He felt timid, partly because he didn't trust himselr
with her, partly because he wasn't sure what mood she
would be in. What had made her open the door ?
Was it possible that she was regaining her courage, that
locked doors were no longer necessary because open ones
had lost their fears?
She didn't answer.
" Gillian," he called more loudly, " may I come in? "
There was still no answer. She might be in some
other part of the flat, but all the doors were open, even
the bathroom, and he couldn't see her. On hearing the
front door open, she usually called out. Fears which
he could not properly understand himself crowded upon
him. He was suddenly angry with himself, too ; it was
time he talked sharply to her, made her shake herself
out of these moods of terror, this persecution complex.
Who did she think might do her harm? He had never
found out, had never been able to make her talk sensibly
about it. She didn't want Paul to know she was here,
but that was understandable.
He thrust open the door.
His lips parted to call her name again ; he didn't call
but his lips stayed open. Shock went through him, a
cold shiver running through his chest, down his spine,
along his arms and down his legs. He felt as if his jaw
were locked.
It was Paul ; Paul sitting there with his throat cut.
The shock remained, Mallen could not shake it off.
He moved forward, slowly, stiffly. Paul sat in the easy
chair, facing towards the door. The sunlight shining
through the small window made the blood at his throat a
glistening crimson splash. Where it ran down his neck
it was out of the sun and much darker ; where it touched
the white collar it was bright again. It came from a
8
 THE OPEN D O OR
wound beneath the chin, so thick with blood that it was
impossible to see its true size.
Mallen went forward, very slowly, and stretched out a
hand, took Paul's wrist.
Of course he was dead. . . .
There was no flutter of life, this was no vision but
wicked truth. Mallen let the cool hand fall, closed his
eyes, felt a wave of dizziness, then gritted his teeth,
making the first conscious effort since coming into the
room. He knew that when he opened his eyes again
he was going to see exactly the same thing, that all this
was true; but perhaps he would have thrown off the
first numbing effect of the shock.
He opened his eyes and then looked round. Yes.
Instead of a frightened Gillian there was a dead Paul,
her husband. It made no sense; Paul hadn't known
that Gillian was here; that was, as far as Mallen knew.
What had brought Paul?
Questions began to stumble into his mind, and none
of them mattered except one : where was Gillian? Her
handbag wasn't on the dressing-table, or the make-up
oddments she usually kept there. Mallen moved to­
wards the bed, in the far corner. The bedspread was
crumpled, and a corner of the pillow showed. The
wardrobe, next to the bed, was closed. Mallen opened
it. He had an absurd thought that Gillian would be
inside, but she wasn't. Her coat was gone. She had
come just with one lightweight summer coat and the
clothes she had been wearing, her handbag and an
almost empty suitcase. He had bought a few oddments
for her, including a pair of stockings. On the floor of
the wardrobe was the old pair, tucked into each other;
that was all, except his winter suits and winter overcoat.
Where was Gillian?
What had brought Paul here?
There was another question rising above all the others;
who had killed Paul? With that, Mallen's mind began
to work more clearly. He looked round for a knife, and
9
 MAN ON THE RUN
saw none. Whoever had killed had taken the knife
away ; and Gillian wasn't here.
Mallen still felt shivery, and his legs were weak. He
made himself look at Paul again. Paul's eyes were
closed, and if it had been possible to hide that gash and
the shimmering crimson it would have looked as if he
were asleep. His fine, handsome face, with the aquiline
features, the pointed nose, the impossibly well-shaped
lips, was as familiar as-Gillian's. His dark hair, with
the slight kink in it, had a faint blue sheen, it was so
black. The parting was perfect ; Paul's partings always
were. His right hand lay on his lap, his left on the arm
of the chair. It seemed to Mallen that he had been
sitting there, dozing, when he had been killed.
Mallen moved about slowly, looking for the now famil­
iar things which Gillian had kept here. The box of
powder, the lipstick and rouge on the dressing-table
immediately beneath the mirror, and a faint smell of
perfume-one he liked although he couldn't name it­
crept out.
He found himself taking out his cigarette case, lighting
a cigarette and looking everywhere but at Paul. He
knew that it was absurd, but he wanted to see something
of Gillian's, anything which might encourage him to
believe that she was coming back. What he really
wanted was something to prove that she hadn't done
this thing.
He found nothing else of hers except the pair of lad­
dered stockings.
He said aloud : " She couldn't have done this."
He knew that he was afraid that she had, and the fear
bit deep. She had been frightened of death, so over­
wrought that she might have been capable of doing
anything. And there had been no love left in her for
Paul. That was the one thing she had talked about
freely. But was she frightened of Paul?
" I must do something," Mallen said to the silent
room. He stood aimlessly by the side of the bed. Now
IO
 THE OPE N D O O R
that the shock was past, he could look at Paul without
shivering, without that feeling of horror. It was almost
possible to blame Paul for being there, dead.
Mallen drew fiercely on the cigarette, then turned
away and went into the living-room, passing the open
bathroom door. The window in here was large, and
overlooked the long street of terraced houses, each exactly
like all the others. One house opposite had a card in
the window : Apartments. Vacancies. There were sel­
dom vacancies in Grett Terrace, it was a little backwater
in Chelsea, near the heart of London but not exclusive
enough for the prices to be prohibitive. He had lived
in the same flat for three years.
He must do something.
He stood looking out of the window. A man walked
along on this side of the road, out of sight, but with slow,
deliberate tread; a policeman's walk. Mallen went
closer. It wasn't a policeman, just a big man walking
slowly.
Thought of the police quickened Mallen's fears. The
obvious thing to do was telephone and tell them what
had happened. It would be simple. Just say:
" I left here at half-past nine this morning. Gillian
Hope was here, and I heard her lock the door of her
room when I went out by the front door. When I came
back at half-past three, she had gone, and her husband
was dead in my chair. Her chair."
He turned suddenly, stubbed out the cigarette in an
ash-tray on the telephone table, by the side of his arm­
chair. He dropped into the chair and closed his eyes
again. Then he sat upright, stretched out for the L to R
section of the telephone directory.
He thumbed the pages until he was at the P columns.
POL-for Police, that was ironical-POR-PRI. Prince.
He found:

Prince, ln'y Agts, Apollo House

Strand TEMple Bar 88991.
II
 MAN ON THE RUN
He hesitated, and then dialled. The ringing sound
was broken almost at once, and a girl with a Cockney
accent said briskly :
" This is Prince, can I help you?"
" Is--" It was difficult to find words. " Is Mr.
Martin Fane in, please?"
" I'm sorry, Mr. Martin is out, but Mr. Richard is in."
" Oh." Mallen knew Martin Fane, of the Prince
Inquiry Agency, fairly well; his brother only slightly.
" All right, let me speak to him, please."
" What name, sir?"
" Just tell him it's a friend of his brother."
" Okay, just a minute."
It was a long minute. The sun shone on to Mallen's
shoulder and on to the directory open on the table,
warming them both. In the other room, it shone on
something very different. It was not a minute, it was an
age. Had they been cut off?
The Cockney voice broke the silence.
" I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Fane won't be
a minute." She said that like a refrain, and already Fane
had kept him waiting for--
" Hallo," a man said, in a friendly, confiding voice.
" Sorry I kept you. Sorry my brother's not in, too, but
he'll be back about five."
Five o'clock would be much too late.
" Oh," Mallen said again. " It's George Mallen
here."
" Who? Oh, yes, I remember-how are you?"
" Can you come and see me, at once?"
There was a moment's pause; no questions, only a
suggestion that Richard Fane was pausing to consider.
He must be made to come but couldn't be told what had
happened over the telephone. Had it been Martin Fane,
Mallen would have felt much more confident. Richard
was only a stop-gap, and if he began to ask questions--
" Yes," Richard said. " You live in Chelsea some­
where, don't you ?"
12
 THE OPEN DOOR
" Yes. 36, Grett Terrace. Turn down by the Town
Hall, just beyond it coming from the West End, and take
the second on the right, then the first left."
" Right," Richard Fane said briskly. " I'll be there
in about twenty minutes."
No one could get to Chelsea from the Strand much
quicker than that, so Richard Fane didn't mean to lose
time; he'd taken it for granted that the summons was
really urgent. That was somehow reassuring.
The Fane brothers were good. Their father was a
best-seller author of thrillers, and one of his characters
was a household name-Prince. The agency had been
named after that character, and had won a big reputation.
Mallen lit another cigarette. He didn't get up, but
looked towards the door and the little square lobby
beyond, off which led the bathroom and the bedroom.
He could see the tiles of the bathroom. He could picture
Paul Hope, sitting in that chair.
He drew at the cigarette as fiercely as he had at the
first. Then he stood up slowly. He hadn't yet looked
in the bathroom, there might be something to help there.
Silly thought. He went across, and inside. It was
spacious and much too large for the flat; some previous
tenant or owner had made a feature of it, the green tiles
stretched more than half-way up the wall, all the fittings
were luxurious, the mirrors large. Ove.. the hand-basin
was the glass shelf and cabinet; he opened the cabinet.
Gillian's things were gone from there, too.
Mallen looked down at the green smoothness of the
basin, and felt almost as bad as he had when he had seen
Paul. There were red stains. He was quite sure that
they were bloodstains. There were several browny red
spots at the top, and a stain on a cake of soap; his soap,
Gillian's had gone. He glanced at the towel rail. The
towel had been folded and put into position, but there
were reddish-brown stains on it; two patches of them.
" Oh, God ! " he exclaimed. " This is dreadful ! "
For some reason, the explosive, almost childish out-
13
 MAN ON THE RUN
burst did him good. He looked about more calmly, but
there were no other traces of blood. He couldn't really
be sure that this was blood. Hit were, then someone had
been cold-blooded enough to come in here and wipe off
the knife ; and careless enough not to remove all the
traces.
Gillian might have killed in a sudden fury, but she
wouldn't have done that. He was crazy to think that
Gillian might have done this. But if she hadn't, who
had? And where was she?

2
THE VOICE OF RE A SON
" HALLO," said Richard Fane. " Nice to see you again."
He smiled as he shook hands. He was taller than l\ifallen
had remembered, not far short of six feet, very lean,
with hair which was more unruly than wavy, and ears
which stuck out a little, a fresh, healthy-looking com­
plexion and large blue eyes with lashes so long that they
were almost feminine. Mallen had not only forgotten
how tall he was, but also the easy friendliness of his manner
and the charm of his grin. " Sorry you have to make
do with me, but Martin will take over as soon as he gets
back. Nothing like having confidence in your adviser,
is there? "
The grin flashed ; Mallen found himself smiling. He
sensed the alertness of the other's gaze ; Richard Fane
wasn't just the flippant, easy-going young man whom he
had met socially.
" Very good of you to come so quickly."
" From time immemorial, my time anyhow, no one's
ever been able to keep me away from trouble. I know
it's early, but I recommend a drink."
14
 THE VOICE OF REASON

" No, I--"

" You are not all right," Richard said firmly. " To
coin a phrase, or lift it from my father, you look ghastly.
Where do you keep your liquor ? "
" No, Fane, I--"
" Yes, George," said Fane, and took his forearm and
led the way into the living-room. " Medicinal pur­
poses only. It wouldn't be over here, would it? " He
went straight to the small cupboard where Mallen kept
his drinks, and opened the door. " Unfailing sense of
direction, you see." He took out whisky and a glass,
poured a little out, and held it to Mallen. " Drink.
My orders."
" Oh, well," said Mallen. He swallowed it, and
handed back the glass. He didn't like neat whisky,
but it would probably do him good. Now that the
other was here, he hardly knew where to start. On his
own, the thing had seemed real ; now it was like a bad
dream.
Richard proffered cigarettes.
" Thanks."
" Pleasure." Richard's lighter was held in front of
l\rfallen with a steady hand. Then Richard lit his own
cigarette, and went on : " Really bad, is it? "
" It-it couldn't be worse."
" Oh, I don't know. You're alive." The grin flashed
again, with all its charm, and brought a touch of normal­
ity back to the warm afternoon and the bright sun. It
made Richard look boyish, and he couldn't be more than
twenty-six or seven. " Of course, you don't have to
talk," he went on mildly. " But you may have heard the
old phrase, a trouble shared and all that nonsense."
Mallen said : " It's so damned difficult to talk about."
" Yes," Richard said, " I can see that. Let the
whisky do its stuff. Mind if I have a look round? " He
turned swiftly, and was at the hall door before Mallen
could call out.
" Don't--" began Mallen.
15
 MAN ON THE RUN
Richard ignored him, and went into the bedroom, and
suddenly stopped moving. Even for a stranger, that
would be a hell of a shock. Mallen moved towards the
door, but didn't go into the lobby. He couldn't see
Richard, so Richard hadn't stopped on the threshold.
It was uncannily quiet ; anyone walking into that room
should call out, show some sign of shock, of horror.
Richard reappeared, holding his right hand to his lips,
the forefinger bent and pressed against his upperlip.
He held the cigarette in his left hand. His eyes smiled
faintly.
" I can guess what you feel," he said. " How come ? "
That was the cue that Mallen wanted. Once he
began to talk he couldn't stop himself. He knew that he
was saying the same thing over and over again. He
kept talking about 'she' and 'her' but did not mention
Gillian by name. 'Best friend' cropped up several times.
Throughout the spate, Richard listened intently, tapping
his finger against his teeth. He didn't look sceptical ;
he was oddly, unexpectedly reassuring, in much the way
that Mullen would have expected Martin Fane to be.
Mallen stopped.
" Hum," said Richard mildly. " Forgive me - if I
don't seem to have got it all. He's Paul Hope, but who
is she? "
" She was staying here, she wasn't well, she--"
" Yes, I got all that. Who is she? "
" His wife."
" Were they both staying here? "
" No. Paul didn't know--"
" Odd thing," Richard said, " but I'm continually
being surprised by the things other people know when I
thought they didn't. How long had she been here? "
" Three days."
" Hum," Richard said again. He stopped tapping
his teeth and put the cigarette between his lips. " Martin
knows you better than I, of course, but even he would
probably jump to the same conclusion. How were things
16
 THE VOICE OF REASON

between you and Paul's wife? " When Mallen didn't

answer, Richard went on lightly : " Living together? "
" No ! "
" Wish you were? "
Mallen flashed : " What the hell has that got to do
with it? "
" Could have a great deal," Richard argued. " I
mean, imagine that you're a policeman and you have to
try to sort this out. If you and Paul's wife had set up a
home here, or were having just a little peccadillo and
Paul found out, Paul would probably be on the warpath,
wouldn't he? It wouldn't have been surprising if he'd
come to take her away, and, not wanting to go, she lost
her temper. Or look at it another way," Richard went
on hastily, as if he sensed that he had made Mallen
suddenly, furiously angry. " Paul found this out, found
it difficult to believe that she was staying here because
she was frightened and that things were not what they
seemed, let himself go at you, and--" he broke off.
" Remember, we are trying to imagine what the police
would think. Might think, sorry."
Mallen made no comment.
" Obviously they will jump to the conclusion that one
or the other of you did this," Richard said. " Weapon? "
" It wasn't there."
" Sure? "
" Why the devil should you think I'm lying to you? "
" If you want a straight answer to a straight question,
I would say that you're already half-way to lying to me
and anyone else for the sake of Paul's wife. All I know
about her is that she came here three days ago, said that
she was terrified, locked herself in her room when you
weren't here, and disappeared-before or after her
husband died, no one knows. Obviously a lot of things
we don't know about happened, but if we take everything
at its face value, either you or Paul's wife killed Paul."
Mallen didn't answer.
" And it wasn't you," Richard murmured.
17
 MAN ON THE RUN
" It wasn't Gillian ! "
" Yet she vanishes, leaving you to come back and find
the body," Richard said. " Don't let fly at me, George,
I'm trying to see this as the police will see it. If you have
any answers, I need to know all about them quickly.
If we could prove that Paul's wife-v. hat's her name? "
" Gillian."
" If we could be sure that Gillian had left the flat
before Paul arrived, and we could prove -that Paul was
killed while both you and Gillian were out, it would
help." Richard's half-smile suggested that he knew how
fatuous that remark was. " The first thing is to convince
them that it was neither you nor Gillian. Isn't it? "
" Yes," Mallen said. " Yes, I suppose so."
It had taken him a long time to reach a conclusion
that was so obvious he should have arrived at it before
telephoning the Prince Agency. If he told the police
exactly what happened there would be a hunt for Gillian.
She was already in a state of almost hysterical nervous
tension ; if she knew that the police were after her, she
would be distracted; might even kill herself. He should
have realised from the beginning that he had to keep the
police away from Gillian. He had told Richard Fane
far too much. The other man appeared to take it all
so calmly, but in fact he was already taking it for granted
that Gillian had killed Paul.
" Why just suppose? " Richard asked mildly.
Mallen said abruptly : " Listen, Fane. I've got to
get out of here. I didn't kill Paul, but I don't need
telling that the police will assume that I did."
" Odd people, the police," Richard told him reflec­
tively. " They seldom seem to take anything for granted,
but always want proof: The simplest way to make sure
that they find it is to tell the truth. My advice couldn't
be simpler or more emphatic." He walked across to the
telephone. " Call the police." He lifted the receiver
off the cradle and held it out. " The number is White­
hall 1 2 1 2 . Tell them everything, exactly as you told
18
 THE VOICE OF REASON

me-once will be quite enough," h e added, and a gleam

shone in his eyes. " Paul hasn't been dead long. They'll
know that it happened quite recently." He grinned
again. " And then they'll get busy. They'll place the
time of the death, and soon they'll find out when Gillian
was seen to leave here. It's surprising how easy it is for
the police to find out a thing like that. If Gillian left
an hour or so before Paul died, then she'll be in the clear,
and they'll be looking for the third party. That's what
you want, isn't it ? "
" It wasn't Gillian," Mallen said very slowly. " Fane,
listen, can't you find out what time she left? "
" I could, but it would take too long. The Yard has
a lot of legmen on the staff, you know, we at Princes have
only four pairs of feet. If we wait until we've traced
Gillian's movements, we'll be in a spot. The police will
want to know why we waited. But we aren't going to
wait, are we? " He put the receiver to his ear and
placed his right forefinger in a dialling hole. " I think
it's your lucky day. The most likely man to get this job
is Bennett, and Bennett's an easy man to work with."
Mallen said : . " Put that telephone down."
" My dear chap--"
" Put it down ! " Mallen sprang towards Richard
and snatched at the receiver ; he expected to have to
fight for it, but didn't. " Why do you think I sent for
you? "
" For advice. And my advice is--"
" I want you to find Gillian, find out what happened,"
Mallen said roughly. The fact that Richard had not
put up a struggle suggested that he might listen to reason.
" There's no need to tell the police yet. It needn't
take you long. I don't usually get here until six o'clock.
That gives us a couple of hours. I'm often not back
until much later, we-we needn't say that we found
the body this afternoon. The police needn't know any­
thing about it until tonight. If you can find Gillian--"
" There are times when we can take a risk with the
19
 MAN ON THE RUN
cops, but this isn't one of them." Richard Fane was
quietly emphatic. " You have neighbours. You may
not think that anyone saw you come in, but someone did.
I was almost certainly seen, too. The police can't be
fooled that way. It's the sure means of putting your
own neck in a noose. Unless, of course, you actually
killed Paul." He was casual, conversational.
Mallen didn't answer.
Richard took out his cigarettes, lit one slowly and
without offering his case, then sat on the arm of the
chair. He no longer looked mildly amused or flippant,
and there was a different note in his voice ; it was almost
harsh.
" Did you kill him? "
Mallen moved away from the disconcerting gaze of
those blue eyes, reached the window, and looked out.
Richard said in the same harsh voice : " If there's
a fool I can't stand, it's the self-sacrificing type. 'Hang
me if you must, but don't hang my Gillian.' You're
sure in your own mind that she killed him, aren't
you? "
Mallen continued to look out of the window, but it
was difficult not to shout : " No ! "
" And love's so deep, so fine and wonderful, that you'll
gladly deliver up your neck to save hers." The sarcasm
in Richard's voice made the words an insult. " A pretty
neck, I've no doubt. Paul's wasn't so bad, either.
What do you think he's done to deserve being slaugh­
tered? That close friend of yours, that oldest friend­
don't you owe him something? "
Mallen spun round. " Shut up ! "
" Call the police, George," Richard said, in a com­
pletely different voice, one that was gentle and soothing,
almost seductive. " I can imagine how you feel. Hell
is not nice. B1 1t it's your safe way. If Gillian didn't
kill him, the police will find out. Getting down to
bedrock, isn't that the important thing? Finding out
the truth? "
20
 B RIEF MESSAGE
" Supposing I won't, what will you do? " Mallen
asked huskily.
" That harsh and unrewarding thing, duty." Richard
didn't smile. " One doesn't play with murder." His
huge eyes seemed to accuse, but suddenly he glanced at
his watch. " I've been here a little more than half an
hour. My strong advice is to call the police, now.
But if you think you'll get a more balanced opinion
from Martin, we'll wait for him."
There was only one thing in George Mallen's mind­
making sure that Gillian was not accused of this. Martin
Fane would be more understanding, and anyhowRichard's
suggestion would delay informing the police.
" Well, yes," Mallen said, " I'd like to get your
brother's opinion." He forced a smile. " It isn't--"
The telephone bell rang.

3
BR IE F ME S S A GE
RICHARD FANE was nearer the telephone, and he moved
his left hand towards it swiftly. Mallen sprang towards
him, to grab it;·-but Richard twisted his lean body round
so that Mallen couldn't get in his way, put the telephone
to his ear and said quietly into the telephone.
" Hallo."
Mallen said thinly : " Give that to me ! " He moved
round and snatched at the telephone ; again Richard let
him have his way, when he had seemed likely to be
difficult. Mallen was breathing heavily when he put the
receiver to his ear.
" Hallo? "
The voice he expected, at once prayed for yet feared,
came after a pause.
" George," Gillian said, " that is you, isn't it? It
21
 MAN ON THE RUN
didn't sound like you." She was quite composed, and
her clear but quiet voice sounded very sweet on the
telephone.
Mallen had to answer quickly, and in a way that
wouldn't alarm her.
" It-yes. Yes, of course it is." He was conscious
of Richard's speculative gaze and his very blue eyes.
He had been crazy to send for him, for anyone ; he ought
to have known that Gillian would get in touch with him.
" Where are you?"
" I'm at Paddington Station," Gillian said. Her
voice had the tenseness he had heard so often in the
first few hours she had been here. " I just had to get
away. I'm going to Medley's Camp, the one in Wales.
Could-could you come and see me there?"
He would go across the world.
" Of course ! When--"
" I'm going straight there, but listen, George. Don't
look for me. I'll find you, I--"
" Gillian, listen--"
" I don't know what I'd do without you, I'm feeling
much better," Gillian said. " Good-bye, George,
and--"
" Don't go ! "
" And thanks again, George."
" Gillian ! Was Paul--" he broke off, thinking
that he heard the telephone hung up her end. " Gillian,
don't go away. Are you there?"
There was a pause ; so long that he was sure that she
had gone. Then her voice came again, sounding fur­
ther away ; remote. That was the trouble with Gillian,
she was always remote, never quite with him or with
anyone.
" What did you say about Paul?"
" Was he here when you left?" It was difficult not
to shout.
" But he didn't know I was there," Gillian said. " Of
course he wasn't."
22
 BRIEF MESSAGE

" Are you sure? It's important, it--"

" No," Gillian said, " he wasn't there. He--" she
broke off again, and the silence dragged out so much
that he thought she really had gone. Then : " He
rang up, George. The telephone kept ringing, I just had
to answer or it would have driven me mad. He asked
for you. I said I was your secretary. He said he was
coming round to see you, wanted to know when you'd
be in. I said I didn't know. When he rang off, I
knew that I couldn't stay any longer. He didn't say so,
but I was afraid he was going to ask if you knew where I
was. I just can't see him. Don't tell him I'm going
to Medley's." She caught her breath. " But you won't
will you? "
" Gillian, listen--"
This time there was no doubt. She rang off. Mallen
didn't speak again, but stood with the telephone in his
hand, looking at it, conscious of Richard Fane's quiet
gaze. In the past few seconds he had forgotten that Fane
was th�re. Fane shouldn't be here, it had been folly.
He replaced the receiver slowly, awkwardly.
" Where is she? " asked Richard quietly.
" Paul rang up and said he was coming round. She
didn't want to see him. She was terrified of seeing him.
So she just left." Mallen closed his eyes. " You can
see what that means, can't you? · She had gone before
he arrived, so she couldn't have killed--" he broke off.
" I can see," Richard said. " One step nearer the
gallows for George Mallen."
" Don't talk like an idiot."
" Not my fault," Richard said, very mildly. " Con­
genital. Where is she? "
" Away from here," Mallen said. " Stop talking, will
you? " He went to the window again and looked out.,
Two women and three children were walking along the
road, and a cyclist went by. For them, for everyone else,
life was going on normally. Gillian had no idea that
Paul was dead. He believed her implicitly, and did not
23
 MAN ON THE RUN
consciously admit the possibility that she might have lied.
The important, the vital thing was to keep the police
away from Gillian.
Richard moved towards him. Mallen could not
understand what had made him send for either of the
Fanes, why he hadn't taken time to think about this, to
decide on the best course to help Gillian. If he hadn't
told Richard Fane that she had been staying at the flat,
no one need have known. She had come after dark ;
until that afternoon, she hadn't put her nose outside as
far as Mallen knew.
Richard said : " Whatever she's like, she isn't worth
hanging for, George. I'll give you an hour's grace, with
luck Martin will be here by the time it's up, and perhaps
he'll make you see reason." He was close to Mallen's
side, but Mallen didn't look at him. " Don't do any­
thing crazy, and don't touch Paul. Remember that if
you cut any capers you'll be putting me on the spot, too."
Mallen said : " I won't touch him." He glanced at
Richard and again he was disconcerted by those clear
blue eyes. " Understand, Fane-Gillian didn't do it."
" I'll make an offer," Richard began to smile faintly.
" If the police get the queer notion that she did, Martin
and I will take on the job of trying to prove that she
didn't. I'll be seeing you."
He went out, without speaking again.
He went as he had come, sauntering, casual, with
a half-amused gleam in his eyes, and left Mallen with a
feeling of resentment that faded slowly. Why should he
be annoyed? Fane had given him the chance he needed
-to make up his mind and to find out whether he could
overcome the consequences of his crazy mistake in sending
for help. The obvious thing was to see Gillian, make
sure that she hadn't seen Paul, find proof that Paul
hadn't been at the flat when she had left. All the rest
was trivial. He might find himself under arrest, but he
hadn't killed Paul, and the killer would be found. What
did a few days, a few weeks of anxiety mean against the
24
 B RIEF MESSAGE

safety and peace of mind that Gillian needed s o des­

perately?
Above everything else, he must think several moves
ahead.
What could he expect Richard Fane to do? Make
a few tentative inquiries among the neighbours, perhaps,
but nothing more yet. Richard had made it obvious
that he was not only prepared but anxious to wait for his
elder brother. For the time being, forget the Fanes :
there was at least an hour's grace. A great deal could
be done in an hour.
Why had Gillian gone to Medley's?
Medley's was a household name, over the past fifteen
years or so had become a national institution. In the
spring and summer it was almost impossible to open a
newspaper without seeing a bathing belle and the caption :
You'll Find Her At Medley 's. That had become a catch­
phrase, likely to last as long as the evergreen ' Up in Annie's
Room.' Holiday camps had become part of the British
scene, and of all the camps Medley's were by far the
best-known. There were camps at several points round
the coast; there had been films about them, with the
name thinly disguised; books; at least three songs which
had caught on. He had done a little of their advertising.
He could not even begin to guess why Gillian had chosen
to go there. Perhaps she had simply felt that she must
get somewhere quickly, and Medley's had sprung to mind.
He must get up there quickly.
His car would be quickest, but if a hunt started for
him, the police would be able to identify the car ; he
couldn't risk it. It was in a garage nearby, and must
stay there.
He rang up Paddington station. There had been a
train to Llansoch, near Medley's, at 4.30; Gillian must
have caught that. He could catch one to Aberystwyth,
via Cardiff, and get a late connection; or go north to
Shrewsbury, and change there. The 6.30 to Aberyst­
wyth was probably best.
 MAN ON THE RUN
He turned away from the telephone, hesitated, and
then went into the bedroom. His suitcases were on top
of the wardrobe, his shirts, socks, ties and underwear in
the same room. This time, he didn't look at Paul
although it was impossible not to see him out of the corner
of his eye. The sun had moved round, and was no
longer shining on the blood. Mallen stood at the ward­
robe, looking at the cases, and decided that he didn't
want a suitcase. He had a hiker's kit, used two summers
ago for a walking tour of Austria. He took it down, and
clouds of dust rose up. He began to pack, putting in
three shirts, a pair of shorts, two of practically every­
thing else ; he put in every pair of socks he could find.
In a drawer was an automatic pistol ; he had done
some shooting, as a hobby. It wasn't loaded, but there
was ammunition. He hesitated for a long time, then
slipped both gun and a clip of ammunition into his
pocket.
Madness?
He drove the thought out of his mind.
He went into the bathroom, and took out his shaving
gear, soap and towels. His gaze was drawn unwillingly
by the bloodstains on the basin. He wanted to wash,
but couldn't bring himself to it. He needed a new tube
of toothpaste, and had one in stock. Turning to get it
from a corner cupboard, he knocked the shaving gear,
toothbrush and soap on to the floor. He picked them
up deliberately and placed them in a small plastic wash­
bag. Finished, he went out, put the bag in the haver­
sack, collected all the cigarettes he had-three fresh
packets of twenty-a small tin of lighter fuel-everything
that he would pack if he were going away for a week or
more.
He was going to see Gillian ; with luck, he could be
back next day, at most the day after, but he was deter­
mined not to be caught unprepared again, or to do the
wrong thing. That half-amused smile on Richard Fane's
face kept coming to his mind. He couldn't understand
26
 BRIEF MESSAGE

it, had a feeling that i t had a significance which would

suddenly be revealed. Why should Fane, why should
anyone, be amused?
He was ready, a quarter of an hour after Fane had
left.
He had really decided what to do before the door
had closed on Fane. Only he knew that Gillian had
gone to Medley's ; Gillian was so anxious to hide away
that she wouldn't tell anyone, even if there were anyone
else in whom she could confide. He didn't think there
was.
Now all he had to do was get out without being seen.
He thought of Fane again, and Fane's certainty that
everyone who came into the flat would have been seen by
neighbours. He grinned. Fane was too cocksure-that
was the difference between him and his brother. Martin
was a much more thoughtful type. It should have been
obvious that private inquiry agents, even those with a
reputation for being brilliant and unorthodox, would go
yelling to the police once the word 'murder' came into
a case. Richard Fane's chief anxiety had been to keep
himself out of trouble ; that had stood out.
Richard was wrong, though, he didn't know every­
thing. No one else was in this house ; it was divided
into four flats, all about the same size as his, and every
other tenant was out on business during the day ; the
place was like a morgue.
Had he got everything? Yes, he couldn't think of-­
Money ! He had a few pounds in his pocket, but
not enough. He kept a small reserve in a cash-box in
his wardrobe. He must be very careful, or he would
forget the most obvious things. He had to go back into
the room with Paul again. This time he had to grit
his teeth ; the thought of going in brought physical
revulsion.
He went in. The cash-box, just a small green metal
one with a simple lock, was in a corner hidden by his
winter clothes. He knelt down, groped and found it.
27
 MAN ON THE RUN
He picked it up by the lid, and the lid came up, the
heavier bottom of the box dropped. Hadn't he locked
it? Nothing fell out, but he didn't realise the full signi­
ficance of that until he saw that it was empty.
The lock had been forced.
He held the box in his hand, staring stupidly. He
wasn't sure how much money should be in there, twenty­
five or thirty pounds, at most-plenty for his immediate
purpose.
Well, it wasn't there now.
Without any feeling of resentment he realised that
Gillian must have taken it. She hadn't much money
with her-she'd been worried about that and he told
told her not to be silly, he had enough to spare. There
was an odd, practical streak in Gillian. She had seen
him go to the cash-box at least once. Mallen didn't
blame her, but it made difficulties for him. He couldn't
go to the bank, because it was closed ; he didn't want to
go to the office.
He took out his wallet while hurrying towards the
door. He had six pounds in notes, another in silver.
It just wasn't enough.
Paul might have--
He shut that thought out of his mind. What could
he sell? He took his pen and gold propelling pencil
out of his pocket, played at valuing them, then said
abruptly :
" I can't do it that way ! " He was beginning to
feel the desperation of fighting against time ; but he had to
have more money. He snatched up the telephone and
dialled his Victoria Street office. His secretary would
be there, with a clerk and an office girl--enough to run
his small advertising agency.
His secretary answered.
" It's George here, Betty. Will you--"
" Oh, I'm so glad you've called," Betty trilled. He
could picture her round, shiny face and fluffy fair hair ;
she was a little bulgy pudding of a girl, with a needle-
2S
 E S CAPE

sharp mind. " Mr. Hope has been worrying all day,
he's rung up at least six times. I said I didn't know
where you were but would give you the message as soon
as I could. He sounded very worried."
Mallen said abruptly :
" What about?"
" He said it was personal," Betty said, " and I couldn't
get another word out of him. I told him you might not
be back this afternoon and that he would probably have
better luck at the flat."
" Oh," said Mallen. " Well, if he calls again "­
the words nearly choked him-" tell him I'll get in touch
with him as soon as I can. Now listen. How much
money have we at the office?"
" Not so much," Betty said. " I was going to ask you
to sign a petty cash cheque in the morning. Half a
mo', I'll look." She went off; nothing would happen
quickly. Mallen waited, staring at the window, hearing
footsteps, fuming. Then he heard nearer footsteps on
the stairs. A man was approaching. Mallen felt his
muscles stiffening, his nerves growing taut. The man
might go on to the floor above.
Betty was gone for a long time.
The footsteps drew nearer.
They stopped and the door bell rang.

4
E S CAPE
IT could be Richard Fane back, but it hadn't sounded
like him ; more like Martin, a bigger man altogether,
with firm, deliberate tread; almost a policeman's tread.
Mallen stared across the lobby, gripping the telephone
tightly, tense in every nerve.
29
 MAN ON THE RUN
The bell rang again.
" You there? " Betty said briskly into the telephone.
" We've got eleven pounds, but I've another three and
Joyce has some too, if you need it for tonight."
" I want every penny you can get your hands on."
Mallen said softly.
" What's that ? I didn't quite hear."
" Hold on a minute," he whispered, and put the
receiver gently on the small table, then tip-toed across to
the door. As Mallen reached it there was a sharp double
ring at the door. He closed the room door, holding his
breath, fearful of a click. None came. He went back
to the telephone. " You there, Betty? "
" Joyce has got seven quid, she was going shopping
tonight but it doesn't matter."
" Good." Mallen kept his voice low, but Betty didn't
protest again. " I don't want to come to the office,
I'm in a hurry. Meet me at the corner of the street, will
you? By the restaurant."
" Okay, but don't forget to sign the cheque for petty
cash and the wages and the odds and ends, will you? ' '
" I'll bring it with me," he promised her. " Be at
the corner in a quarter of an hour, and wait for me."
" Okay."
He rang off very carefully, but could not prevent a
faint ting of the telephone bell. It was drowned by
another ring at the front door; three bursts, this time.
A new thought stabbed ; had Fane lied, and gone to
the police? Were the police at the door? He'd heard
only one man but there might be others.
Mallen gritted his teeth as he took out his pocket
cheque book, and signed three cheques; there was nothing
unusual in that, he often left signed cheques with Betty.
But it was forty minutes, nearly three-quarters of an hour
since Richard Fane had gone.
George went back to the room door. As he stood
listening, the man outside moved away, going down­
stairs. George went to the window, stood close against
30
 ESCAPE

it and looked down. A big man, vaguely familiar,

appeared from the house; he went to a small car and had
to bend double in order to get in. He drove off.
Mallen hitched the rucksack on to his shoulders,
and went out the back way-a fire-escape often used as a
short cut to the main road. He saw no one. Opposite
the back of Grett Terrace was a large empty plot, now a
playground for children. A dozen or more were playing
cricket with a soft ball. None looked towards him.
He felt as if he were already on the run, and that
wasn't far from the truth. If he were followed or traced,
Gillian would be also ; once he had seen Gillian, it
wouldn't matter.
There were plenty of buses.
He got off his a hundred yards from the rendezvous
with Betty. Once inquiries started, Betty would be
among the first to be questioned, the less she knew the
better-and she mustn't see the rucksack. He went into
a tobacconist's, bought a hundred Seniors, and said :
" Mind if I leave this here for five minutes ? "
The girl behind the counter smiled. " No, leave it as
long as you like, but we close at six ! "
" I'll be back very soon. Thanks." He went out and
merged with the throng of people in Victoria Street.
Traffic was thick; it was approaching rush hour. He
saw Betty standing by the restaurant. She spotted him
when he was twenty yards away, and came hurrying,
shapeless in a pink cotton dress, her smooth, pink face
beaming.
" I thought you were never coming ! Going out on a
binge tonight ? "
The naturalness of his own grin surprised him.
" That's about it ! " He took out the cheques. " I
may stay out until Monday, there isn't anything on that
you can't handle." He took the envelope she handed
him. " How much did you take up ? "
" Twenty-three pounds ten," Betty said, " but you
can't."
31
 MAN ON THE RUN
" What can't I ? "
" Stay out tomorrow, George. You're going to see the
Langley people, you know how touchy they are. If you
don't get their order this time, you never will, and they
hate postponements." She was emphatic, earnest.
" Can't make it," Mallen said briskly. " Do your
best with Cyril Langley-tell him anything you like."
" About the only thing to satisfy him would be a
funeral." Betty's chubby face was really distressed.
" Can't you possibly make it, George ? "
" Not a hope."
" Well, it's nothing to do with me, I suppose, but
I think you're crazy."
" You can fix Cyril Langley," Mallen said with false
confidence. " Just hold the fort." He tucked the en­
velope into his pocket. " And thanks, Betty."
" Where can I get you if there's an emergency ? "
" I'll call the office."
Betty said : " George, what is all this ? "
" I'll tell you when it's all over." Mallen grinned
at her. It had always been easy to be natural with
Betty, she was the comfortable kind in every way. " Don't
worry."
He turned and walked off.
She stood staring after him, and he had to pass the
tobacconist's shop before she turned back to the office.
He doubled on his tracks and picked up the rucksack.
The girl in the shop was on her own and seemed ready to
talk; she said something about loving a hike. Mallen
beamed at her, then crossed the road and caught another
bus, to Marble Arch; from there he could get one to
Paddington Station.
Were the police at his flat yet ?
There was no way of telling, but seeing Betty and
getting the money had created a curious mood, almost
one of elation; at least of complete calmness. He felt
quite confident that he could get to Medley's in time
to have a talk to Gillian. Now, he began to wonder
32
 ESCAPE

why he felt so calm. Once the Fanes discovered that he

was gone, they would go to the police ; Richard had made
that clear. There couldn't be much time to spare.
He would book to Aberystwyth, and could get off the
train at Cardiff or anywhere he wanted to.
Three-quarters of an hour later he was on the train,
armed with two evening newspapers, a map of Wales
and a magazine. He had to behave normally, give no
one any indication that anything was on his mind.
There was nothing to worry about yet ; the real hue and
cry would start next morning, and by then he would be
near Medley's. He'd get into the Camp somehow.
All that mattered was seeing Gillian, warning her,
making sure that she hadn't seen Paul-no, nonsense ;
making sure that she could prove that she had left the
flat before Paul had arrived.
He kept wondering if the police had seen Paul yet ;
and what the Fanes were doing.
* * * *
Massive Martin Fane stood outside Mallen's flat.
There was no answer to his ringing. After several
minutes, he hurried down to his car. He telephoned
Scotland Yard from a kiosk, then went back to the flat
and waited for the police.
* * * *
Mallen had a corner seat in a third-class compartment.
The rucksack was above him, on the rack. Only four
other people were in the compartment, none of them
taking any notice of him ; why should they? He
opened his first newspaper, the Star, and a front-page
�eadline seemed to leap out at him :
MURDERED MAN IN
LONDON FLAT
In a flash he was seeing Paul, with the sun shining on
33
 MAN ON THE RUN
the gash in his throat. He closed his eyes, but the
picture didn't disappear. Questions began to flood into
his mind, and the calm mood vanished. Who had
killed Paul? How had it happened? Why hadn't
Paul defended himself?
He had been sitting in the chair, looking quite peace­
ful, showing no sign of having been alarmed. Had he
been dozing in the chair, knowing nothing about the
swift approach of death?
How had the murderer got into the flat?
Mallen caught his breath. It was the most obvious
question but he hadn't thought of it before. How had
the murderer got in? No one but he and Gillian had a
key. It was a Yale lock, not easy to force. Who could
have let anyone in-Paul or the killer-except Gillian?
When he opened his eyes, it seemed as if everyone
else in the carriage was looking at him. A girl opposite
certainly was, and she didn't trouble to look away ; she
half smiled. Mallen didn't respond. Now he had to
think. Richard Fane had made it obvious that he
thought Gillian was the killer, and there were a dozen
reasons why anyone who didn't know Gillian would
think that she had killed Paul.
Mallen made himself look at the newspaper again.
The story of the London flat murder seemed to hypnotise
him. An elderly man had been found in a Hampstead
flat, with his head smashed in ; a daily maid had made
the discovery early that morning. Scotland Yard officers
were carrying out the investigation, with Chief Inspector
Frew in charge. Not Bennett-the man whom Richard
Fane had mentioned as a good Yard man to work with.
In the stop press, was a paragraph :
London Flat Murder
Scotland Yard is anxious to interview Leslie
Morgan, the dead man's nephew, who may be
able to give them important information.
Morgan known to be in the London area.
34
 ESCAPE

Soon, the police would be anxious to interview him,

George Mallen.
From this moment on he had to behave as if every
policeman, every official and a lot of other people were
hunting him.
He wished he could knock the simpering smile off
the face of the girl in front of him. She stared nearly all
the time, obviously wanting to start a conversation ; and
she would recognise him later if his photograph appeared
in the morning newspapers.
She opened her handbag, took out cigarettes, fumbled
inside, then took out a powder compact, a scarlet hand­
kerchief, so brilliant that it made his thoughts flash back
to Paul. A comb followed, then a purse-and a moment
later she leaned forward and smiled at him, over-painted
lips stretching like two splashes of blood on her white
face, and with gleaming white teeth between.
" I'm ever so sorry," she said, " but could you give
me a light? "
It would be talk, talk, talk, from now on, but he had
to be pleasant, mustn't make her hostile.
" Of course." He took out his lighter, flicked it, and
lit her cigarette."
" Thanks ever so much," she said. " It's a lovely
evening, isn't it? "
She was talking when a man appeared at the door,
glanced in, and then went past-but he didn't go far. He
stood in the corridor, looking on to the huddle of houses,
grey, drab and all crowned with chimneys.
It was Richard Fane.
Were the police with him?

35
 MAN ON THE RUN

5
F A NE A DV I SE S

THE girl went on talking, George made an occasional

comment and kept glancing at Fane. Fane didn't look
round again, but lit a cigarette and •S eemed to find
fascination in the gleaming rails and the backs of the
little grey houses. He didn't wear a hat, and his ears
seemed to stick out more than ever.
No one was with him; but the police might be watching.
" I think it's absolutely awful," the girl said.
" Yes."
" After all, why shouldn't we be able to go where we
like? I'm all against these currency restrictions. I had
a lovely holiday in France two years ago, but what's
the use now? "
" Quite agree," Mallen said.
Fane knew that he had been recognised, of course.
He waited indolently, almost insolently, taking it for
granted that Mallen would approach him.
Fane must have followed all the way from Chelsea.
He had gone out so as to watch and follow.
The girl had stopped talking.
" I'm awfully sorry," Mallen said, " I've managed
to collect a headache. Think I'll take some air." He
stood up, eager to escape from the carriage. He went
along the corridor, some distance from Fane. The
nearest window was open, and he was glad of the inrush
of cool air.
Mallen was worried, alarmed by his own moods.
Where was his confidence? Why was he so jittery?
What made him lose his nerve so easily? God knew
he had been in danger often enough, this shouldn't
unnerve him.
They were running through open country, although
36
 FANE ADVISES

there were houses in the distance, where London's

suburbs stretched or clustered. The evening sun shone
on red roofs, white walls, red brick, the green of rain­
washed grass, the yellow of hay and of stubble, where the
harvest had been reaped. Mallen saw all this without
noticing it. Fane did not edge or look towards him.
He could get off at the first stop; or even jump off
when the train slowed down. But that would raise an
alarm. He studied Fane's pleasant profile. The full
lips seemed to be curved in a faint smile-as if Fane were
amused all the time.
Mallen moved along the corridor. The girl beamed
up at him. He smiled back stiffly, and then stood by
Fane's side.
" So you think this is clever."
Fane turned to look at him; those blue eyes had a
penetrating quality. There was no smile in them, and
Fane's voice was quiet yet hard enough to carry above
the noise of the wheels.
" I think it's the most idiotic thing I've ever known.
It's tragic."
" Have you-told anyone? "
" I told Martin. He told the police.''
" Are they--"
" They're not on the train, as far as I know." Fane
said. " I want to know what's driving you like this."
" Listen, Fane," Mallen said, and had to fight for
self-control, " I must see Gillian. Once I've done that,
I'll give myself up to the police. I'm not-scared for
myself."
" You should be."
Two people came along the corridor, and there was
hardly room for them to pass. Fane and Mallen pressed
close against the window. Others came along, it seemed
an age before they could speak again.
" I know what I'm doing."
" And I know, too," Fane said searingly. " You're
begging the police to put you in a cosy little cell, so that
37
 MAN ON THE RUN
you can ask whatever you want for your last breakfast."
" I didn't--"
" I don't know whether you did or not, but I do know
you're telling the world that you're guilty. If you keep
this up, you'll be providing more circumstantial evidence.
There's plenty already. I have some news for you."
The train was going very fast, and swaying. Both
of them held on to the wooden bar in front of the window.
Passengers came along, heading for the refreshment car.
It was much noisier now.
Mallen felt as if he were suffocating.
" What news? "
" Your Gillian was at the flat when Paul arrived."
" That's not true." At least he didn't shout.
" Listen, George," Fane said, and his fingers closed
round l\fallen's forearm. " You are being fooled. I
talked to a neighbour, a woman across the road, who
saw a man call and, half an hour afterwards, saw a girl
leave."
" It might have been someone at another flat." That
wasn't likely, because the occupants would be all out,
but Fane and the inquisitive neighbour wouldn't know
that.
" The girl and the man were seen talking, m your
front room."
Mallen said harshly : " I don't believe it."
" It happened."
" You can't scare me into going to the police. I'm
going to see Gillian."
" What makes you think she'll tell you the truth? "
" She will."
" George, get a new slant on all this," Fane urged,
still gripping his forearm. " If Gillian didn't do it, the
police will find out. They don't always get their man
but they never get the wrong one. So---"
" So where's my worry? " Mallen demanded sharply.
" I didn't kill--"
" Take a tip from me, anyhow, and don't use that
38
 FANE A D VI S E S

word here," Richard said. " Trains have ears too, and
there's a girl in your compartment with a couple which
are flapping worse than mine ever do." He smiled as he
spoke; perhaps that was for the benefit of the girl who
had been so anxious to talk. " And don't think dialectics
will get you out of this jam. Every mile you travel,
you're giving the police more reason to believe that you
did it."
Mallen didn't speak.
" My brother Martin, a trusting man, doesn't think
it's likely that you did," Richard went on. " He'd like
to help. If it comes to that, so would I. Get out at the
first stop, go back to London, tell the police you panicked
and then realized it was a crazy thing to do. You
needn't mention Gillian-yet. I'll go and see her.
·where is she ? "
It was slick, but too obviously a trick; Richard Fane
wanted to find out where Gillian was, and put the
police on to her. No one else was going to see
Gillian.
" When I called you I thought you would be able to
help," Mallen said, raising his voice against the roar of
the train. " I've changed my mind. I don't think it's
fair to implicate you or anyone else. From now on,
I'm on my own."
" With every policeman in the country on your tail."
" That's how much you helped."
" George--"
" If you follow me, I'll stop you in a way you won't
like," Mallen said abruptly. " Remember that.''
Richard grinned.
" There we go ! The handsome George Mallen,
curly locks and all, Olympic Games middle-weight
runner-up and all the rest, taking on the world. Don't
try to beat up the police when they catch up, George,
they can be rough."
Mallen turned on his heel, but didn't get far. Richard
took his wrist in a grip so powerful that it hurt, and
39
 MAN ON THE RUN
forced him round. When they came face to face, Richard
wasn't smiling.
" She was there when Paul arrived," he said
deliberately. " Get that into your thick head."
Mallen wrenched himself free, fought down an im­
pulse to smash his fist into the other's face. He walked
past his compartment without glancing in. He didn't
look round to find out whether Fane followed. It wasn't
true; it was a lie to try to make him go back and talk to
the police. Gillian hadn't let Paul in.
Who had ?
There must be someone else, perhaps someone whom
Gillian had admitted to the flat. Everything else could
be forgotten until he had talked to Gillian.
Mallen, walking blindly, banged into a girl who glared
at him, reached the guard's van, which was empty and
darker than the corridors; no one else was likely to stay
here. Should he collect his rucksack and bring it in here ?
Wouldn't that make him more noticeable ? He lit a
cigarette and stared at the fields as they passed by, at
the grazing cattle and here and there a farmhouse which
looked empty and deserted. The train still travelled fast,
his one consolation. It couldn't get to Cardiff quickly
enough for him. He opened the map, and found Llan­
soch not far from Barmouth and Harlech, but across a
stretch of water from both. He made mental notes of
the various nearby towns and villages before folding
the map.
He went back towards the carriage. Fane wasn't in
sight.
A guard came from the further corridor, a short, lean
man who wore his peaked hat pulled low over his eyes.
He took no notice of Mallen until Mallen said :
" Where's the first stop, please ? "
" Swindon."
" When do we get in ? "
" Seven-twenny-seven."
" Thanks."
 FANE ADVISE S

" Welcome."
" It was a relief to speak to a man who didn't stare
or linger, but the guard was the man whom Richard
Fane might ask for help. Mallen went back to the
carriage. The girl, smoking a cigarette which she had
probably lit herself, parted the red gash of her lips and
said :
" I do hope your headache's better."
" A little, thanks." He sat down and closed his eyes.
Every compartment he had passed had been crowded.
From an empty one he could have jumped out, when the
train slowed down, but if he were seen some interfering
busybody would pull the alarm cord. He was already a
prisoner. Every footstep in the corridor made him look
through his lashes. Once he saw a man in a blue uni­
form ; he felt the familiar stiffening of his muscles, diffi­
culty in breathing.
The man passed.
The girl in the opposite corner had given him up,
and was reading, her legs crossed, her skirt very short ;
as if she hoped that the sight of her nylon-clad legs would
attract him. They were nice legs, and the slender ankles
were like Gillian's. Gillian had beautiful legs, a figure
which made this girl look like a board; Paul had a habit
of calling her a pocket Venus. Pocket perfection. Love
for her was like a drug : Mallen hadn't been able to get
her out of his mind for months, and the last few days
had been unbearable. He had lain awake, hour after
hour, thinking of her in the next room; longing.
The train slowed down. He glanced at his watch.
It was five minutes past seven, they would soon be at
Swindon. How would the police get at a wanted man
on a train? He heard nothing except the faint hiss of
escaping steam, for he was near the front, then the chatter
of voices in a nearby carriage. He picked up a paper, but
couldn't hold it high enough to hide his face; as if there
were any point in that now. The girl opposite would
know him almost as well as she knew her own reflection.
41
 MAN ON THE RUN
This was the Evening News.
MAN FOUND DEAD IN
HAMPSTEAD FLAT
He wanted to screw the paper up and throw it away ;
he gripped the edges tightly. The girl would probably
notice that. If she did, she would most likely put it
down to his headache. What made him think that
everyone was staring, everyone guessed at the gathering
tension in his mind?
More and more people passed the open door of the
compartment; in spite of wide open windows and door,
it was uncomfortably hot; or was that his imagination?
His eyes flickered every now and again, then he saw
houses, row after row of them ; it was twenty-five past
seven, so this was Swindon.
He got up, pulled his rucksack down, and hitched it
on to his shoulders. He meant to be among the first to
get off the train. He nodded to the girl, then went out
and stood by a corridor door. They steamed into the
platform slowly; a few people waited on it, one or two
porters trotted alongside.
Then Mallen saw several policemen standing about
and scanning the windows.

6
TO U CH AN D GO
MALLEN felt quite sure that they were looking for him.
He backed away from the window, banged against a
man, muttered an apology, and then turned into a com­
partment. Two people were standing up in it. . He
went to the corner away from the platform and sat down.
The passengers took little notice of him.
42
 TOUCH AN D G O
A train steamed in o n the other side of the track.
Mallen sat rigidly while the passengers collected odd­
ments of luggage from the rack, and went out. Doors
were slamming. Policemen were moving along the plat­
form ; Mallen could see them from the waist downwards.
One drew near enough for him to see his helmet, but
didn't look into the carriage.
How did they know he was on the train?
There was only one possible answer; Richard Fane
had told them.
There would probably be more police at the next
station-unless these searched the train. Mallen breathed
heavily, almost painfully. Once he stepped down on to
the platform they would get him.
Steam hissed from the train on the other line. The
carriage opposite him was empty, and the handle of the
door was within reach. If he could get into that train
he might have a chance. He gulped as he stood up,
hitched the rucksack into position, and opened the door.
The alarm would be raised the moment anyone saw
him.
He lowered himself to the running-board, then leaned
forward. The other door handle was within reach. He
turned it, and pulled the door.
The other train began to move.
He jumped down on to the track, and there was only
just room between the two trains. The other train was
moving very slowly, the door was swinging open. He
grabbed the handrail and clambered up, then almost fell
inside the carriage. He saw people on the other plat­
form but only from the waist downwards, no one saw him.
The train stopped.
He sank back in a corner, gasping for breath, watching
the other train tensely. Two men appeared at the
carriage opposite; two policemen. They didn't look
towards Mallen, just put their heads inside, glanced
round, and went out again.
Mallen drew fiercely at a cigarette.
43
 MAN ON THE RUN
Then the door of his carriage opened, and his heart
made a wild, painful leap. He turned convulsively
towards the door, saw a porter, clenched his hands tightly
and didn't speak.
" You must've got the wrong train, sir," the porter
said. " We're only shuntin' this one. London train'll
be in here in half an hour."
" I-I see," Mallen muttered. " Someone said-this
platform." He could hardly think.
" S'okay," the porter said.
Mallen got out, and the train moved off slowly. A
few people stood about this platform, but no policemen.
The train from London was still here, and hid the men
on the far side.
Mallen turned into a refreshment room, ordered a
cup of tea, and stood so that he could look across the rails.
He had been there for five minutes when the train he had
arrived on pulled out.
When it had gone, the police were converging on the
gates.
Would they wait about the station approach? Or
would they assume that they had been misinformed? He
could see them clearly-and saw one of them speaking to
Richard Fane. Fane shrugged his shoulders, as if refusing
to accept the blame for their failure ; then he and the
police moved off the platform.
A goods train passed through, slowly and noisily.
Mallen finished a second cigarette, then left the refresh­
ment room and walked towards the barrier. Two ticket
collectors stood by it, showing no interest in him or in
anyone. One took his ticket.
Mallen stepped into the big hall.
" Oi, mister," the collector called.
l\fallen glanced round, heart pounding. The collector
was looking at him. He wanted to run, but that would
only bring trouble.
" Did you-call me? "
" Ticket's for Cardiff. Don't you want to go on? "
44
 TOUCH AN D G O
" Er-no. No, it doesn't matter."
The collector shrugged and turned away. Fane wasn't
in sight, there weren't many people about.
It was cooler outside in the station yard. A few buses
were drawn up nearby and there was a line of waiting
taxis, all with drivers standing hopefully by them. A
policeman talked to two of them.
Mallen went past on the far side of the road, not
daring to look round to see if the policeman was following
until he reached the corner.
The policeman hadn't moved.
The kit seemed heavy already.
Mallen was in the heart of the town before he looked
round again to check whether he were followed. He
wasn't ; yet Fane had known he was on the train. Why
hadn't he made sure that the police kept up the search?
Obviously he hadn't, and the why didn't matter.
Getting out of the West Country town and heading north
mattered most-north, towards Shrewsbury. Once he
was there he would be within striking distance of Llansoch
and Medley's.
He asked a newsboy for the main road to Gloucester,
followed the directions without any difficulty, reached it,
and realised that he was getting hungry ; too hungry.
His head was aching, that was no longer pretence, and
his eyes burned. He saw a cafe with two lorries and two
private cars parked outside, and went towards it. Twice
he looked over his shoulder, seemed to find it necessary
to make sure every moment that he was not being followed.
The only man walking behind him was wearing old
clothes and a choker, slouching along with his hands in
his pockets and a cigarette drooping from the corner of
his mouth. He passed the door of the cafe when Mallen
went in. Two men, obviously from a lorry, stood at the
narrow bar, eating thick sandwiches. A big urn gleamed
in its chromium brightness, and steam came away from
it in tiny wisps, it gurgled all the time. A girl stood by
it. A man wearing a green T-shirt and a pair of khaki
45
 MAN ON THE RUN
trousers was behind the bar, there were several small
tables, three of them occupied. Mallen ordered two ham
sandwiches and tea. He took them to a table by the
window, and saw the man with the choker approaching ;
next moment, the door opened.
The man slouched to the bar.
" Cuppa char," he ordered.
" One tea," the man called to the girl at the urn.
" Ta." The man in the choker sipped the hot tea,
standing with his back to the bar. " Anyone going
norf? " His accent was broad Cockney, he certainly
wasn't a local.
" How far? " one of the men by the bar asked.
" Manchester'd do me, mate."
" What's it worth? "
" Five bob."'
" Don't want anything on the cheap, do you? " asked
the driver sarcastically. " Any other gentleman among
us like a lift for next to nothing? " He looked round,
grinning, and the Cockney sipped his tea noisily. " What,
no takers? Five bob for a hundred and sixty blinking
miles ! "
Mallen said quickly : " I wouldn't mind a lift to
Shrewsbury."
" Cost you five bob, too."
" That would be all right."
" Blimey, the gentleman don't want a bob or two
knocked off," the driver marvelled. He was lean, wiry,
with a ready grin and small, bright blue eyes. His mate,
beside him, was chunky, taciturn. " That's okay with
me, mate, provided my first passenger don't object to
company."
" Make it seven an a tanner the two," said the Cockney,
grinning as broadly as the driver. There was something
attractive about his knobby face. " It don't cost yer no
more."
" The moment I saw you I knew you was born in
Scotland," grinned the driver. " Five bob each, and
46
 TOUCH AN D G O
we're off in ten minutes. The red lorry-get in the back,
chum."
" Okay." The Cockney guzzled his tea, and slouched
out. The driver moved across to Mallen, obviously in a
talkative mood. His mate stayed by the bar. Where
was Mallen going-up in the Welsh mountains? Lovely
for hiking, they were. Mallen answered mechanically,
thinking. In the back of the red lorry he would be
hidden from the road, and who was likely to stop and
ask the lorry driver if he had passengers? Even if the
police were on the look out, this should be safe.
The Cockney lay on a heap of sacking. The lorry
was half-full of crates and cartons, there was plenty of
room. The tailboard was down. Mallen climbed up,
the driver slung the rucksack after him and his mate
began to put up the board.
" Anything you want, sir ? " the driver asked the
Cockney, winking at Mallen.
" Feaver bed," the Cockney said promptly, " coupla
pillers an' a pint."
When the tailboard had been fastened with the iron
bars, the man winked at Mallen. " The perisher's okay,"
he conceded. " Goin' on 'oliday?"
" Yes."
" Lucky old so-an'-so, I gotta work. Gotta sleep
first, you don't snore, do yer?"
Mallen grinned. " No one's told me so."
" You try it and I'll tell yer, chum ! " The Cockney
rolled over on his back.
Mallen sat with his back against a carton. It would
be dark when they reached Shrewsbury, there wasn't
likely to be anything else to worry about tonight. The
Cockney snored faintly, but lay like a log. The lorry
bumped and rattled, keeping up a good speed ; now and
again the driver jammed on his brakes, throwing Mallen
forward, but the Cockney seemed to sleep all the time.
There were no watching eyes.
* * * *
47
 MAN ON THE RUN
A few lights showed on the road and at the side when
the lorry stopped outside another transport cafe. The
driver walked round. The Cockney woke for the first
time, and leaned up on one elbow.
" Shake a leg," the driver called. " Shrewsbury,
guv'nor." The safety chain rattled. " Shake a leg."
" I'm awake, thanks."
It was not only dark, but much cooler, although not
cold. George jumped down, drew the rucksack after
him, and took a ten-shilling note from his wallet.
" That's all right, he said when the other started to
fumble in his pockets for change, " it was worth it to me.
Thanks."
" Pleasure's mine, guv'nor ! Going anywhere else
tonight? "
" I'll stay here." He must hide every trail he could.
" Have a good kip," the driver said. " How's the
King of Scotland? " He guffawed, but the Cockney
made no comment, seemed ready to fall asleep again.
George went into the cafe, had more tea and another
sandwich. He was stiff, but that would soon wear off ;
and he was much nearer Medley's, with no risk that he
had been followed. He left before the lorry driver, and
walked briskly towards the beckoning lights of the town.
There weren't many, and it was late-nearly midnight.
He would be noticeable if he went to a hotel. The
night was warm, so he could sleep out.
The harness of the kit slipped into exactly the right
position and he walked easily.
Darkness brought a sense of safety.
He had to get to Lanmouth, now, the nearest town of
any size to Llansoch. Few people were about. At
the crossroads, two policemen stood talking. Did they
watch him? The fear came back, Mallen had to fight
not to break into a run.
Neither followed.
He came to several big signposts, and soon found the
Lanmouth Road.
 TOUCH AND G O
It was dark on the outskirts of the town, where only a
few street lamps glowed. There was practically no traffic.
He heard a car coming behind him, and put up his hand,
but it passed.
Was it safe to try to hitch a lift?
Why not? The police might be on the look-out, but
they hadn't had time to circulate his photograph. No
one else would be on the look-out for him. He could
safely hitch a lift tonight. In the morning it might be
too late-the newspapers might have his picture.
The harness became much heavier.
Once free of the town, the headlights of several cars
came towards him, but few came from behind; none of
those stopped. After nearly an hour he slid the harness
off his shoulders, and sat down on the grass bank at the
side of the road. The jolting about in the lorry, the ten­
sion and the cumulative effect of several almost sleepless
nights were working together to make him tired out. He
wanted sleep. He wanted a lift. The world had sud­
denly turned against him again.
Until he had met Gillian, he hadn't known these
changes of mood, he still didn't like them. Thoughts
began to harass him. Why had Gillian left ? Had she
let someone into the flat?
Who had killed Paul?
Had the police any idea where he was?
* * * *
The lorry driver sat at his wheel, smoking, and his
mate beside him, when a light wavered about a little way
ahead. He slowed down and switched on his headlights.
A police patrol car was drawn into the side of the road,
and a policeman was walking towards the lorry.
The driver stopped.
" Any passengers with you? " the policeman asked.
A lie wouldn't serve, if he looked in the back.
" Just one," the driver said. " My boss don't mind if
I give a chap a lift. Why should you? "
49
 MAN ON THE RUN
" Depends on the chap ! "
The driver and his mate got down, went to the back,
and let down the tailboard. Torchlight snaked about
the lorry, but the Cockney had gone.
" Blimey, I've been welshed ! " The driver's expres­
sion was comical. " Never even paid me, the--"
" What was he like? " asked the policeman. " We're
looking for a youngish chap, nice looking, well-spoken.
He came from London, but might have jumped off a
train near Swindon-other side from here. Where'd
you pick your chap up? "
" There was two," the driver admitted. " One could
fit your bill, like a glove. Youngish chap, carrying hiker's
kit. Got off just before we ran through the town. You
know, Joe's Cabin. But that kid seemed O.K. What's
he been doing? "
" If he's the man we're after, a little job of murder,"
the patrolman said.
He let the lorry go, then radioed a report back to
Shrewsbury. Within ten minutes all road patrols and
police stations in the town and country areas were alerted
for Mallen. His description was given carefully, and :
" He is believed to be carrying hiker's kit. If the man is
George Mallen, he is known to be dangerous. Cars on the
road should be stopped and searched as he may be
trying to hitch-hike. . . ."
* * * *
Mallen knew that he hadn't much hope of getting a
lift, and would probably have to sleep under a hedge. He
must walk on for a while. It was a clear, starlit night but
there was no moon. He must get on ; every mile nearer
would be important in the morning. He got up, put on
the rucksack, and was starting off when the night sky
behind him was lit up by the glow of car headlamps.
He stepped into the road, one hand stretched out.
The car drew nearer, travelling fast, and he could hear the
engine. Fast-moving traffic was not likely to stop for
50
 TOUCH AN D G O
him, but he stood his ground. He felt the brilliance of
the headlights, and closed his eyes against the dazzle.
The car slowed down ; he could hear the faint squeal
of the tyres. It stopped twenty yards ahead of him, and
he broke into a run, to catch up. The door opened.
Two men sat in the front, no one in the back, of a large
car ; he wasn't sure of the make.
" Where are you going to? " a man asked, in a lilting
Welsh accent.
" I want to get to Lanmouth."
" Well, man, it's your lucky night," the man said,
" we're going there. Get in the back, now."
" You're very good. I can't thank you--"
" Forget it, man," the driver said, with the same lilt
in his voice. " We can help a fellow when he needs it,
can't we? Move those boxes where you like and make
yourself quite comfortable now."
The seat was well sprung, luxury after the lorry.
Mallen could see the men's heads and shoulders but their
faces were as shadowed as his, he couldn't recognise them
again, they wouldn't recognise him. The car started off.
Both men seemed cheerful ; carefree. They began to
sing, very quietly at first, the air of a tune Mallen didn't
know. They sang more loudly. He didn't know much
about singing, but thought that they were good. After
a while they stopped singing. The man next to the
driver turned to offer cigarettes, then flicked a lighter.
George ducked, using his own lighter quickly, and hiding
his face.
He sat back ; it was a relief to relax, to know that
every minute he was getting nearer Medley's. He ought
to be able to get inside the camp early in the morning.
No one was likely to guess that he was going there. The
greatest danger was that the police would have put his
photograph in the newspapers.
He began to doze. It was pleasant and comfortable.
The men were silent as the headlights carved a brilliant
white tunnel through the darkness. The road was full
51
 MAN ON THE RUN
of twists and turns, and they could not make much speed.
Suddenly, a car passed them at speed, pulled in front
of them with a light flickering. The driver slowed down.
Mallen woke up, alert on the instant, and stared at the
car in front.
" What would they be wanting? " asked the driver.
" That's a police car, isn't it? "

7
THE HO L D - UP

THE headlights shone on two policemen approaching them.

The car was almost at a standstill. The man next to the
driver was looking over his shoulder at Mallen, as if
suspicious. Mallen was stiff with dread ; but if he
stayed here, he would be caught. There wouldn't be a
chance to get away from four men. He probably
wouldn't be able to get out of the car without being
grabbed. Almost instinctively, he took out the gun ; as
mechanically, he loaded it.
He must frighten them into helping.
" Listen," he said, and his voice sounded strange,
unnatural. " Drive on."
" Why, man, are you crazy? " The driver glanced over
his shoulder.
" Drive on, or I'll shoot you in the back," Mallen said
harshly. " I've a gun."
He showed the automatic.
They had practically stopped. The police were three
or four yards ahead of them.
. " He has, too, David,"
m a quavermg voice.
. the man next to the driver said
" Drive on ! " rasped Mallen.
The driver pressed his horn. It blared out through
 THE HOLD-UP

the quiet night. The policemen started, and jumped

wildly to one side. The driver thrust the car forward ;
they flashed by the police car, and round a corner.
" Faster," Mallen growled.
" Listen, man--"
" I won't hurt you, if you hurry," Mallen said. " Step
on it."
The gun covered the driver.
Both men were probably terrified. The car moved
faster than ever, the driver taking chances at corners.
Mallen glanced round, but could not see the headlights
of the police car behind them. They reached a straight
stretch of road, and the car hurtled along, the needle
touched eighty.
" How far are we from Lanmouth ? " Mallen deman­
ded. He felt cold ; it was difficult to keep his voice
steady.
" About-about eight miles."
" Drop me off on the Barmouth Road," Mallen said.
" Understand and-and don't make any mistake."
They passed no other traffic. The night was dark
behind them, and there was no sign of the police car.
Why hadn't it followed? Or had they outpaced it?
Would the police radio a message to Lanmouth. Would
other control cars be speeding this way?
He needed more time than he had ; the police car was
only minutes behind, at most.
He'd been trained as a Commando ; knew all the
tricks ; had learned to tackle heavy odds.
He dared hardly look behind him ; the man next to
the driver looked as if he would take the first chance of
knocking the gun out of Mallen's hand. When he did
glance round, Mallen saw the distant glow of headlights
in the sky. That meant that the police car was no more
than a minute away.
They couldn't be far from Lanmouth now.
" Stop here," he barked suddenly.
" It's another two miles to--"
53
 MAN ON THE R UN
" Stop here ! "
The driver jammed on his brakes, and Mallen had
the door open before the car stopped. He got out back­
wards, gun in his right hand, rucksack in his left.
" Now drive on. Hurry, or I'll put a bullet through
the pair of you ! ''
He slammed the door. The car moved off.
He didn't think that it would go far. The driver
would wait for the police car to catch up with them, and
tell the police what had happened.
Some way ahead the police car's headlights were
making a pale glow, which grew brighter.
The car ahead stopped.
There was a hedge on either side of the road. Mallen
forced his way through it, and then hurried towards the
stopped car. The police car was so near now that he
could hear the drone of its engine. He was safe behind
the hedge.
The car passed.
Mallen heard the squeal of tyres as it stopped, and
could guess exactly what had happened. The cars were
only a hundred yards away, close together in the middle
of the road. He hurried along the hedge towards them,
making little noise on the meadow grass. He heard the
engine switched off, and then voices came clearly.
" What happened? "
" Where is he ? "
" He's got a gun, man ! "
" He can't be far away."
Mallen couldn't tell one speaker from another. He
drew nearer. All four stood by the side of the car he
had driven in, and were vivid in the glare of the police
car's headlights.
" He said he wanted the Barmouth Road," one
Welshman declared.
Mallen passed them behind the hedge. They were
making too much noise to hear his movements but there
was a danger that they would hear something. He got
54
 THE HOLD-UP

ahead. A closed gate was just beyond the cars, he

could see it against the glow from the headlights. He
opened it and stepped on to the road, then turned
towards the cars.
" Two that side, two this," a man was saying.
" We can't leave the cars ! "
" We'll wait until someone else--"
Mallen stepped into sight, the gun covering all four.
They saw him at the same instant. He heard the hissing
intake of breath.
One of the policemen took a step forward, and Mallen
rasped :
" Keep still ! "
The man stopped, and opened his mouth.
" Listen," Mallen said, " I'm desperate. Don't make
me shoot you."
If one of them had more courage than most, and
hurled forward, the bluff would be called. He couldn't
shoot a man down.
None of them moved. He couldn't see their faces
clearly, and the headlights dazzled him.
" Move back-all of you."
" Listen, Mallen," one of the policemen said, " you're
only making it worse for yourself. Be a sensible chap,
and give up. We'll--"
" Shut up ! Move back."
" Listen, Mallen--"
" Do you want me to blow a hole tlzrouglz you ? "
" Come on, Jim," the other policeman said. " We'd
better do what he says."
All four backed away, slowly. Apart from the sound
of their footsteps, everywhere was silent. No other car's
headlights showed-but the policemen longed for one,
every minute they could drag this out would improve
their chances.
" Hurry ! " Mallen called.
They quickened their pace a little.
" You," Mallen said. " The driver who gave me the
55
 MAN ON THE RUN
lift, I mean. Let the air out of the police car tyres."
" But man-- "
" Let it out I "
" If you'd listen to reason, :Mallen--"
" I don't want to shoot you," Mallen said. " I haven't
killed anyone yet and I don't want to start. Let the air
out of those tyres."
The driver bent down to obey. Air hissed out of one
tyre, then of another.
" That's enough," Mallen said. " Now all of you,
get in the car."
" Mallen, why don't you--"
" Get in the car I "
" Mallen--"
He sensed rather than saw that one of the policemen
was going to take a chance. He fired high above their
heads. The flash was dim against the headlights but
the shot roared. The policeman had actually started
forward, but he stopped and reared up.
One of the men from the car shouted :
" Don't do it, don't do it ! "
" Get into that car," Mallen growled.
They obeyed. The police were the last to get in.
But for the shot, they would never have gone. The door
slammed. Now Mallen had his chance. It wasn't good
but he would never get another like it.
He dived for the empty car, a Wolseley ; he was
fairly familiar with Wolseley controls. He slammed the
door, and switched on the engine. He couldn't see the
men, but saw moving shadows, and knew that the police
were rushing forward. He eased off the brakes, and
the car moved forward ; steady, or he'd stall. He was
conscious of running figures on one side of the car. He
heard a sound, as if the door handle were opening. He
glanced to the left and saw two faces.
He put his foot down harder. The car went faster,
and the faces dropped away.
Now he had to get into Lanmouth, put the car where
56
 THE HOLD-UP
i t wouldn't be seen, make them think he was driving
away in it. They'd probably try the Barmouth road,
as he'd talked about that. He felt a queer mixture of
exultation and fear-and at the same time, was surprised
by his own calmness. He had pulled off the impossible,
that probably explained it. Now he must do the right
thing.
Buildings appeared on either side, then signposts. At
a fork, he turned right, leaving the Barmouth Road on
the left. Soon, his headlights shone on a car park sign.
He slowed down, and saw that it was by the side of a
cinema. He turned up the narrow alley leading to it,
switched off the headlights, and crawled with only his
sidelights on. In the car park, he pulled up close to
the rear of the cinema, and got out.
He hardly noticed the rucksack on his shoulders.
He stood by the side of the cinema as a car appeared,
some way off. Which way would it go at the fork?
If it chose Barmouth, as he expected, it wouldn't come
past here.
It turned off.
" They'll expect me to be on the Barmouth Road,"
he muttered to himself. " They won't search round
here."
But he knew that they might.
As the sound of the car engine faded, Mallen moved.
There would be other night patrols, he might run
into a policeman at any corner. Yet the town seemed
quiet ; whenever he stopped there wasn't a sound. His
heels made more noi e han he wanted ; it was like
0

thunder in a ghost town. Not a single light showed in

any window.
He reached a corner and saw signposts, went closer,
and tried to read them ; only the light from a distant
street lamp helped. He hadn't a torch.
Gradually the names on the signpost stood out, names
which looked unfamiliar, all oddly spelt. Then he saw
Llansoch on an arm pointing straight ahead. He started
57
 MAN ON THE R UN
along that road, wishing he could make less noise.
Where was the police car? Had it gone to the police
station? How many police would be turned out?
His eyes were so heavy that he could hardly keep them
open. He reached another corner signpost ; Llansoch
was straight on.
Soon he was going up a steep hill. There was a
sound now, a constant murmuring. The sea, of course.
He reached the top of the hill, and saw a few lights
below him, the dark shape of hills rising against the
starlit sky. The stars were reflected on the water, which
stretched in a great bay. He could make out the shape
of the pale, smooth sands, and the headland which
jutted _up from the sea seemed to grow darker, a black
menacmg mass.
The road turned away from the sea. Soon he was in
the country again, but he could still hear that murmuring
of the waves. He knew that he couldn't last much
longer without rest. He scanned the hedge as he
walked past, then saw a gate, near it the dark shape
of a haystack. He climbed over the gate, walked
towards the haystack, which would shelter him from
the wind coming off the sea. He dropped the rucksack,
lai,cl down, stretched out and made a pillow of loose hay.
He lay on his back, looking up at the stars. It was cool ;
chilly ; but he was resting, and just across the bay he
knew, was Medley's ; Gillian.
He fell asleep.
When he woke, it was broad daylight, and warm.
He looked up at a bright blue sky. Birds were chattering
in the hedge. Brambles grew untidily, the black fruit
in small, inviting clusters. Further along, great ferns
looked like green fur, and the branches of hawthorn
were weighed down with clusters of dark red berries.
He looked at his watch. It said half-past four, he had
forgotten to wind it.
He felt thirsty, and his eyes were heavy but otherwise
his head was clear. He stood up, walked round the
58
 THE HOL D-UP
haystack and felt the full warmth of the sun. A narrow
road was empty. He glanced up and down it, nervously.
The sea shimmered, there was a soft wind, and the
waves lapped gently on the wide, smooth sand less than
a mile away from him. He saw two people, bathing,
others walking along the sand.
A faint haze covered the land across the bay. Medley's
lay over there but was hidden. He put on the rucksack,
and ventured on to the road.
It was only a narrow lane, he must have taken a wrong
turning in the dark. Not far along stood a small stone
cottage, painted white so that it almost hurt the eyes.
Smoke rose from the one square chimney. Mallen
approached it slowly. What couldn't he do with a cup
of tea !
The cottage door was closed. Outside was a tiny
garden, with two hydrangeas, large and spreading, their
huge blooms turning colour as they began to fade.
Beneath a round stone there was a newspaper.
Mallen stood quite still.
The only sound came from the birds.
Mallen moved slowly towards the newspaper, and
glanced at the green, freshly painted door. It was
closed, remote. He bent down, moved the stone and
picked up the paper, and his heart beat so fast that Iie
felt sick. The paper was folded ; what would he see on
the front page?
He opened it. There were two photographs, both of
men. Not his. He stared at the unfamiliar faces, and
tension began to ease. Then a name caught his eye
beneath one :
Leslie Morgan
whom Scotland Yard are
anxious to interview.
That was the man wanted for the Hampstead flat
murder.
59
 M AN ON THE RUN
Mallen scanned the smaller headlines. Robberies­
a hold-up-a girl fround drowned on a French beach
-a strike-a film star rushed to hospital for an emergency
operation, a dozen other things but no murder in Chelsea.
He opened the paper.
There it was, with a picture, but not his ; it was Paul's.

Paul Hope, the dead man.

The print blurred. Mallen gritted his teeth, and made
himself read. When he came to the ominous sentence,
he felt as if he had read it a hundred times already.

The police are anxious to interview Mr. George

Mallen, tenant of the flat where Paul Hope was
found murdered. Mr. Mallen, an advertising
agent with offices in Victoria Street, London,
did not return home last night.

They had all the facts right, but didn't really give a
pen picture of Paul sitting, as if asleep, in that armchair
with the sun making his blood so vivid. There was no
mention of Gillian.
She was just across the bay.
Had she read this or any newspaper ? Did she
know what had happened?
He heard a sound ; his heart turned over. He lowered
the paper swiftly.
An old man stared at him from a corner of the cottage.
Mallen fought for his nerve. He could not afford
the slightest mistake. He folded the paper, forced a
smile, and said :
" I hope you don't mind, sir."
" No, that's quite all right," the old man said in a
hoarse voice. His accent made the words difficult to
understand. " So long as you don't run away with it."
" Lord, no ! But I can't resist a newspaper." Mallen's
smile came more freely. " Do you know the nearest
60
 THE HOLD-UP

cafe, or anywhere I could get a cup of tea ? Or break­

fast? "
" You can have a cup of tea, and welcome," the old
man said. His eyes were screwed up against the sun.
He was wizened and rheumy, he wore an old shapeless
suit of grey tweed, and he looked likely to fall without
the support of the short stick that he bent over, so that
he had to look up under shaggy eyebrows. " I'll ask my
wife, now, about breakfast." His voice rose quaveringly
on the 'fast' as he turned towards the back of the house.
Mallen glanced up and down the road. No car was in
sight; would the police often come down a road like
this? It wasn't likely.
Mallen picked up the newspaper and followed the old
man. The tiny kitchen was crammed with furniture,
there was a smell of frying bacon, and a little old woman
wearing a black dress stood at the sink which had no
taps. Her iron-grey hair was drawn neatly back to a
large bun. The old man spoke in Welsh, and she turned
to look at Mallen with shrewd, penetrating eyes. Then
she smiled.
" I'll be glad to give you breakfast," she said. " Would
you like to wash, now, while you're waiting?"
The old man was already pouring tea from a big
brown pot into a big white cup.
" That's a good idea," Mallen took the cup. " Thanks
very much." He leaned against the big kitchen table,
which was pushed close against the wall by the side of a
huge open fire. A hook hung down and a large iron
pot hung over the red embers of a peat fire.
When Mallen had finished his tea, the old man was
standing at the door looking at the newspapers. The
woman filled an enamel jug with water from a singing
kettle and put the jug on the table.
" Don't be too long," she said. " There's a mirror."
The mirror hung on a nail in the wall. Mallen
grinned. The newspaper carried the story but no photo­
graph, where were his worries?
61
 MAN ON THE R UN
He rummaged through the rucksack, found his plastic
wash-bag, put his shaving gear out on the table. The
razor wasn't in the bag. He looked carefully through
the rucksack; the razor wasn't there. He remembered
knocking the gear off the cupboard in the bathroom at
home; could he have left the razor on the floor?
This spoilt his surge of confidence, but he still felt
better than he had yesterday. Was that justified? The
police now knew that they were looking -for an armed
man, it would intensify the hunt. But if he hadn't used
the gun, he would never have escaped.
Bacon and two eggs, home-baked bread and deep
yellow farmhouse butter made breakfast a meal in a
thousand. The woman charged him two and sixpence ;
in any hotel half the food would have cost twice the
money. Neither of the old couple asked questions but
the man stamped along with him to the tiny front garden,
where the sun was putting fresh colour into the hydran­
geas, and made a bed of geraniums look as if the petals
were made of blood.
Mallen waved to the old man, and strode out towards
Llansoch, seeing a signpost which he had missed in the
dark. It was near the top of a hill. At the top he stood
looking over the sea, shimmering, blue and friendly.
The haze had nearly gone. He could make out the
shapes of the folds in the hills, and close to the sea across
the bay, long, low buildings, row upon row of smaller
buildings, the camp chalets he imagined, and roads which
looked to be in a series of bisecting parallel lines.
How far was it? Five or six miles?
The road leading to the camp followed the shape of
the bay, sometimes near the shore, sometimes a mile or
more inland. A village lay in a valley three or four
miles away. By road it was at least fifteen miles, he
estimated. The only short cut was across the bay.
He would have to sneak into the camp, somehow.
First get there, then find a way in.
A mile along the road he came upon a lorry close
62
 S O NEAR • • •
to the hedge. Two men were talking, in the field beyond ;
one was probably the lorry driver. As Mallen stood by
the lorry, he heard a car coming from Lanmouth. He
caught a glimpse of the driver and the man sitting next
to him. It was like walking into a stone wall.
They were policemen.
The car slowed down.

8
SO N EAR . . .
MALLEN was between the lorry and the hedge. He
crouched down, hidden by both, when the car stopped.
The door opened, someone got out on to the road, and
shouted :
" Have you seen a young chap about here, Dai ? "
An answering call came from the field.
" No, man. Who are you after now ? "
There was a pause ; and footsteps. Mallen bent
lower and crept under the lorry. Two Welsh voices
discussed him. It was a rumour that he was somewhere
near, but not certain.
The policeman seemed to take it all very calmly, while
Mallen's heart thumped sickeningly. They stopped
talking at last, and the policeman went back to the car.
Would the lorry driver drive off ? Mallen could
hardly breathe.
The man returned to the field.
Mallen crept out from beneath the lorry, his teeth
set. The two men in the field were talking. He moved
away, stealthily. It would be dangerous to use the road;
he would soon have to walk across country. That
wasn't the worst thing ; the policemen might be heading
for the Camp.
 MAN ON THE RUN
He went along for half a mile, then turned off into
a field. The land was hilly, up and down all the way.
At the top of a hill he looked over the countryside, which
was divided like a patchwork quilt into fields which looked
tiny, some yellow, some dark green, some pale green,
some brown. In several, sheep grazed ; near him three
black-and-white heifers stood switching their tails.
He could see the road, and the village in the valley.
There were several cars in the village, the sun glittering
on them. Smoke rose from several chimneys.
He had to avoid the village, but a new situation had
arisen. How could he get into Medley's if the camp
had been alerted?
Strangers, anyone without a reservation, would pro­
bably be suspect, but if he could book a chalet by tele­
phone, using a false name, he would have a chance.
At least he could try.
Perhaps-perhaps he could speak to Gillian.
There would be a telephone in the village.
A high hawthorn hedge protected the road, and Mallen
went towards it. Through a gap, he could watch the
road.
A car came into sight with a woman at the wheel.
Then a lorry came rattling along. Mallen walked
by the hedge, hidden from the road, drawn by the hope of
telephoning Medley's ; and Gillian. He neared the
village, reached a side road, and walked to the main one.
People saw but ignored him. There were two shops,
one of them with several newspapers in a rack outside.
Nearby was a telephorte kiosk. He went in and turned
up Medley's number, put in the call, watching the road.
If he could speak to Gillian--
Crazy fool ! He was wanted for Paul Hope's murder,
if he asked for Gillian Hope. . . .
A girl's voice interrupted him.
" Medley's Holiday Camp, can I help you?"
" I'd like to make a reservation, please."
" Hold on," the girl said. He had to hold on for a
64
 SO NEAR • • •

long time. Two cars passed, then a crowd of cyclists, all

coming away from Lanmouth. There were half a
dozen lads, as many girls, the girls all wearing tight­
fitting woollen jumpers and brief shorts ; they whirred
through the village.
" Reception, can I help you? "
" I'd like to book a room," Mallen said.
" What date, sir ? ''
" From today, if that's possible."
" I'm afraid it isn't," the girl said. " We have a few
vacancies at the end of the week, but nothing at the
moment. I'm sorry."
Mallen said : " Oh, I see. Thanks." He hung up,
but didn't leave the kiosk. He should have expected, at
least feared that ; instead, he felt sick with disappoint­
ment.
He saw a man coming out of the shop with a picture
newspaper ; the man stood near him, opening it.
Mallen wanted the Daily Pictorial. There was one in
the rack.
He approached the shop, and the man glanced at
him, then away. He took a Pictorial and two other
newspapers, tossed sixpence on to the counter as a very
fat man glanced at him, then went out. He opened the
Daily Pictorial as he walked along. He had to get out of
the village quickly, but must not show any fear.
He looked down at his own photograph.
He felt as if icy water had been poured over him.
No one who saw this could fail to recognise him. It
was full face, and flattering, a studio portrait that he had
had done eighteen months before, for a publicity leaflet.
He walked through the village, tensely. There were
only a dozen little stone houses beyond the shops. He
imagined faces at the windows. Two very old men sat
on a wooden seat by the last house, smoking pipes,
looking blankly in front of them ; and then at him. One
had a folded newspaper on his knees. A Pictorial?
Mallen couldn't see. He went past quickly, and found
65
 MAN ON THE RUN
a road leading sharply uphill. Half-way along a gravel
lane, without a signpost led towards the sea. He turned
along this, then broke through the hawthorn hedge and
into a field where a few sheep grazed. He walked away
from the road. Anyone he met might have seen and
studied that photograph, he would not know a moment's
safety now, unless he could keep away from people until
after dark.
It wasn't yet ten o'clock ; he had to hide for eleven
hours.
He would have to find a way of getting into Medley's
after dark. Never mind how difficult it would be.
He was half a mile away from the road, and could
see it winding up and down, with cars moving along it,
and here and there a pack of cyclists ; a few hikers with
rucksacks. Towards the bay, there was a beach of bright
yellow sand, and people bathing.
Whichever way he turned, there would be people.
He had little food with him ; just the chocolate and
the biscuits.
From the top of the next hill, he saw two youngsters
climbing up towards him, boy and girl, long legs bare,
laughing. He moved to avoid them.
The sun got hotter. He took off his coat and carried
it over his arm, but still did not feel cool. He was
thirsty. That would get worse.
At half-past twelve he made for a clump of trees which
offered shade. He would have to rest, wasn't used to
tramping across uneven grassland, and up and down hill.
His shirt clung to him, he kept wiping his neck and fore­
head, and licking his lips.
Medley's looked nearer. There were eight big buildings
with green roofs, and hundreds of chalets. He couldn't
pick out the people walking about, but could see boats
bobbing about in the bay immediately in front of the
camp.
The welcome shade was only fifty yards away. He
stared towards the trees, for any sign that others were
66
 SO NEAR , , ,

there, and saw no one. He drew nearer, and then saw

a flash of red. He stopped, abruptly. The red moved.
He changed his direction, and went past. A girl stood
beneath the trees, staring at him ; just a girl on her own.
She wore a red jumper, stretched tightly over her figure,
full thrusting breasts beneath it ; and short white pants.
Her hair was black-black, like Paul's. She stared at
him fixedly. She was close enough to recognise his face,
and if she had seen that picture. . . .
Another rise in the ground hid her from him. Beyond
was an over-grown hedge offering plenty of shade. On
the way to it he looked round, but the girl hadn't followed.
He dropped down into the shade, putting the rucksack
by his side. He wiped his forehead and neck, then lit a
cigarette although his mouth was so dry. It would be
safe to drink from any stream, but he hadn't come across
one. At least he wasn't hungry.
The police had that photograph ; and were on the
look-out here. As soon as he left the hedge, he would
have to find a spot where he could hide all day.
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them, the sun shone on the scarlet
of the girl's jumper. She was only fifty yards away,
coming towards him. He lay on his back, watching her
through his lashes. At this angle she couldn't recognise
him, but if she drew nearer she would get a good view.
If he turned away from her, she would probably think
that he was doing it deliberately. He could see her
features, bold, handsome ; she was beautiful in an oddly
sultry way, with very dark eyebrows.
She was no more than thirty yards away, but if she
went straight on, she would reach the hedge some distance
from him. Mallen took out another cigarette, but didn't
light it. He pretended to be asleep. The girl went
towards the hedge, not towards him, but kept looking
his way. She had beautifully shaped legs, not too thin ;
she was the kind of girl who would become top heavy in
middle age, but who looked magnificent now. She
67
 MAN ON THE RUN
walked as if she did not believe that any man could be
indifferent to her figure.
She passed out of sight.
Mallen heard nothing but lay still for several minutes,
then turned to look along the hedge. The girl had gone.
Was it possible that she thought she had recognised him
from the trees, and had come closer to get a better look?
Standing up, he saw no sign of her ; but she might
have gone to the police, he had to get away from here.
He walked close to the hedge, towards the sea­
towards Medley's. He heard music from a long way off,
but did not associate it with the camp ; it probably came
from a car radio or a portable, nearby. The countryside
wasn't empty, it teemed with people. If only he could
find a spot where he could stay out of sight for-how long?
It was one o'clock now. Say for another eight hours.
He was getting hungry, and it was dangerous even to
think about a drink. He must find a stream. Wales
was a land of babbling brooks, wasn't it ? The only
water he saw was in the sea ; waves were splashing more
heavily against the sand. The wind, hardly noticeable
before, was getting up and stinging his damp forehead.
A sharp hill was in front of him. He reached the top
-and stood absolutely still, then dropped flat. The
road curved inwards, here. It was only a hundred yards
away.
The girl in the red jumper stood by the side of two
policemen and their car.
Mallen waited for the girl to point his way. She
didn't. Perhaps she'd already told them where he was.
He could hardly breathe.
The policemen got into the car and drove off. The
girl walked across the fields, without looking back. So
she couldn't have recognised him.
* * * *
Mallen's tension eased, gradually, and his thirst grew
worse. He walked on, cursing the weight of the harness.
68
 THE WIND

He had been walking for an hour before he heard the

unmistakable ripple of water over stones. Beyond the
brow of a hill was a stream, several yards wide, washing
over great grey boulders, glistening, beckoning. He
scrambled down. The stream wound its way through
the little hills, he could see only a stretch of fifty yards
or so, but five yards would have been enough. At the
edge he dropped the rucksack, knelt down and cupped
his hands. The water was stinging cold. He drank
eagerly, then doused his face, dabbed it dry with a hand­
herchief, then belatedly looked up and down. This might
be the sanctuary he sought. There were two or three
little gulleys on the far side of the stream, where he could
laze and hide, coming down for a drink whenever he
wanted it. The problem was to cross the stream. He
went upstream, away from the sea; it might be narrower
round that first hillock, but if necessary he could take off
his shoes and socks and wade across.
He turned the bend.
The girl with the red jumper sat on a rock just ahead
of him, dangling her feet in the water.

9
THE WIND
THE girl sat looking towards him, as if she had known
that he would turn the corner. The sun shone into her
eyes and the freshening wind blew her long, glossy hair
back from her head, where it fell to her shoulders. She
didn't smile, was quite expressionless-beautiful, graceful,
sullen. She leaned back on her hands, which were on
the rock behind her, thrusting her breasts forward, a pose
which looked natural but was probably carefully re­
hearsed. He could see the green of her eyes. She had a
69
 MAN ON THE RUN
short nose and short upper lip, a small mouth, perfectly
sh�ped and outlined in red that was too dark to be
cnmson.
She was only ten yards away, and no one could have
studied Mallen more closely ; he knew that she would
not forget.
" Hallo," he said evenly. " That's one way of keeping
cool."
" Yes, isn't it? " She didn't move. Her voice was
deep, with a faint accent which he couldn't place ; north
country, perhaps, or the Midlands.
" How far is it to the road? " Mallen asked. He had
to say something, walking past her without a word would
only sharpen her interest.
" About a mile," she said, " just follow the stream."
" Thanks."
She made no comment. The water swirled about her
ankles ; her legs were creamy and smooth, her feet looked
small. He noticed a thing he hadn't before-a badge,
pinned to her jumper, between the breasts. In the
centre was a large M ; he couldn't read the lettering.
" Staying at Medley's? "
" Yes."
" I wanted to ; they haven't room."
She shrugged, slightly-it was hardly a shrug, just a
slight movement of her lovely shoulders. She seemed
no more eager to talk than he.
" I'll get going," he said. " Good-bye."
" Good-bye."
He walked past, not looking back until he reached
another bend in the stream. She sat in exactly the same
position, body thrust forward, arms behind her, and
even from there he could see the swirl of water about her
ankles. She wasn't looking at him.
He turned out of sight.
The stream ran straight, and he could see the hedge,
about a mile away ; a car passed, its gleaming black top
showing, and the sound of the engine travelling faintly
70
 THE WIND

across the fields. The land had flattened out here, there
were no high banks, nowhere to hide. He had told the
girl that he was heading for the road, so that was the last
direction he must take. He went a few hundred yards
along the bank, then struck right. How far it was to
Medley's now? Presumably she had walked, so it might
not be so far as he feared.
He was hungry, and would have to eat soon. The
wind was freshening, and it was nothing like so warm.
Behind him in the west, heavy clouds banked up, but
they were a long way off and the sun was still bright.
Across the bay, Medley's was bright in the sun.
Mallen could make out the tiny dots of the people moving
about inside the camp. He could almost swim across !
Two miles? It was probably nearer three, and the sea
was much rougher, splashing noisily against the beach.
From another hill he looked back, but couldn't see
the splash of scarlet. He wondered what the girl had
been doing on her own, and whether she had recognised
him. Would she have deliberately misled the police?
It was idiocy even to think so. She hadn't been exactly
friendly towards him.
Ahead of him, the sea came inland, making a shallow
lagoon of brilliant blue. Near its tip was a small grey
stone cottage; a hundred yards away from this a small
boat was drawn up on the beach. He stared at the boat
with swift, vivid hope. It was too far to swim to the
Camp, but simplicity itself to row out there. The sculls
were in it. It was painted bright blue, and looked trim,
seaworthy. If he were forced to it, he could row across.
The only problem left was to find a spot to hide.
The cottage was probably occupied, but there were trees
beyond it, a patch of oak and beech which �ould give
plenty of cover. He approached them quickly, warily,
made sure that no one was among them, and walked into
the shade. It was more than cool, it was cold; the sun
was suddenly blotted out. He could see great, black
shadows moving over the fields as the clouds scudded
71
 MAN ON THE RUN
across the sky. The leaves rustled noisily in the wind.
He looked for a big tree, to give him some shelter from
it, found one, and sat with his back against it. Next he
opened a packet of biscuits and began to munch. He
allowed himself four, then lit a cigarette. He heard no
one, saw no one. After a while, he got up and walked
to a spot from which he could see the cottage and the boat.
No one appeared, there was no smoke. The waves
splashed up, lifting the boat a little, then letting it rest
on the sand.
He heard a car.
Lying flat on his stomach, he watched it commg
towards the little stone house. It was black, like the
police car, but a man and a woman were in it. They
left the car outside, and waited to be admitted ; so some­
one was inside, and might have seen him.
Voices travelled clearly ; greetings, what a lovely day.
An hour later, he heard another car coming. This
time he knew who it was. The same two police were in
front. He watched as they approached the front door.
One looked this way, but Mallen was hidden unless they
came too near.
The front door was opened.
" Sorry to worry you, Gwyneth bach," a policeman
said clearly, " but it's about that man again. We told
you about him earlier. He was seen in the village this
morning . . . "
Only odd words and phrases floated across to Mallen.
He heard his name several times, and " armed . . . very
dangerous . . . bought a newspaper . . . Medley's . . .
Road's patrolled . . . "
The roads were patrolled, and they knew that he was
in the district. Now the boat was his only hope.
If only darkness would fall.
The police drove off again, amid a chorus of good-byes.
He could move about, now, provided he watched the
front doors and the windows, and was cautious.
The weather had changed.
72
 THE W IN D
The only brightness in the sky was a long way off,
where sunlight fell upon the slopes of the mountains;
the rest of the land was in shadow. So was the sea.
Mallen buttoned his coat. He had wanted it cooler,
but not cold, this was a fantastic change. The wind
stung his face and crept into his clothes, the only way he
could keep warm was to walk about, but he dared not
move far.
Just across the bay, there was Gillian.
His thoughts switched back to Gillian, and the pro­
bability that she had seen the newspaper, known that he
was being hunted down as Paul's murderer.
Had she seen Paul at the flat?
* * * *
It was nearly dark. The stars were out, but the wind
had not dropped. It whistled through the trees, coming
straight off the sea, and Mallen could hear the waves
hitting the beach, and just see them where they broke,
white-topped, and fell back. There was a light at the
cottage window. He could just make out the shape of
the house.
He left the cover of the trees and walked towards the
boat, passing within a few yards of the cottage. Only
the wind and the sea made noise. He could not see the
boat, but knew exactly where it was. He watched the
lighted window and the front door. If the people came
out--
The tide had ebbed, leaving the boat high and dry .
Across the bay, looking deceptively near, were the
lights of the Camp, mostly white, but with some colours
strung out, and a searchlight shining somewhere; why
should they have a searchlight? He took off the harness,
and put everything in the thwarts. It wasn't going to be
easy to get across, but if he hugged the coastline, he should
be all right. There was no move from the house.
He hauled the boat down, then stopped a few feet
from the water, as a wave splashed near him. He took
73
 MAN ON THE RUN
off his shoes and socks, tied the laces of the shoes, stuffed
the socks inside and slung them round his neck. Next he
rolled his trousers up over his knees, put shoes and socks
into the boat, and then pushed again. He felt the bows
lift; she was in the water.
Next moment, a light went on on this side of the house.
It streamed out in the darkness, then a shadow appeared;
someone was at a window.
Mallen kept quite still.
The light went out.
Breathing very hard, Mallen pushed the boat, felt it
float, then waded a couple of feet and climbed in; the
boat rocked. He sat down unsteadily, found the oars,
and began to row, with his back to the lights of Medley's.
Ahead the darkness was broken here and there by a lighted
window, or a lamp in a village. The wind howled and
the sea hissed about him, but the waves were not so big
as he had feared and the little boat rode them well.
Making sure that he kept near the shore was fairly easy;
he could see the waves breaking.
He was about fifty yards out, and pulling with the
tide. He couldn't be sure how long that would last. He
would have at least five miles to do while hugging the
shore, it might take several hours. There was plenty
of time.
Soon he was rowing mechanically but finding it harder;
either the tide had changed or he was in a current.
He felt hot except where the wind stung his forehead.
Now and again a wave splashed over the sides, his ruck­
sack would get drenched. His shoes banged against his
back and chest, but at least they would keep dry.
He kept glancing towards the left, and the lights of
Medley's, beckoning but getting no brighter. That
searchlight worried him; why have one? It was almost
as if they were ready to swivel the light round whenever
there was need; to look for someone? Was that non­
sense? They wouldn't run the place like a prison camp?
The going was much harder, and the sea rougher;
74
 THE WIND
his only consolation was the sight of the white waves
breaking, within swimming distance. The boat tilted
and he lost the smooth rhythm of his rowing, felt a surge
of fear; but the boat righted itself.
He watched Medley's; it seemed nearer. He couldn't
guess how far he had travelled or how long he had been
rowing. It was as if he had been pulling all day and all
night; as if he had never known what it was to rest.
The ache across his shoulders and along his arms and
legs started slowly, but soon it was acute and there all
the time; but he dared not rest. The lights of the Camp
drew him, and it was a long time before he looked towards
the shore.
He could not see the beach.
He stared across the swirling water, heart in his mouth,
searching for the tell-tale white foam. He couldn't see
it. Either he had been carried away, or there was another
inlet, bigger than that at the cottage. The land might
be a hundred yards or a mile away. There was little
light, now, only a few stars showed through gaps in the
clouds.
Water poured into the boat.
His feet were in it, almost ankle deep; in the dark
wildness he seemed to see a splash of scarlet and the
milky legs and ankles of the girl sitting on the rock. The
picture faded. The rucksack, all his clothes and food,
were deep in water. He couldn't go on much longer
without baling, and had nothing to use. It was heavier
pulling, he had to heave all the time yet and seemed to
be making no progress.
He began to fear that he would never reach land.
As the boat swayed, dipping now so that water poured
into the thwarts from the bows, now from the stern, he
knew that the chance of getting ashore was dimming
every minute. He was still out of sight of the waves
breaking against the beach.
A wave struck the boat broadside. He felt himself
flung sideways, nearly lost his gnp on a scull. Water
75
 MAN ON T H E R U N
streamed in, hissing, snarling. It came u p to his knees.
The rucksack bumped against his legs. He thought it
was all over, but the boat righted itself. He shipped
the sculls, cautiously; there was only one thing left to do,
and even that offered little chance. He groped for the
precious rucksack, lifted it, and tossed it overboard. The
boat floated more freely. Baling with his hands would
be a waste of time, all he could do was pull towards the
shore-or where he thought it was. ·He went on in
spite of the agony at his shoulders, but wouldn't be able
to last much longer.
It was a waste of time.
He might as well give it up.
Quite suddenly he realised that he was moving more
easily. Rowing was no longer such an effort. He
shipped his sculls. The lights of the Camp were im­
mediately behind him; he was being carried towards it,
moving at a good speed. He flogged his muscles and
started to row. Even the waves seemed calmer, and he
fancied that the wind was dropping. Lights reflected
on the water, and Mallen fancied that he could see the
shapes of the buildings of the Camp.
He pulled until he couldn't pull any longer. Gasping,
almost crying, he rested on his sculls. The tide still
carried him. Suddenly the lights were blotted out, and
he knew that he was by a headland, hiding the Camp at
close quarters. He couldn't be far away. One wave
could swamp him; if the sea didn't carry him ashore,
he would never get there.
He felt the keel grind and the boat jolt ; it was swung
round violently, throwing him sideways, but it didn't
turn over. Just ahead, the waves broke against the
beach, he could hear the furious hiss as it came back
through the pebbles. There was light in the sky. The
Camp was just behind the headland, and all he had to
do was walk ashore.
He stood up awkwardly, held the gunwale, and put a
leg over. The water came a little above his ankles one
76
 THE CAMP
moment, past his knees the next. He struggled towards
the beach, drenched and cold, his only thought of resting
on dry land.
* * * *
In London, Chief Inspector Bennett was talking to a
senior member of the staff at Scotland Yard.
" They haven't got Mallen yet, although it's pretty
certain that he's still in North Wales, near that Medley's
Camp. Good place to hide, I suppose. They're keeping
a special watch on all approach roads, and the security
people at the Camp are on the look-out. I don't think
he'll be free for long."
" Have the local police been armed? "
" Oh, yes," said Bennett. " Knowing he's got a gun,
it would be crazy not to arm them, wouldn't it? "

10
THE C A MP

Bm pebbles hurt Mallen's feet. He stubbed his toe on a

rock, and winced so loudly that he listened tensely, fear­
ful that he had been heard. There was only darkness
and the splash and hiss of the waves. The wind had
dropped until it was no more than a gentle breeze in his
face. The sea swept up behind him; he heard it coming
but could not hurry. It swirled about his ankles and
then ran back, writhing among the pebbles and the rocks
which he could not see.
Light was ahead of him, a distant glow lighting the
sky and, when he got used to it, showing the outline of
larger rocks and the shape of a headland which hid the
stars. He could not see the searchlight or the coloured
lamps which had been visible from the sea.
77
 MAN ON THE RUN
He felt grass, soft beneath his feet ; for the first time,
he dared to sit down. After a few minutes, while the
ache spread through his body and he could think of
nothing but physical weariness, his thoughts began to
stir. This headland, unnoticed from across the bay,
hid him from the Camp ; and the Camp from him.
He should be safe for a while. The grass was short and
the ground beneath it hard, but for those fir.st few minutes
it was like lying on a feather-bed.
Cold crept upon him, starting from his feet and his
hands. He was wet ; his trousers were soaked almost to
his waist, there were damp patches on his back and on
his sleeves. He sat up, slowly, and a twinge of pain shot
through his back. He felt in his pockets ; a sodden
packet of cigarettes was useless. He couldn't smoke here,
anyhow.
Then he realized that the gun had gone. The constant
movement while rowing must have dislodged it.
Perhaps it was as well.
He got to his feet and moved about, trying to get warm.
He sat down again, and pulled his socks out of his
shoes. Rolled up and tucked into the toes, they were
fairly dry. He rubbed his feet with his hands, then drew
the socks on. Water had not got into the shoes, although
the leather on the outside was slippery and wet. He
stood up, looking out to the dark turbulent sea, thinking
of the food and clothes in the rucksack. His mind was
working more clearly. He would get over the loss ; he
had to.
He had so little time.
He turned towards the glow, and soon put a foot on
ground which rose sharply. He fancied that he could
pick out a path, not far away. Yes, one ran between
two hillocks which made the headland. The springy
turf was worn smooth, and the path led uphill.
Mallen had gone forty or fifty yards when he heard a
sound different from the pounding of the sea behind
him. He stood quite still, straining his ears. The sound
78
 THE C A MP
came again ; a girl's giggle. He did not move until he
heard the murmur of a man's voice, not far away to his
left. The girl giggled again. He moved forward, slowly,
thinking how easy it would have been to stumble on the
couple. His thoughts changed. Nearby was a man with
dry clothes, perhaps with cigarettes in his pocket. Dry
clothes and cigarettes. He peered through the gloom
towards the sound, but did not slacken his pace. It was
much harder going; and he began to breathe heavily.
Mallen reached the top of the headland.
Looking down, he could see the lights, some white
but many red and green and blue. Some way off was
the searchlight, which seemed to be shining downwards.
He still couldn't make that out. The nearest light was
at least two hundred yards away.
He saw two couples coming towards him, so close
together that each pair looked like one. They did not
climb the headland but took a path round it. He went
down slowly, watching for any other couples, but saw none.
He was on level ground and no more than a hundred
yards from the nearest light when he stopped again.
He had no idea of the lay-out of the Camp; no idea
how to find Gillian. He was wet, dishevelled, obviously
in distress. If he were seen, it would cause some excite­
ment, even if the Camp officials hadn't been warned.
He mustn't be seen yet. Against the darkness of the
headland he could not be seen, but he would show up
against the light to anyone who came from behind him.
Another couple came towards him, both smoking. He
watched the red glow of their cigarettes tensely; the
craving was idiotic, but it tormented him. Once the
couple were a few yards behind him they were lost against
the dark mass of the headland.
He moved about, wringing his hands to try to get
them warm, then stumbled but kept his balance. He
found himself in a dip in the ground. It was large enough
to sit down in. He groped around, then sat down slowly.
It seemed warmer here, perhaps because it was sheltered
79
 MAN ON THE RUN
from the breeze. At least he could try to think; plan.
Once daylight came, he would be recognised, so he
had to find Gillian during the hours of darkness. He had
thought that he would be able to move about the Camp
without being noticed, but that hope had gone. His
appearance and the alarm already raised had killed it.
The difficulty of finding Gillian among five thousand
people had seemed bad enough before ; it was far worse.
He hadn't a friend ; he had expected to have enough
food and plenty of cigarettes, but had neither ; he kept
shivering with the cold-and nerves.
He must get warm-must get inside somewhere.
The lighting was not bright, except near that search­
light a long way off. He need not go too close to any of
the lights which were probably at the sleeping chalets.
Certainly he couldn't stay here. It was already ten
o'clock.
He got up, and started briskly for the buildings.
Furtive movement would make him noticeable. Two or
three other couples made their way towards the shelter
and the quietness of the headland, and as far as he could
judge, none looked towards him. There was a wide,
empty stretch of grass in front of the line of chalets which
he could see. When he was fairly near the first light,
which was fastened to the roof of a chalet, the door of the
chalet opened and two girls came out. Suddenly a pecu­
liar crackling sound broke the quiet, then a man's voice :
" This is Radio Medley's . . . Hallo, Campers. We're
sorry to worry _you so late, and don't want to alarm you, but
in your own interests don't walk about the lonelier parts of
the Camp tonight by yourselves. Sorry, Campers ! "
It was a pleasant, hearty voice. Mallen listened,
without moving.
" We don't expect to have a visit from the wanted man,
we're just making sure no one takes unnecessary risks. There
is a special chalet patrol tonight, and ifyou see anyone behaving
suspiciously, go at once to the top ofyour chalet line, and report
to the official whom you'll find waiting there.
80
 THE CAMP
" All understood, Campers ?
" Don't walk about alone, PLEASE. Fours are much
better than twos, sixes better than fours.
" Thank you, Campers ! A nd don't forget there's dancing
at each of the ballrooms."
* * * *
Throughout all this, Mallen had stood quite still. So
had the two girls. Then one of them giggled nervously.
They slammed the door, then hurried towards the main
part of the Camp, away from the headland. Mallen
waited until they had disappeared, then went nearer the
chalet. They would be out for a while, and it would be
warmer inside. There might be food.
No one else was about. But what ghost of a chance
had he?
He'd make one.
He reached the chalet door, hesitated, then looked at
the windows. One was open. The outside light shone
on it and the red curtains which were partly drawn. If
he could get his hand through the window and grip the
knob of the door, he might be able to get in.
He glanced round nervously, saw no one, stood on
tip toe, and tried ; but he could not touch the knob. He
withdrew his arm. The quiet and the warmth of that
chalet now seemed the most important thing in the world.
He looked about him, and saw a garden chair, on the
grass a few yards off. He went towards it. There were
lights at the windows of several chalets, and a couple
walking briskly along the cement path towards him,
turning a corner which he had not noticed. They could
hardly fail to see him. He stood with a hand on the
back of the metal chair. They walked past, and went
towards the headland.
All was quiet.
Mallen carried the chair towards the empty chalet,
stood on it, and felt it sway and bang against the door.
It made enough noise to scare him. He stood swaying,
81
 MAN ON THE RUN
heart in his mouth. If a patrol were near, they'd hear
that.
No one appeared to take any notice.
He put his arm through the window again. It was
easy to open the door, and he felt it move back. He
stepped cautiously down from the chair, then carried that
back to the grass plot. He stepped inside the chalet.
When he closed the door, darkness fell ab9ut him except
for a faint light which came through the gap in the
curtains.
It was warm.
He groped near the door, found a light switch and
pressed it down. Bright light came from a ceiling lamp.
He pulled the curtains together, and waited.
There were two beds, in opposite corners, a hand­
basin, a chest of drawers and a hanging wardrobe. A
smell of scent hung about. Oddments littered the top
of the chest of drawers, boxes of powder, a lipstick, hair
brushes, combs. A pair of panties and a brassiere were
draped over the back of a chair, a pair of stockings over
the foot of one bed. A newspaper was folded carelessly
on a chair.
It was the Daily Pictorial, with his picture.
He dropped it, then immediately picked it up, folded
and put it back where he had found it. Then he opened
the top drawer of the chest. Inside were several bars of
chocolate and a packet of biscuits. He felt almost dizzy
with relief as he took one bar of chocolate and four
biscuits. He sat on the .side of a bed and began to eat,
making himself eat slowly. The warmth was a delight,
too. He felt better almost at once.
He took another bar of chocolate and two more
biscuits, slipped them into his pocket, and took a cup
from a shelf above the handbasin. The cold water was
sweet-tasting and refreshing. Sight of his reflection in the
small mirror was a different matter. He was sight enough
to scare anyone. His hair was a matted tangle, still wet
from the sea water, and there was a cut across his fore-
82
 THE CAMP
head ; it wasn't big, but had bled a little, smearing his
forehead with red. His stubble looked days old.
He turned on the hot tap; water ran hot immediately.
He washed carefully, to avoid splashing. That done, he
looked much less fearsome. He had a comb in his pocket
and tugged at the tangled hair ; if this had been a man's
cabin, he might have had a quick shave.
How long dare he stay?
His trousers were still damp and soggy and there was a
damp patch in the middle of his back, but he felt warm
and reluctant to leave. He took off his coat and hung
it over a fat hot-water pipe, which fed the handbasin.
The essential thing was not to panic. He glanced at the
paper again and saw something he hardly noticed before ;
a booklet with a coloured jacket : MEDLEY'S : THIS
WEEK'S PROGRAMME. He opened it, and on the
first two pages found a plan of the camp. He studied
it closely. There were three camps, North, South and
West ; as many dining halls, two theatres and three dance­
halls, several coffee bars, quiet rooms, even churches.
There were playing fields, shops and, perhaps most im­
portant, a diagram showing the whole lay-out.
The three camps were long lines of chalets, with a path
in front of each line, and a plot of grass between it and
the next parallel row. Paths ran across the rows of
chalets; the plans of these looked rather like an elaborate
drawing for a game of noughts and crosses. This would
take a lot of patrolling, it would need dozens, perhaps
hundreds of men to do it properly. But if he were seen
walking by himself he would probably be challenged.
He studied the map again.
In each camp was a theatre, dining-hall and ballroom.
The East and West Camps were level with each other,
divided by a block marked " Offices." Once he found
a focal point, he would be able to find his way about the
Camp without difficulty, but he didn't know which camp
he was in. He tore the plan out, folded it and put it in
his pocket. Then he looked through the programme for
83
 MAN ON THE RUN
Thursday. There was a list of events, from 1 0.00 in the
morning until the last entry : Dancing in the Ballrooms,
8-II.30 p.m.
With luck, the two girls had gone there. He could
stay a little longer. But the sense of urgency, dulled by
cold and hunger until then, surged back. He had to find
Gillian; all he knew was that she was in one of the 2,000
or so chalets in the camp.
Impossible ?
It had to be done. He must venture out.
His hand was stretched out for the light switch when
he heard footsteps-the footsteps of a girl.
He stood without moving until the girl was almost
outside. Then, in panic, he backed away from the door.
But the footsteps passed, and soon the only sound was
the thumping of his heart.
He switched off the light, and went outside.

11
THE G IR L
MALLEN turned right, towards the main part of the Camp,
walking briskly. There were lights at several chalet
windows and the door of one chalet was open ; he saw
a man standing by the handbasin, combing his hair.
Two or three couples passed him, and one man
said :
" Evening."
" Good night," Mallen said thickly.
He was walking in a stream of people; one of the
theatre shows was probably over. A little party of young
girls was noisy and gay. Some elderly people passed,
walking sedately. A tall youth came along, whistling.
Everyone seemed normal; while he kept his nerve Mallen
84
 THE GIRL

would be taken for one of them. The light wasn't good

enough for him to see their faces clearly; so they couldn't
see his.
He reached the end of the row of chalets and found
himself on a wide road. Several cars were parked along
it. Big buildings, one brightly lit, were on the other side
of the road. There were the Coffee Bars and a Dining
Hall, and shops. If he could identify one of them, he
would be able to get his bearings. He passed between
two, keeping away from the bright lights. At the end
of the road between them was another wide road; and
beyond it was the searchlight, shining downwards. Just
by this were diving boards and a platform, and he knew
that it was by the side of the swimming pool. That was
the lead he wanted. He did not venture across this road,
the light was too bright. Groups of people passed him,
and several couples; and twice a youngster by himself
sauntered by.
The crowd which had been coming from the same
direction thinned out; only ones and twos passed now.
The faint hope of catching sight of Gillian died. Mallen
tried to remember the plan of the Camp; he had it
fairly clear, he thought.
How could he find Gillian ? He'd taken desperate
risks, but what chance was there ? He had come blindly,
trusting some faith-or luck or chance.
He must find her.
He moved away from the corner. Opposite was the
brightly lit building, marked as The Playtime Coffee Bar
on the plan. He could see the long service counter and
dozens of people sitting at gaily-coloured tables, with cups
and plates in front of them. He heard a piano being
strummed; the sound seemed to come from there.
Gillian always liked a cup of tea before going to bed ;
she wasn't likely to change her habit. She might get it
from this bar. He could see both doors. If he saw her,
he would be able to follow, all he needed was to catch a
glimpse. But it was eleven o'clock; she might have gone
85
 MAN ON THE RUN
to bed. There were two other coffee bars, she might go
to either.
It was hopeless.
Then out of the blue came a thought that made him
feel sick. Gillian might not be here at all.
Over the telephone she had said casually that she was
going to Medley's, but she hadn't booked, or he would
have known about it before. She might have arrived,
found that there were no vacancies, and gone off. What
a fool he was ! It had been bad enough before, a needle
in a haystack wasn't in it; but now he was looking for a
needle which might not be there. Medley's had ob­
sessed him.
A girl shook him out of the swift mood of despair and
hopelessness. She came out of the coffee bar from the
door nearest him, and the light shone fully into her face.
She was the girl whom he had seen by the little stream.
Her sultry good looks and dark hair were unmistakable,
and she still wore red-a simply cut dress, which did not
emphasize her figure as the jumper had done.
She was alone.
She tossed the end of a cigarette on to the ground
and stepped on it slowly and trod it out. Then she
looked about. It was almost as if she knew that Mallen
was looking at her. She could see him, but he persuaded
himself that there was no risk that she could recognise
him. Two or three others came out of the bar and
walked past her, while she stood idly, as if she could not
make up her mind what to do.
A man appeared from the path leading from the
chalets, brisk-moving and well dressed. He stopped.
" Hallo, Kay. Waiting for me? " There was a laugh
in his voice, and it had a pleasant tone.
The girl smiled faintly, and because of the light above
the entrance to the bar, Mallen could see even the twist
of her lips.
" Strangely enough, no."
The man chuckled. " That's too bad. Don't wander
86
 THE G I RL
about on your own, the bad man might catch you."
" What bad man?"
" Come off it. You heard the Radio Medley warnings."
" Do you think he's here?" the girl asked.
" Could be," the man said. " If he's in, I'll bet a
fortune he'll never get out ! I must fly."
They were all on the alert ; had the danger on their
minds.
The girl didn't speak again, but watched the man as
he hurried off, then looked across at the swimming pool
and the bright light shining on it. In spite of the cold,
several youths were diving and the sound of the splashes
came clearly. The girl named Kay looked towards them,
then she moved towards Mallen.
If he turned and hurried away, it would be noticeable.
If he stood where he was, there was a risk that she would
recognise him at close quarters. He withdrew into the
doorway of a shop, and turned to look at the showcards
in the window, although that was not lighted and he
could see little. The girl passed.
When she had gone, he felt no easier. Of all the
people to meet, he had to run into the one person at
the Camp whom he had seen before. If it had been
Gillian. . . .
Was Gillian here? How could he find out? What
chance had he got now? 'I'll bet a fortune he'll never
get out !' the man had said.
Where should he go now?
This was like punching at a feather pillow ; it filled
him with a gnawing, painful sense of frustration. Where
was Gillian likely to be, if she were here at all? She liked
dancing ; in fact she had met Paul at a dance when he
had been there with a crowd from a club. Mallen
remembered their meeting ; Paul danced much better
than he, and had spent most of the evening with Gillian.
Would dancing draw her, in her present mood? Know­
ing Paul was dead?
Mallen moved along the gloomier side of the road,
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 MAN ON THE RUN
making for the Gaiety Ballroom ; he knew exactly where
that was according to the plan. No one took the slightest
notice of him.
Supposing Paul had called at the flat, and Gillian
had let him in. Supposing they had quarrelled, and in
a fit of temper, or more likely of fear, she had used that
knife.
No, that couldn't be it. Paul had been sitting there,
quietly, calmly, if Mallen could judge from the expression
on the dead face ; the face of a man who had fallen
asleep. He must free his mind of all thought that Gillian
might have killedPaul. The thought was Richard Fane's
fault. It was crazy to have called the Prince Agency.
Mallen neared the ballroom, easy to identify from the
neon sign above a wide doorway. A crowd of youngsters
were gathered about that. The light was not good, and
their faces were tinted red, from the neon ; but they were
recognisable even from the other side of the road. Any­
one who had seen and remembered that photograph
would recognise him. But people saw dozens, hundreds
of photographs in the course of a day or so, how many
of them really remembered?
Gillian might be dancing.
As Mallen crossed the road, he heard the band strike
up a fox trot. Most of the youths moved into the hall
from the entrance. Mallen reached it, went inside, and
stood with his heart thumping. The lights were dimmed.
He could see crowds of people sitting and standing round
the huge dance-floor, . which was thronged ; there was no
room to dance properly : this crush would revolt Gillian,
there was hardly a chance that she would stay even if
she were at the Camp.
He stood in the shadows, close to the wall and behind
half a dozen men and several girls. He was on one of
several tiers which ran round the dance floor, and could
see the dancers. Here and there two girls danced
together ; here, a child no more than eight or nine was
going round with an adult.
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 THE GIRL

He could pick out most of the faces on the dance floor

in spite of the poor light, and that told him how easily
he could be seen. He was not conspicuous because of his
clothes-men dressed anyhow here.
A few seemed to be looking about them intently,
watching for him, Mallen? He had to watch ; that des­
perately needed outside chance might come off. There
were dozens of fair-haired girls, none of them remotely like
Gillian.
At last he turned to go.
Then his heart seemed to stop beating.
Richard Fane was near the side, dancing with a little
red-haired girl, moving mechanically and looking about
him.
Mallen backed to the wall. Fane was not right at the
edge of the swirling mass of people, and seemed to be
looking among the dancers, not at the people on the
sides.
The dance stopped ; the lights came on. They were
not brilliant, but Mallen could not hope to avoid being
seen. Fane was not far away. He slid his arm round the
little redhead's waist as they walked off the floor. He
bent down to say something to her, and she laughed ;
but Fane soon looked about him again.
He did not glance towards Mallen.
Mallen waited until he was sure that the other could
not see him, then turned towards the door. He didn't
go far, just moved from one fear into another. The girl
with the dark hair, the red dress and the sultry look was
only a few yards away from him ; and she looked straight
into his eyes.
He was sure that he saw a gleam of recognition.
There was no way to avoid her, he had to go forward.
She stood still, as if challenging him, and he moved to
one side, to pass. He stared straight ahead, but sensed
that she had turned to watch him. In a few minutes she
would place him, if she had seen that photograph, and the
hue and cry would start. He could hardly breathe when
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 MAN ON THE RUN
he reached the doorway and stepped out into the cold
night.
He went to the nearest corner. There were bushes
and trees, giving shadow ; he could hide there. He had
to see what the girl did. From the shelter, he could see
everyone coming out of the doorway. The band was still
silent, and between dances the exits were crowded.
The girl in red came out and walked straight towards
Mallen. Could she have seen him? His breath came
with difficulty. She drew nearer, and a couple turned
after her, not ten yards behind. He turned and faced
the distant chalets. He could not hear the girl's footsteps,
but the couple drew nearer. Had the girl passed? The
couple went by, talking about being tired and having a
cup of tea. They passed out of sight, and Mallen
turned round slowly.
The girl stood by the corner, looking at him.
There was nothing he could do except stand and look
back ; or turn and run. The light was poor but he did
not argue with himself that she did not know who he was.
If she hadn't seen the picture, why should she be in­
terested?
She moved forward.
" You must be crazy," she said. " You haven't a
chance here." Her voice was quite casual, just as it had
been with the well-dressed man. " You must want some­
thing badly. What is it? "

go
 OFF E R OF H E L P

12
OFFER OF H ELP
MALLEN couldn't find words. People passed without
taking any notice of them. The girl stood quite still.
Although he could not see her features clearly, he could see
the way her eyes shone, almost balefully.
" I know who you are," she went on quietly.
He still didn't answer.
" I might be able to help," she added, and then turned
away. She walked towards one of the big buildings,
which was in darkness, on the other side of the
road.
Mallen knew that she expected him to follow her.
Would it be crazy ? Had she meant that? Why should
any girl, recognising him as a man wanted for questioning
about a murder, say that she might be able to help ?
Much more likely she would lead him to one of the
waiting camp officials.
She was already on the other side of the road. She
stopped and looked towards him.
If he ran away, she would probably set others after
him. Whatever he did, the danger was great ; and she
might conceivably mean that offer of help. He made
himself go forward. A car came along the road and he
had to stop for it ; the girl was still there when it had
passed.
He reached her.
" There's a quiet spot along here," she said.
She spoke as if there were already a conspiracy between
them, turned and went slowly towards the swimming pool.
There was still time for him to turn away, but he didn't.
Instead of going right up to the pool, she turned off
towards the right ; so did several other couples. Soon
they were walking across tur£ Couples were sitting on
91
 M AN ON THE RUN
seats which surrounded it. They came upon an empty
seat.
" Do you want to sit down ? "
Mallen spoke for the first time, fighting to keep his
breath steady.
" If -if it's all right with you. Won't you be
cold ? "
" I'll be all right for a while," she said, and sat down.
A couple, probably disappointed of the seat, walked past;
but provided they kept their voices down, they weren't
likely to be heard.
" Did you hear the broadcasts ? "
" One of them."
" They think you're coming here," she said, " but
they're not sure. Are you hungry ? "
" I had a snack. If you've a cigarette--"
He hadn't finished speaking before she opened her
handbag, and handed him a packet; it was nearly full.
She flicked a lighter and sheltered the flame in her hands,
leaned towards him and let him light his cigarette. He
handed her the packet back.
" You can keep them, but I haven't any matches. I
might be able to get you some."
He muttered : " Thanks." What should he say ?
How could he wrest the initiative from her ? If he could
only free himself from tension and behave naturally, he
might persuade her to help. Why the hell should he be
so frightened ? He had killed no one. " You're very
good. Had you recognised me before ? ' '
" Yes, this morning. I saw the Pictorial."
" Oh," he said lamely.
" It was a very good photograph," said the girl named
Kay. She might be playing with him as a cat with a
mouse; might be getting a kind of sadistic pleasure out of
this. " Why did you come here ? "
" I hope to find a friend."
"I thought perhaps you were looking for the murderer."
There was a hint of laughter in her voice; sardonic,
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 OF FE R OF HE L P
hurtful. She could do what she liked ; one shout would
bring men running ; she could betray him without the
slightest trouble. They were too near others for her to be
afraid ; but she had a strong nerve for a girl talking to a
man who might be a murderer. " Or did you kill
him? "
He found his voice, even managed to sound natural.
" Oddly enough, no. But I would say that anyhow,
wouldn't I? "
" Yes. Who's your friend? "
Had she any intention of trying to help, or did she see
herself as a detective, and think that she could get more
information before she gave him away.
" Just a friend. You're very good, but there's no
reason why you should get yourself mixed up in this."
Mallen began to look round, and saw a car passing along
a road which was on the other side of the swimming pool ;
against its headlights he saw the bushes and the wire
fence which hedged the road ; it wasn't fifty yards away.
Two cyclists came along, slowly, their lights wobbling.
" I don't intend to give you away," the girl said,
quite calmly.
" Why not? "
" I don't like the police." There was an underlying
note of passion in her voice. If she had some grievance,
a cause for bitterness, it might explain her strange manner.
" That doesn't matter, anyhow. Is your friend staying
at the camp? "
" Yes." He didn't add that he wasn't sure.
" If you've a photograph, I may be able to recognise
her. Or is it a man? " Again that suggestion of
amusement echoed.
Mallen didn't answer. If he trusted her, even with
Gillian's name and picture, it could be fatal. If he
didn't trust her, what could he do? The only other con­
tact he had there was Richard Fane, and he couldn't
imagine Fane helping him any further ; Fane might be
here on behalf of the police.
93
 MAN ON THE R UN
" I suppose it's difficult for you to trust me," the girl
said, slowly. " Think it over. I'm in Chalet 8 1 9, West
Camp. I shall be reading until one o'clock or later, I
don't sleep well during the early part of the night. Pro­
vided you walk briskly, you'll be all right. Here, take
this."
She unpinned the badge from her dress, and pinned
it on to his coat. She was very near him.
Then she stood up quickly.
" I wish I had some matches."
" It doesn't matter."
" I'll get some and have them at the chalet," she pro­
mised. " I'll get some sandwiches, too." He was
standing by her side. " For some reason I can't try to
explain, I'd like to help you. It's up to you. I won't
talk."
She turned and walked off. Now that she had given
her chalet number, invited him there, it looked as if she
were genuine; but she might have laid a trap, might
warn the officials, have them waiting for him.
She spoke to a man at a corner, then vanished along
one of the poorly lit roads in the Camp. The man might
be a patrol. Mallen had the packet of cigarettes and the
stub of the one in his mouth. He used that to light a
fresh cigarette and trod out the end, as the girl had done
when she had come out of the coffee bar. Then he had
an idea that might help. He could go to her chalet and
keep watch, finding out whether anyone stood guard or
whether she talked to others. He moved away, quickly
eagerly. He had a picture of the plan in his mind; he
could place the West Camp. He strode along, drawing
at the cigarette, and the badge was like a shield. Why
should she help him? If it were not true, would she have
thought of saying that she didn't like the police?
There were men at the ends of each line of chalets­
the patrols. They were beneath a light, and would
inspect anyone by himself. Mallen waited, then stepped
behind a party of a dozen people, all laughing.
94
 OF F E R OF HE L P
He bared his teeth in a grin as he went with them
past the patrol.
The man took no special notice of him.
It took Mallen five minutes to reach a row of chalets
which started at Number 800. The chalets, he knew,
were in straight lines, with paths crossing the chalet lines
themselves ; a maze of lines, with shrubs growing outside
most of the chalets and the grass patches outside them ;
a good place for hide and seek. There were people
talking near 8 1 9, two men and two women. He passed
them and went to the nearest bisecting path, and waited
in the shadows. Lights were on at 8 1 8 and 8:w; one of
them went out, the other burned for some time.
The girl didn't come.
He felt like sneering at himself ; she was with officials,
the trap was being prepared. He shivered as he stood
there. The other light went out and now, except for
lamps at the corner chalets, there was no light. Then he
waited tensely for the sound of footsteps. He heard a
rustle of movement, and suddenly the girl appeared
outside Chalet 8 1 9.
He heard a key scrape against the lock. The door
opened, and the next moment the light went on. He saw
her step inside ; then the door closed.
No one else approached. In the distance Mallen
heard men singing, and a gust of laughter came from a
chalet line not far away ; for the rest, there was silence.
He could see the shadow of the girl against the red cur­
tains, but she did not move about much.
Everything went still.
He crept over the grass, approached the door and drew
close to the window. The curtains were drawn but
there was an inch wide gap. He pressed his face close to
the window and looked in.
She sat on her bed, fully dressed, with a book open
on her knees, smoking. He could just see the chest of
drawers ; on the corner near her was a packet of sand­
wiches. If she hadn't told anyone else, but had risked
95
 MAN ON THE RUN
him coming to see her in the chalet, she was taking a big,
chance. He was almost certainly regarded as a murderer
by most people who had read the story.
But above everything else, Mallen had to see Gillian,
if she were here. Any risk was worth while.
He tapped at the door, watching the girl all the time.
She glanced up. She did not look frightened, just alert.
Mallen tapped again. Kay put the book down, climbed
off the bed with a swift, graceful movement, and was lost
to sight. The door opened, and the light fell on Mallen's
face.
She stood aside, and he went in, quickly. As she
closed the door, he thought that she peered out, as if
expecting to see someone else. He stood still, his heart
hammering.
She seemed to understand his tension, went back to
the bed and sat down, with her knees beneath her, and
leaning back on her hands, as she had done by the side
of the stream. She had a wonderful figure, and in this
poor light she looked lovely. Her eyes were sultry but
candid; she watched him all the time, until she said :
" I haven't set a trap."
Mallen tried to make himself relax.
" Sit down," she said, " and have a sandwich. It
doesn't matter even if you were seen coming in. Having
visitors isn't exactly unknown in this establishment ! "
The sardonic laughter was in her voice again. She took
the sandwiches out of their cellophane wrapping. He
had to stop himself from snatching. Ham seemed to ooze
out of the sides.
" Thanks." He took a bite ; the sandwich was moist,
fresh, good. " Why are you doing this?"
She gave him the impression that she was trying to
find an answer that would satisfy him.
" I suppose it's because it's exciting," she said at last,
" and because it gives me a chance of getting my own
back. I told you I didn't like the police. I shall enjoy
fooling them. But I won't be able to help if you stand
96
 OF FE R OF HE LP
there shivering. Either you must trust me, or--" She
gave an expressive little shrug. " My name is Kay
Linley. Yours is George Mallen." She paused again.
" Would you like a cup of tea? "
" Is there one ? "
She picked up a thermos flask from the wall by the
head of the bed, then took a cup from the chest, un­
screwed the cap and poured out hot, steaming tea.
" Sugar? "
" It doesn't matter."
" You may as well have it, if you like it," said Kay
Linley. Still leaning forward, she opened a drawer and
took out several lumps of sugar. " One? Two? "
" One, please." The sandwich was gone; he took
another, then drank tea. Just as food had helped him
before, so it helped again. He felt that he could relax,
was falling into a mood in which he would trust her.
What alternative had he ?
Kay picked up a newspaper which he hadn't noticed
before; it was in a roll, on the bed. She opened it out,
and the rustling seemed very loud. She seemed to know
exactly what she was looking for. He finished the second
sandwich.
" Are you looking for Paul Hope's wife? " she asked,
quite calmly.
He knew that he gave himself away with a violent start.
She smiled again, yet he no longer thought that she was
laughing at him. She pointed to a column, and held the
newspaper out.
" It's the evening paper, the Liverpool Press," she said.
" The police are looking for her, too. They know that
she was at your flat for a day or two before you both
disappeared. They seem to think that you're together.
Is it a good likeness? "
She thrust the paper in front of him, and a picture of
Gillian was there.
* * * *
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 MAN ON T HE RUN
" A boat's been stolen from Fachan Cottage, opposite
Medley's Camp," a police patrol reported to the Llan­
mouth Police Headquarters, about eleven o'clock that
night. " There are a man's footprints in the sand. It's
been pretty rough in the bay, but if Mallen took that boat,
he may have reached the Camp."
" We'll send more men to Medley's," the H.Q. man
decided.

13
G I L L I AN

Now Kay Linley knew everything that really mattered ;

Mallen did not have to say a word. He glanced at her,
then began to read. The gist of the report was simple and
alarming. The police were anxious to find him and
Gillian. The report said that it was possible that they
were together. He could see how it was building up;
that it began to look like a conspiracy to murder.
Richard Fane must have told the police. He felt that
he hated Fane.
Mallen put the paper down, and asked flatly.
" Have you seen her at the Camp? "
" No," said Kay. " You haven't told me whether it's
a good likeness."
" Not bad." No photograph, especially one in a news­
paper, could do Gillian justice ; but she was recognisable.
" I understood that she was coming here." There hadn't
been room in the Camp, Gillian wouldn't have expected
that. Could she have booked in advance?
" How long has she been here? " Kay asked.
" She-she came yesterday."
" I can probably find out," Kay said. " That's if
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 GIL LIAN

you'll trust me, and you haven't much choice, have you?
Do you know what time she arrived? "
" It was probably fairly late." It couldn't have been
befo1e ten o'clock, and might have been later. " Possibly
she didn't get here until this morning, I'm not sure.
How can you find out? "
" There's someone on duty at the reception office
all night. I can pretend I'm looking for a friend," Kay
Linley said. " It might not work. Have you a better
photograph of her? "
He had a postcard enlargement of Gillian that was quite
good. It had been taken from a snap of her and Paul
together. Should he show it?
" The night clerk might have seen her picture in the
evening paper too," Kay said. " It means taking a risk.
But you seem to like taking risks." She slid off the bed
again. " I may be able to get some more sandwiches,
one of the bars is open until one o'clock. Like some? "
" It might-be a good idea." He took out the photo­
graph and a pound note. " If you'll pay for them out of
this."
She took both note and photograph, and stared at
Gillian's face, shook her head, then slipped both of them
into her big, black handbag. She took a box of matches
out of this and handed it to him.
" I expect I'll be half an hour, at least. Why don't
you lie down and relax? "
He could lie down ; he might even be able to relax,
physically.
Kay Linley went out before he moved, and shut the
door firmly. He did not hear her walking away, so she
had rubber-soled shoes. Everything else was quiet, too.
Ought he to follow her?
He put the newspaper on the foot of the bed and lay
down with his feet on the paper. He closed his eyes.
There was a faint smell of perfume ; that, and the quiet.
Soon he opened his eyes again. The little chalet, smaller
than the one he had broken into, was very tidy ; there
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 MAN ON THE R UN
were few oddments about, and except for two cotton
dresses, a raincoat and a tweed coat hanging behind the
plastic sheet which served as a wardrobe, he saw nothing
except toilet oddments. The hard thing to believe was
that this girl really wanted to help him. Why should she
feel so bitter towards the police?
He heard a man's footsteps approaching, very slowly.
He sat up. His breathing was so shallow that he hardly
seemed to take in any air. The footsteps drew nearer.
What a fool he was, why hadn't he realised that she was
bound to give him away? He swung his legs off the bed,
and the newspaper rustled. He stood upright, waiting
for a tap at the door or the sound of the key in the lock.
The man went past.
Mallen dropped back on to the bed, his hands clenched.
He went hot. He must get a firmer hold on himself,
he was behaving as if he were in immediate danger of
being hanged. The strain was making him forget the main
thing-finding out who had killed Paul. If Gillian were
here, he would at least be able to find out whether she
had admitted Paul to the flat. He forgot that Gillian
probably hadn't come. He lay down again, but could
not relax ; he kept imagining sounds.
He ate another sandwich and poured out more tea,
opened the drawer to get the sugar, and found his own
photograph staring up at him. The Pictorial was folded
to the likeness and lay on top of oddments in the drawer.
He closed it, stirred the tea, and put it down, forgetting to
drink.
Kay Linley had been gone for twenty minutes.
Why not get out while he could? He'd had food and
could take the rest of the sandwiches ; there was nothing
to stop him. But if he went, what then? What was the
point in making himself a fugitive except to find Gillian?
He thought : " Perhaps they've found her."
He wondered if he were doing any good at all. Kay
� �y might be in some danger herself by making the
inl
mqmry.
1 00
 GIL LIAN

Then came a tap at the door.

He went to it, paused, and was ready for anyone when
he opened it. It was Kay. She came in quickly, and
he closed the door. A glance was enough to tell him that
she had some news. Her eyes glowed.
" Have you--" he choked.
" Yes ! "
Mallen backed to the bed, and sat down. Gillian was
in the Camp; within reach. He could see her, talk to her.
Kay said : " She's at Chalet 32 1 , in this camp. It's
not far. But there are a lot of men about, patrolling in
twos. They may start searching the chalets. Or the
police may know that Gillian Hope's here, and be waiting
for you to visit her."
" I suppose so," Mallen said. " I'm going to risk it.
Did she book under her own name?" He tried to think
of any reason why Gillian should have used a false one.
The only possibility was that she wanted to make sure
that Paul didn't find her.
" No. She's Gillian Appleby."
Appleby meant nothing to Mallen, but it brought new
uneasiness. Kay watched him, as if faintly amused. Her
eyes were large, gleaming; blackly blue.
" Would you like me to come along?" she asked.
" Two will get by easier."
" You keep out of this," Mallen said. He felt suddenly
better. She had deliberately taunted him, might as well
have said : " Shall I come and hold your hand?"
He grinned. " You've been wonderful, I hope I'll be
able to say thanks. Later." He turned towards the
door, but she moved swiftly, and touched his hand; it
was the first time there had been contact between them.
" Be careful," she said. " The patrols are at each end
of the chalet lines, and some are on the move. It's late
now-probably every man seen out will be questioned.
Keep in the shadows. I don't want them to get you,
too."
She put out the light.
IOI
 MAN ON THE RUN
It wasn't until Mallen was outside that the possible
significance of her last comment struck home : " I don't
want them to get you, too." The police must have
caught someone who mattered to her. He forgot Kay ;
she might never have existed. The night had been full
of terrors before, but not now. Gillian was only a few
hundred yards away. Nothing could stop him seeing
her, now. He felt a fierce excitement and a great con­
fidence, and moved without making a sound.
A man appeared against a distant light.
Mallen stood motionless.
The man turned along another path.
Mallen reached the next line of chalets, paused and
looked round. He heard and saw nothing, and if Kay's
chalet had been watched by camp officials he would have
known by now.
Gillian was in Chalet 32 1 , remember.
Mallen reached another lane. The number was just
visible in the light at the corner. It was 3 1 1 . He
turned past it. The chalets between the corners were in
darkness. He didn't want to strike a match. The night
seemed full of watching eyes. He counted, reached the
chalet which should be Gillian's, and stopped. No one
moved nearby.
He went nearer, and could make out the number black
against a pale-coloured door.
This was 3 2 1 .
He tapped at the door, very gently. And looked
up and down, but heard nothing. He tapped again.
Gillian was a light sleeper, as he had cause to know.
When he had lain awake at the fiat, he had often heard
her walking about; that was one of the reasons why he
hadn't been able to sleep. She had seemed tormented,
and there had been no way in which he could help her.
Footsteps sounded nearby. Two men talked in under­
tones.
Gillian did not open the door. Mallen heard nothing
from the chalet, although one of the windows was open.
1 02
 GILLIAN

If h e wished, h e could get i n here a s h e had into the first.

He tapped again, and there was no response.
He mustn't make much noise ; he would have to get
in, even if he scared her. He looked about for a chair,
but couldn't see one. He remembered the clang of the
metal against the door when he had used one before.
He stood on tip-toe ; he could get his arm inside, but could
not touch the inside door knob. He withdrew, thought
he heard a sound further along, and stood quite still.
The sound wasn't repeated. He had only to be three or
four inches higher, and he would be able to get his arm
inside.
He moved away from the door, stepped on to the grass,
and kicked against a stone. He bent down and felt the
stone, discovered that it was part of the hedging of a bed
of flowers. He prised it loose with two hands, carried it
back to the window and placed it close against the wall.
Then he stood on it, and stretched his arm inside again.
He touched the door knob.
He could hear nothing, not even the sound of Gillian
breathing. He stretched a little further. That hurt his
arm, but he gripped the knob and twisted it. The lock
slid back and Mallen pulled the door, made sure that it
was open and then withdrew. He slipped off the stone,
and his knee smacked against the chalet wall, giving off a
dull, booming sound. When he stood still again, his
breath came in those shallow gasps ; but there seemed
to be no need for alarm.
He stepped inside and closed the door.
He went to the window cautiously, and pulled the
curtains, then he groped for the light switch. He touched
but did not press it down. He stood quite still, his finger
on the switch, listening. He could not hear her breathing;
if she were here, there should be some sound. Would
she be out so late?
He pressed the switch down.
He stayed where he was, finger still on the switch,
mouth open, eyes wide. Horror struck at him as if it
1 03
 MAN ON THE RUN
were a sword. Every muscle i n his body seemed to have
turned to stone.
There was Gillian ; the Gillian he loved ; with a gaping
knife wound in the throat.
She lay still.
He did not know how long he stood there, gripped
by the paralysis. He stared without being able to take his
eyes away, and every detail of her face, her slashed throat,
her lovely hair, was vivid on his mind, made an impression
which he could never forget. There she lay, on her back,
one arm above the bedclothes, bare beyond the elbow,
resting lightly on the pillow above her head. It could
not be more natural ; everything about her was natural,
including her expression of complete repose-except the
cut across her throat and the blood which had spread
from there to the sheet and to the pillow, glistening
red.
He went forward. Was she dead ? Was there hope ?
He knew in his heart that there wasn't, before he touched
her hand.
It was warm ; but there was no pulse-beat.
Mallen felt his nerves quivering and his muscles
cracking. He closed his mouth, licked his lips, muttered
something without knowing what it was. There was only
the horror of a dead Gillian, killed in the same way as
Paul.
He leaned back against the wall, all strength ebbing
from him.
" No," he croaked.
That was the only sound, and the silence lasted for a
long time. Gradually, so gradually that at first he did
not realise that it was happening, thoughts began to break
into his mind. They were thoughts offear, but the horror
surpassed them. He felt no grief, yet ; it was too early for
grief. Shock, horror and fear-and he knew that there
need no longer be fear for Gillian.
He moved away from the wall. His right hand
stretched out, as if to hide the vision which would never be
1 04
 THE S W OOP
hidden ; the lovely smoothness of her pale skin, and the
ugly crimson of her blood.
Why ?
Then the fear, already creeping, sprang upon him.
There was a sound at the door, sudden, soft but somehow
imperative ; a tap. He did not move except to turn his
head to stare, and while he stood like that, as a giant
marionette might stand grotesquely, the tap came again,
and was followed by a whisper :
" Open the door. It's urgent."
That was a woman ; Kay.

14
THE S WOOP
MALLEN could not make himself . move quickly, but
turned as Kay tapped and called again. The urgency
in her voice, the fact that she was outside at all, made no
impression on his mind. There was just the still figure of
Gillian, her white purity scarred by the hideous red ;
that was all he could see in his mind's eye.
" Hurry ! " breathed Kay.
Mallen opened the door. The light fell on her face,
making her eyes very bright, and there was a sheen on
her dark hair. Before Mallen could speak, before she
realised that there was anything the matter with him, she
gripped his arm. With her free hand, stabbed at the light
switch. Darkness fell.
" The police are coming. Hurry."
She did not let Mallen go. It was as if she sensed
that some shock had robbed him of all ability to act
or think for himself. In that moment even the news that
the police were coming made no difference to him. He
1 05
 MAN ON THE RUN
could just see Gillian's white arm, curved so naturally,
and below it--
" This way," Kay urged, and pulled at his arm. " If
you don't--"
A torchlight shot out, a vivid white beam shone on the
grass, the bushes, the wood of the chalets and the back
of Kay's head-and then into Mallen's eyes. Whoever
held the torch must be able to see every feature, every line
on �is face. The glare blinded him, and he stopped
movmg.
" Stay where you are," a man said, and then a whistle
shrilled out, piercing the night's quiet, striking a high
note of alarm. " Don't move ! "
Kay dropped Mallen's arm. It was that more than
the whistle and the commanding voice which forced
thoughts into Mallen's mind. The girl was caught with
him ; and she did not know that Gillian was dead.
" Get away ! " he hissed.
His voice must have travelled. " Stay whereyou are," the
man repeated roughly, and as he spoke there was another
whistle from not far off, an answering peep. A second
came from further away. The girl stood close by Mallen,
as if she realised that she had little chance to escape. He
pushed her.
" Go-"
Then the light and the night went topsy-turvy.
There was a rustle of sound, and the torchlight curved
a wild arc, pointed for a split second towards the ground,
then hit the grass with a crash. It didn't go out but
snaked along the grass, · throwing long, spiky shadows.
There was a grunt, a thud and sounds of a struggle. Kay
pulled desperately at Mallen's arm.
" Come on ! "
He turned and ran with her, away from the struggling
men and the snaking light. Lights were going up at
different chalets, the men were running towards them,
not far off ; they seemed to be behind them. Kay let
him go. He gained on her and led the way, but did not
1 06
 THE S WOOP
know which way to turn. He slowed down. At a corner
she turned right and he went with her. There were only
the sounds of his footsteps close by ; hers made no sound.
Lights went on at several chalets as they passed. Then
they turned up another row of chalets. A whistle shrilled
again but seemed a long way off, too far away to threaten
danger. Kay swung left, then right again, and slowed
down. Here the chalets were in darkness.
" Don't make so much noise," she whispered.
Mallen stopped running. He was breathing hard ;
so was the girl. They went quickly but without running,
his side brushing against hers. Then she stopped and
said :
" Here we are." She had left the door of her chalet
open although the light was out. It was very dark
inside. " Come in," Kay went on. Mallen stumbled
over the ledge of the door, and knocked against her.
" Be careful." He regained his balance, stepped cau­
tiously over the ledge, and they stood in the gloom
together. She closed the door. Darkness itself was
alarming. Mallen turned for the light switch and the
girl seemed to sense what he was doing, for she said
quickly :
" Don't put on the light ! "
" Why not? " He felt absurd, knew that he sounded
absurd. But there was that horror in his mind, dimmed
by the sudden urgency of the chase but deep and hateful.
" They'll search everywhere." Mallen felt her hand
touch his, cool and strangely reassuring. " Come this
way and sit down." In a moment, he was sitting on
the side of the bed, Kay alongside him. " Wasn't she
there? "
Mallen did not answer.
Kay said : " Never mind. I followed you, and heard
two men talking. One was in uniform. I crept after
you."
Mallen still did not speak.
After a long pause, Kay said :
1 07
 MAN ON THE RUN
" George, I don't mind trying to help, but do you have
to be dumb? You wouldn't have done what you have if
you'd been just a frightened fool." She was almost con­
temptuous. " Pull yourself together. Here, have a
cigarette." Where she took them from he didn't know,
but she groped for his fingers and he felt the cigarette.
Then she flicked her lighter, and cupped the flame in
her hands, expertly; she raised the light towards his face,
but he had not put the cigarette to his lip�. She lit hers,
and the light went out.
There was a different note in her voice.
" What's the matter? What did she say? Did she
kill him? "
Mallen said slowly, awkwardly, " No. Kay, it--"
he paused. The use of her name came naturally. " I
can't get you mixed up in this."
" I'm in it."
" No one need know that," Mallen said. He stood
up. " I must get away. She---"
The girl stood up, too. They were very close together.
He could not see her, but knew that she was facing him.
He could feel the soft brush of her breath just above his
chin. Something of his own tension seemed to take
possession of her.
" Tell me what happened ! "
Mallen said : • " She's dead. I put on the light and
found her--"
He couldn't go on, his voice came to a strangled stop.
The girl moved away from him. He did not try to
guess what she felt. Numbness was still upon him, and
his only conscious thought was of getting away from her ;
going anywhere; and finding Gillian's killer. The in­
stinct to run away had never been stronger; he didn't
recognise it then as an instinct for self-preservation.
Flight was the only thing that would save him from a
danger which had become much more acute; and the
only way to keep free until he could avenge Gillian.
" I-thanks for trying," he said, and moved forward.
1 08
 THE SWOOP

He went into her, and felt the soft fullness of her breasts.
" Don't tell them you helped, there's no need to bring
you into this." He was past her, and stretched out for
the door. " Don't say anything."
" Keep still ! " The command came sharply, startled
him into momentary obedience. More quietly, she went
on : " What are you going to do? "
" Don't worry about me."
" I do worry about you," Kay said calmly, " and you
can call me a damned fool if you like. Where are you
going? "
" That doesn't matter, I--"
" You mean you don't know," she said. " If you go
roaming about the countryside they'll have you in a few
hours." She paused. " Are you--quite sure? "
" I saw her." he said roughly. " And if it's the last
thing I do, I'll get the killer."
" The police are bound to have found her by now."
Kay ignored his words. " They won't wonder who did
it, they'll be sure it was you. They'll have every police­
man in the district after you, road barriers, everything.
You're trapped. The only way would be to get out at
once, and--" she paused, and he thought that she
caught her breath. " Even that would probably be too
late."
" Listen, Kay." He felt steadier, partly because he
sensed that some of her self-assurance had ebbed. " I
know what I'm doing." He knew the killer was in the
Camp, but didn't say so. " I'm not going to drag you
further into this, anyhow. I--"
" I wonder who it was," she said, in a different voice.
" If I could get my hands--"
" I don't mean who killed her, I mean who attacked
that man with the torch," Kay said. " We haven't
thought about that, have we? "
" There isn't time to think about anything."
There was no way of escape; but there was a killer
at large. The odds against finding him hardly rated; the
1 09
 MAN ON THE RUN
search was an obsession. The instinct of self-preservation
had died down ; in its place was that hatred for an
unknown murderer. But Mallen had to make sure that
Kay wasn't involved.
" You've been wonderful. Forget it now. Thanks."
" George--"
" For God's sake don't keep on ! " he rasped. " I tell
you I won't let you get into this mess. I haven't known
you for ten minutes, why should you--" he broke off,
and this time found the door knob and pulled it back.
" Forget me." He took a step forward.
" Easy, George," a man said, " and don't wake the
children."
It was Richard Fane's voice, coming from the dark
shape which loomed against the threshold. It went
through Mallen with the force of an electric shock. He
let Fane thrust out a hand and push him back into the
chalet, and close the door. The girl said nothing, but
he could hear her quick breathing ; of course she was
scared. But Fane--
" In case you don't realise it," Fane said, and was
trying to be flippant but could not hide the fact that it
was a strain, " you are in a jam. It was bad before, it's
all hell and fire and brimstone now. Do exactly what I
tell you. Come out, and follow me."
" Why--"
" Because they're searching the chalets, one by one.
Listen."
There was no silence now. l\1en were walking, people
talking, doors opening. · Lights appeared as a distant
glow.
" By standing in the bushes you have a chance,"
Richard Fane said.
" Go on," breathed Kay. " Do what he says."
Mallen let Fane lead him out. Along the chalet line
in either direction were lights streaming out, and men
moving. Mallen moved across the grass, then stepped
on to a flower-bed and among some bushes.
1 10
 THE S W OOP
" Officially I'm helping the police," Fane said.
" Actually I'm still with you. Wait here."
He vanished.
The police and camp officials drew nearer. Women
called out protestingly, but every chalet was being
searched. Soon Mallen was almost near enough to
touch men who approached Kay Linley's door.
They banged.
It was some time before she opened the door. Light
streamed out behind her. Mallen saw her against it.
She wore flimsy pyjamas, her hair was a dark halo.
" What's the matter?"
" Sorry, Miss, we have to look round."
Two men went into the chalet.
Mallen stood in torment, lest he had left some clue
behind. The girl watched from the door. A neighbour
was woken, and a child began to cry.
The men came out.
" Sorry, Miss."
Soon, there was quiet, except in the distance. In ten
minutes, there was a whispered voice from the grass­
Fane's. It was all safe, he said. Mallen moved out,
and they went to Kay's chalet. She opened the door
at the first tap.
" Introduce me to the lady. Did I hear you call her
Kay?"
Kay said : " Who are you? " They were in the
darkness, and could not see each other.
" George doesn't believe it, but I'm a friend of his,"
declared Richard Fane. " I've been dashing about the
countryside trying to find a way to help him. Never
known such a chap for turning down good advice, but if
he'd taken mine before he wouldn't have two charges of
murder brewing for him, would he? "
Kay asked sharply : " How do you know that it's
two?"
It was possible to imagine Fane's grin.
" Evidence of my ears, which were flapping outside
III
 MAN ON THE RUN
the door when George told you. Evidence of my eyes,
because five minutes before George arrived, I'd looked
in to see Gillian. I wanted to give her a shock." He
fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke again all the
forced lightness had gone from his voice : " It was
hellish. I suppose it's possible that George sneaked in
and did it before I got there but I don't think so. Did
you, George? "
" No," Mallen said, in a strangled voice.
" He'd been with me for nearly an hour before that,"
Kay said quickly.
" Lucky George," said Fane, and recovered his poise.
" Two friends in need. My ears also told me that you
are strangers, although it's hard to believe. I was hiding
in the bushes, watching Gillian's chalet, and the johnny
with the torch turned up. It's a shocking crime to
assault a copper. Still, first things first. Gillian was
murdered, George was on the spot, no one could blame
the police for thinking that he did both jobs. No one
ever walked to the dock on a charge of murder with a
blacker future in front of him. Sorry, George, but it has
to be faced. The rope's almost poised."
Kay flashed : " Need you rub it in? "
" You don't know George," Fane told her. " He p�r­
sistently refuses to face facts. They have to be made so
clear that even he can't argue. Your voice rose a shade
too high then, Kay, and the police are still patrolling the
chalets, walking on the grass, I fancy, just to fool us."
They fell silent.
A few hundred yards away Gillian lay dead. The
police were with her, now, and her killer was at large.
Everything Kay and Fane had said was true ; and
there was little chance for him, except- finding the
killer.
Fane said quietly : " The only hope is in getting the
man who did kill them, and the urgent question is : can
we do that better with George in gaol, or will it be better
to keep him free. If we can, that is."
1 12
 THE SWOOP

Kay said nothing. Mallen moved away, bumped into

her, and then leaned against the wall. He felt her move ;
she stood close by him, and he had a strange feeling that
she was there protectingly.
" My brother Martin would probably say that he
should give himself up, explain what happened, and hope
for the best or more miracles from the Prince Agency,"
Fane said with forced lightness. " I don't know, though.
That's what he thought when I telephoned him earlier
tonight, George, but after this, I wonder. Martin might
think that the police will decide that it's a cock-and-bull
story. With a ready-made murderer on their hands,
motive ready and all that kind of thing, why should they
look further ? " He paused. " Jealous lover kills angry
husband, young widow knows, young widow cannot keep
silent, love turns to hate, killer kills again. Not a bad
case for the police and the Public Prosecutor. Feel like
giving yourself up, George? You look a truthful kind
of chap, they might be persuaded that--"
" Don't be a fool ! " Kay broke across his words,
keeping her voice low ; but there was no doubt of the
intensity of her feeling. " If the police get him now,
he's as good as hanged. They'd never admit that they
made a mistake. If you knew the police as well as I
do, you wouldn't talk such nonsense."
Into a startled silence, Fane said : " Well, well.
Passions roused. Why don't you like the forces of law
and order, Kay ? "
" Never mind that," Kay said. " How are we going
to get George away, and what are we going to do after
that ? "
They would never understand that he would stay there
until he had found a killer.
 M AN ON THE RUN

15
PO L I CE COR DON
KAY fell silent, and neither of the others spoke. Mallen,
glad of the support of the wall, peered at their shapes in
the gloom, and began to marvel that either of them should
feel as they did. Through his burning rage, it dawned
on him that they were discussing him almost as if he were
some inanimate object, and that he had no voice in what
was going to be done. Shock was passing, too ; and he
wasn't just a sack of waste to be carried around as they
thought best.
" I shan't give myself up," he said. " Not yet, any­
how. Get that clear."
" Of course you won't," Kay agreed.
" Resolution passed, two votes for and one abstention,"
Fane said. " Then the problem remains of---"
He broke off.
Tension came into the chalet again. There was a
sound outside, the unmistakable sound of a man walking
slowly, deliberately, towards the chalet. The footsteps
drew nearer. They drew nearer still until they were
right outside. Mallen felt Kay's fingers grip his hand.
The man passed; his footsteps faded.
" Police patrol. They're having each chalet line
patrolled every twenty minutes. I shouldn't think they'll
search chalets again unless someone's seen to go into one,"
said Fane. " I can't help thinking that if you're going to
run for cover, George, the time is here and now."
" Yes." Mallen tried to be brisk.
" You don't know what you're talking about," Kay
said. " There must be a hundred men out looking for
you. The fences and the gates are bound to be guarded.
This is the safest place for the time being." She glowered
at Richard Fane.
 PO LICE CORDON

" The name is Fane, and I answer to Richard," he

murmured.
" How seriously do you want to help George, Mr.
Fane? "
" A nice question " Fane conceded. Nothing would
make him wholly serious. " An interesting technicality,
too. He is my client, so I am determined to do the best
I can for him. Professionally, I'm in deadly earnest.
As a friend, I hardly know him, but I've a brother who
thinks he's a wow of a chap. What's in your mind, Miss
Linley? "
" George would be quite safe here if the police thought
he'd escaped. I think we could make them think that
George has got out."
Mallen's heart leapt.
" Clever girl," said Richard. " How? "
" You could escape, Mr. Fane," Kay said calmly. " Or
try to."
That pierced Richard Fane's calm ; he gaped. Mallen
gave a twisted smile. The nightmare vision of dead
Gillian had dimmed a little because of the urgency of the
next step.
" Pretty thought," Fane said, admiringly. " I'm to
be Aunt Sally for George. Break through the police
cordon, let 'em know I've done it, draw 'em off so that
tomorrow all is peace and quiet. Then George could
sneak out, with the help of a bit of luck and Miss Kay
Linley."
After a long pause, Kay said : " M rs. Linley. Will
you do it? Or doesn't your professional zeal go that
far? "
" Challenge to my pride, eh? George, you have made
a friend in Mrs. Kay Linley." There was another pause.
" Yes, I think it could be done."
" Well, it won't be," George growled.
" I told you what to expect from the v1ct1m, didn't
I? " Fane appealed to Kay. " He simply won't listen to
common sense. George, if you'd taken my advice on
1 15
 MAN ON THE R UN
the train and gone to the police, this would still have
happened here and they would have known the killer was
still free. As a thought, who should want to murder both
Paul and Gillian? As soothing syrup-if the police
should catch me sneaking out of the Camp, they won't
be able to bring anything against me. There's no reason
why I shouldn't go out by night if I want to. There'd
be some awkward questions, but the junior partner in
the Prince Agency isn't going to be seriously suspected of
killing Gillian Hope. It might work. And what will
George do? " He turned to Kay.
" Stay here. In this chalet, until it's safe for him to
go."
" When you do a thing, you really do it, don't you? "
Fane said, marvelling. " Until when? "
" I've a car here. Once the police cordon is drawn
off, I can bring the car to the end of the chalet line.
George will just have to walk along these chalets, he pro­
bably won't be seen by half a dozen people. He could
have a scarf round his face, or something that would
stop them from recognising him." Kay paused. " Once
he's in the car, it will be easy. I'm known at the gate,
and they won't be surprised to see me with a passenger.
They'll just wave us out."
Mallen thought : " Only I've a job to do here."
" Hum," said Fane. " Don't be too sure. The police
are not fools. They may take a cordon away but they
keep a general watch, and certainly have someone at the
gate. Routine would demand that, anyhow. He paused,
and Mallen heard the rustle of his movement. " George
is right, you know, he has a voice in this. Mind if I
pretend to be you for an hour or so, George, and try
to draw 'em off? "
" There isn't any other hope," Kay said abruptly.
It would give Mallen time to think; time to steady
himself, to plan. He already felt bette1·; if he could
relax for a few hours he would see clearly, think clearly.
" I'm no sure that you'll be let down lightly if they
I I6
 POLICE CO R DON

catch you," he said, and added roughly : " Why the

hell should either of you help like this ? "
" Call it your winning ways," Fane said sweetly. " I'll
be all right. I've something you can mull over while
you're hiding here, too. Why should anyone want to kill
both Paul and Gillian ? Why did Gillian fly to you, and
hide at your flat much in the way that you're going to
hide in Kay's ? Why did she suddenly decide to come
to Medley's-where she had a booking, made a week ago,
in the name of Gillian Appleby ? Don't answer all at
once, George, but ponder about it. Paul and Gillian
were up to something that we don't know about yet.
Any ideas ? "
Mallen said slowly : " Is that true ? The advance
booking--"
" I checked at reception this afternoon."
" I don't get it," Mallen said very slowly, hurtfully.
" I've no idea what was happening. I understand that
Gillian had had a row with Paul. She wasn't the easiest
girl to understand, she was-a bit unworldly. And she
was terrified."
" So I gathered. It's the key to the problem. What
terrified her ? \!Vas she hiding from her husband ? Who
booked the chalet for her, and who was she meeting at
Medley's ? The answer to the last two might be that
she was meeting the man who killed her and who had
killed Paul. Remember she let someone into her flat.
It could have been the killer. No ideas at all ? "
" No," .Mallen said.
" Pity. But keep trying to think." Fane moved
about in the darkness. " I'll wait for the next patrol and
then slip out. Look after him, Mrs. Linley." He put a
faint emphasis on the 'Mrs.', and after a short pause,
spoke again. Mallen could imagine the half-smile on
his full lips. " Unless you'd care to tell us the story of
your life, with especial emphasis on the reasons for
wanting to pull a fast one over the police."
" I don't feel in a confiding mood," Kay said.
II7
 MAN ON THE RUN
No one spoke after that. Mallen fought down the
questions in his own mind, most of them stemming from
Fane's questions. There was also the other question­
why should these two take such risks to help him ? It
was just possible to believe that Fane was doing it for
professional reasons, but Kay-what was her answer ?
Footsteps drew near.
" Here he comes," Fane whispered. " I'll count
thirty and then sneak out. No more talking."
The man passed. 1-fallen found himself counting,
after the footsteps had died away. " . . . twenty-six,
twenty-seven, twenty-eight--"
" I mean, friends of Gillian and her husband," Fane
said softly. " The crowd they mixed with. You knew
them, didn't you ? And how did Paul make his money,
he seems to have been fairly well off but wasn't exactly
earning a princely salary, was he ? That kind of thing.
Martin is probing in London, but it isn't the easiest of
propositions. So long."
The door creaked slightly; greyness showed as it
opened, and was then blotted out by Richard Fane. He
closed the door, and they heard him steal away. They
did not move until he had been gone for a minute or more,
and they could be sure there would be no immediate
disaster.
All was quiet.
" We'd better lie down," Kay said, breaking the
silence in a voice which was quite normal, except that it
was so low-pitched. " I'd loosen your collar and tie,
George, if I were you, and take off your shoes." She
moved away from him ; he heard the soft, rustling sounds
of her movements. Slowly, he did what she advised ;
and was angry with himself, because he seemed to
need treating as a child, seemed to have no powers
of acting for himself. There was only that burning
purpose.
" Where's the chair ? " he asked.
He had to stay here now. If Fane were caught, there
I I8
 P O LI C E C ORDON

would be a lot of shouting, noise, perhaps shooting. He

should never have let the man go out.
" You can't rest on the chair, it's as hard as a board,"
Kay said. " I'll get into bed and get close to the wall,
you can lie on top of the bedclothes. It isn't cold."
She was casual and matter of fact. " If I were you, I'd
try not to think for a bit." There were more sounds, and
then he heard the bed creak. A moment later, she said :
" All right."
He must try to forget Fane. . . .
The day before, not forty-eight hours ago, he had seen
Kay Linley in her white shorts and with that red woollen
jumper ; and, later, seen her sitting by the side of the
stream, leaning back on her arms, as if making sure that
he could not fail to see, to be excited by her figure. Now
she lay in bed, expecting him to lie beside her ; and she
seemed to take it for granted that he would be content
to lie still. Thoughts went through his mind ; thoughts
of her sultry beauty, of her figure ; thoughts of her deter­
mination to help him ; and then a hideous change, to
the sight of Gillian and from that to the memory of
Paul.
He lay down. The bed was narrow, and he could
not lie on his back. He turned his back on Kay. His
arm hung over the side of the bed, but his head was com­
fortably on the pillow. He could feel Kay's hair and
edged away a little, but could still feel her body against
his. He was rigid with tension, but longed to relax.
He knew that there was no reason in him, he was driven
by hatred of an unknown man, and by desire to avenge
Gillian. Only that mattered. He needed rest simply to
clear his mind, to get ready to hunt the killer down.
How was Fane getting on? Where was he ?
He must stop thinking about Fane.
Who had killed Paul and Gillian?
Ivfallen knew the circle that Paul Hope had moved in,
a youngish crowd, not at all spectacular. They danced,
played tennis, bridge ; the usual things. Paul was in a
ng
 MAN ON THE RUN
bank, and had a good job, but it was true that he always
had plenty of money. Mallen had thought nothing about
that, assumed that Paul had independent means.
Kay stirred. Mallen became conscious of her again.
After a while, she began to breathe very evenly. He
thought that she was asleep. He had never felt less like
sleep, and his arms began to feel stiff. He shifted his
position cautiously. If he stole out of the chalet now,
would it help? There was no change in her even
breathing.
Mallen tried to think of any one of their circle of friends
who might have a reason to want to kill Paul. He
couldn't; it seemed absurd that anyone could have a
motive, but the full significance of what Fane had said
was slowly coming to him. It was so obvious; why
hadn't he thought of it before ? He realised that, deep
down, he had been afraid that Gillian had killed Paul.
That was why he had been desperately anxious to see
her before giving himself up to the police.
She hadn't ; he felt more than ever sure of that.
Why call herself Appleby? The name meant nothing
to Mallen. Would Gillian use a name which might
convey anything to him, or anyone? Who had made
her come here?
She had been frightened ; terrified. With such fear
driving her, it wasn't surprising that she had wanted the
door locked, had dreaded the possibility that someone
would get in. She had known there was a possibility
of being murdered-and he had never thought to try to
find the real reason for her fears, had just assumed that
she was highly strung, living on her nerves ; fey.
Why had she thought that someone might murder her?
Whom had she admitted to the flat?
He was more relaxed, now. Then he went tense
again; his nerves screamed.
The quiet was broken by a whistle, a long way off.
He heard it clearly. More whistling followed. Mallen
could imagine the commotion, picture Fane with the
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 S T O RY

police after him. He couldn't lie still. He sat up, then

got cautiously off the bed. There was a sudden fury of
whistling, from a long way off. He must go and see
what was happening. He was allowing another man to
take his risks. What had got into him, what was he
made of?
He crept towards the door.
Kay turned on the bed, and her voice came clearly.
" Stay here, George. Keep your nerve."

16
S TOR Y
MALLEN reached the door and touched the handle. He
heard Kay getting out of bed. He opened the door a few
inches and peered into the gloom, and more whistling
came, sounding much closer. Then he heard a different
sound, the unmistakable bark of a shot.
He growled : " I've got to go ! " He stabbed a hand
out and switched on the light. " It's no use."
Kay was standing by the side of the bed. She had
taken off her dress, wore just a slip and a brassiere ; her
tanned, shapely legs were bare. Her tumbled hair was a
dark, glistening mass falling to her shoulders, and her
flesh was like ivory, her skin flawless.
" Put the light out ! Don't--"
" I've got to go and help him. Didn't you hear that
shot? If they've--" he didn't finish, but bent down
and snatched up his shoes, raised one leg and started to
put the shoe on.
A long way off, cars started up.
" He's got away," Kay breathed. " Give yourself this
chance."
121
 MAN ON THE RUN
The whistling had stopped and there was no more
shooting; and the sound of the car engines faded into the
stillness before he had tied his shoes. Kay moved quickly
to the door, and switched off the light.
" Keep your nerve," she whispered, and drew nearer
to him. " You can't help now."
" Keep my nerve? I've lost all I ever had." His
voice was savage. " I can't go on with this, they'll have
to do what they like." He managed to -keep his voice
low, although he wanted to shout.
He felt her close to him; her arms about him.
" He knew the risk and was prepared to take it, wasn't
he ? You'II make him throw everything away. You
need time. Come and lie down."
" Kay, it's crazy--"
" Did you kill either of them? " She shook him
vigorously. " Did you kill them? "
" No ! "
" Then what could be crazier than the police arresting
you, charging you, trying to hang you? It isn't your
fault it's crazy."
He found his hands on her cool, smooth shoulders,
and gripped tightly.
" Kay, why are you doing this? What's your interest?
I can't understand it, it's nothing to do with you. Fane's
different, but you--"
" Come and lie down," Kay said, " and I'll tell you."
He let her draw him towards the bed, resistance ebbed
with the noise, but the echo of that shot was still in his
ears. Fane might be hurt. " George, the police can
make mistakes. I know how bad they can be." He sat
on the edge of the bed, and soon he was lying, facing her;
and she was kneeling by the side of the bed, her hands
gripping his. " I've known a man go through hell
because of one mistake. He died afterwards. There
was a look in his face I don't think I'll ever forget. You
looked like that, yesterday morning. It was like seeing
a ghost. You're not really like him, it was just some-
1 22
 S T O RY

thing in your eyes. When I saw you, I felt as if he'd

come alive again."
She had silenced Mallen.
" He was my husband," she said. " He was charged
with a robbery he didn't commit. They sent him to
prison for seven years. I was in court when he was sen­
tenced, and I saw what it did to him. It wasn't only the
thought of prison, it was the foul injustice of it. I've
never known exactly what happened. He wouldn't take
it quietly. He tried to escape, and made things far
worse for himself. He fell from a prison wall, and died
later from the injuries."
She stopped ; and Mallen found himself thinking of
her, and of nothing else.
She went on : " Before he died, they granted what
they called a pardon. The men who'd really committed
the robbery were caught for another crime, and the truth
came out. The police were so sorry about it. Sorry !
How I hate them ! And I tell you that it could happen
to you, and you wouldn't be sent to prison, you'd be
hanged. They couldn't bring you back to life, could
they? "
Mallen didn't speak.
A moment later she was lying beside him, with one
hand on his shoulder. She was unnaturally still. He did
not know what he could say, so said nothing.
" I came here this year because we had our last holiday
here," Kay went on in a voice which had lost its tension
but was filled with a distress which it was difficult to
measure. " That was four years ago. Nothing's really
helped me since. I came back hoping that it would help
me to get it out of my system. I knew it was useless to
mope but I couldn't stop. And every time I saw a police­
man I wanted to scratch his face. It was driving me mad,
I had to fight against it. So I came here and did all the
things that Mark and I had done. Do you remember
seeing me sitting with my feet in the stream? "
Did he remember?
1 23
 MAN ON THE RUN
" Of-course."
" Mark and I did that," she whispered. " We cycled
from the camp, left the cycles behind the hedge, and
wandered down to the stream. It was baking hot,
hotter than it was yesterday morning. We were so gay.
We sat at the side of the stream and took our shoes and
socks off, and--" she caught her breath. " He took
a photograph of me. I think you'd recognise it, I was
sitting--"
She stopped again, and he knew that she wouldn't
go on. His left arm was about her, now, and she was
close to him; and he could feel her body quivering as she
fought tears; and lost. He felt her crying, quietly, and
had nothing to say, could only hope that he was giving
her some comfort. After a while she lay still. Soon, he
thought that she was asleep. He eased his position but
did not move enough to disturb her.
Her story went through his mind, again and again ;
it explained everything that needed explanation. He
felt relaxed, too, as if she had drawn some of his anguish
into her. He could think without passion.
At last he fell asleep.
When he woke it was daylight, and he was alone on
the bed. He heard quiet sounds, and turned his head.
Kay was at the handbasin, dressed as he had seen · her
last night, washing those slender arms and her slim neck.
She had not noticed that he was awake. Her movements
were quiet and they had a grace which it was hard to
describe. He had, strangely, a sense of rightness.
She glanced towards him, and went still.
" Good morning," he whispered.
" Be very quiet." She took a towel from the rail by
the side of the handbasin. " I didn't want to wake you
but I couldn't get off to sleep again."
" What time is it ? "
" Quite early. Nearly half-past seven. People will
soon be about, some are up already."
Someone walked by the chalet. The small curtains
1 24
 STORY

a t the top of the window were pulled back, to let in the

daylight; it looked sunny. The lower curtains were
across the window, so that no one could see in.
Kay moved across the room, took a dress from behind
the curtain, and slipped it on quite naturally, then
fastened the zip at the waist. It was a floral cotton dress,
red with large white flowers. She pulled her hair free at
the back ; it was magnificent hair, much thicker than he
had realised. She pulled up the chair and sat in front
of a wall mirror. She began to comb, then to brush her
hair, slipping in grips every now and again.
He was content for a while to lie and watch her.
She finished and asked :
" How do you feel? "
" Rested. Incredulous."
" The first is all right." She flashed a smile. " You
don't have to get up." She picked up the thermos flask.
" There should be enough for you to have a cup, I can go
and get one. I'd better not bring another thermos back,
they'll wonder why and we don't want anyone to ask
questions. There are still a few sandwiches, and I can
get some fruit later. I've been trying to think how I
could smuggle some breakfast in, but I don't think it
would be safe."
" Forget it."
" You've got to eat," she said. " I'll go and find out
what I can. I know several of the staff, they'll tell me.
I've put a " Don't Disturb " card in the window, no one
will come in. You'll be all right."
" It wouldn't surprise me," Mallen said.
She turned to look at him. " You really feel better,
don't you? "
" Much. I am a human being, usually." Speaking
in whispers came quite naturally, and when someone
passed, they stopped without thinking. " Can you get a
newspaper? "
" Yes. All you have to remember is stay here and
don't go near the window." She put on a waist-length
1 25
 MAN ON THE RUN
white coat. " I'll be at least half an hour, and probably
longer." She paused, for a different sound came, a voice
over a loudspeaker. It wasn't close but it was clear.
" Good morning, Campers, it's time to get up. Medlry's
promise you a fine day, whatever the weather's like I Don't
forget that breakfast is at nine o'clock, TRY not to be late."
There was a pause. Mallen and Kay stood watching
each other tensely.
" We are extremely sorry that you were disturbed during the
night. Because we thinkyou would prefer to know the truth, not be
victims of rumour, we have a special bulletin for you."
Another pause. Then:
" During the night a girl camper was murdered. She was
the wife of Paul Hope, who was murdered in London two days
ago. The police have reason to believe that the murderer
escaped during the night. They ask you all to behave quite
normally, and give them a,ry help they may require.
The speaker stopped. After a pause, there came a bar
or two of music and a song: " We're sorry to call you but
it's time to get up. There was only a short pause before
another record was played.
" So they think I've gone," Mallen said. There was a
curious bitter-sweet sense of triumph.
" They could have said so to calm the campers down
-and to fool you," Kay said. " Don't take the slightest
risk."
" I won't," l\fallen promised.
" They'll broadcast the B.B.C.'s eight o'clock news,"
Kay told him, " then more music. I won't be any longer
than I can help.''
The bed was in the corner hidden from the door when
it was opened. Kay went out and closed the door with a
snap. A moment later, Mallen heard her say brightly :
" Good morning ! " and a man responded. Footsteps
faded, and the familiar silence fell but it was no longer
true silence; the camp was astir.
He poured out the tea; it was lukewarm but much
better than nothing. He got up, washed, and felt his
1 26
 S T O RY

hand rasping over his stubble. Getting hold of a razor

became a problem again. He told himself that he could
think of that and everything else, quite calmly. He was
calm enough, for he felt free from fear. Even the horror
of what had happened to Gillian had lost the first numbing
effect. There was just that fierce determination, that
lust for vengeance.
He found himself thinking of what Richard Fane had
said, and about Kay's story. They got mixed up, and he
made himself sort them out. There was no need to think
more about Kay's; Fane's mattered.
Had Fane escaped ? Or had the police tried to fool
the campers?
Who had killed Gillian-and who had terrified her?
It was easier now to realise that she had been terrified
of something more than her own nervous fears. Mallen
could still think of no one whom Paul and Gillian knew
who might have done this-who might even have a
motive. But if anyone they knew was at the camp­
wouldn't that be the answer ?
He sat still, on the bed.
What chance had he of finding anyone here who had
known Paul and Gillian ?
Face the facts-he had none. He dare not risk being
seen. Even if he were as free as the air, he wouldn't
know where to start-except to search the camp for some­
one who knew Paul and Gillian.
He heard Kay; she was wearing leather-soled shoes
this morning. She greeted someone quite loudly, and he
imagined that she was making sure that he recognised her
voice. A moment later the key turned in the lock, and
she came in quickly, carrying several newspapers. She
looked fresh and eager; and he realised that there was a
change in her expression. The sardonic twist to her lips
was gone. She looked younger, too.
" Fane did get away," she said.
Mallen's heart turned over.
" He wasn't hurt, as far as I can gather." Kay came
127
 MAN ON THE RUN
close so that she could keep her voice low. " The whole
camp's buzzing with it. The police seem sure that you
-you killed Gillian and it was you who escaped." She
paused. " Apparently Fane had a car parked somewhere
along the road. He climbed the fence and ran for it.
They fired at the car. I don't know whether they hit it
or not. Some police are still at the camp, of course,
they've taken possession of Gillian's chalet. There's a
police watch at the gates, too. They think you might
have had an accomplice ! "
" That's one we hadn't thought of," Mallen said. He
ran a hand over his stubble. " If they think there was an
accomplice, they may not be so sure that I escaped last
night."
Kay said : " Yes, you're a different man this morning.
I wonder if they'll search the chalets again. No one
seems to know."
" It wouldn't take long," Mallen said. " And take
it from me, Kay, I'm not going to let you run into trouble
over this. If I were found in your chalet--"
" It's the safest place, for a while anyhow. I could
find out if they were starting a search." She was very
cool about it. " Then you might have to slip out. Every
camp official knows exactly what you look like. They've
been studying your photograph. You won't have a
chance to move about the camp by day, so you have to
stay here. If they find you, I can always say that I
didn't know you'd sneaked in, they won't have to know
how long you've been a guest ! " She picked up the
newspapers, as if she didn't want to say any more about
that. " I haven't looked at these yet." She tossed
one to him, and opened a second ; there were four
altogether.
He had the Echo ; and there was his picture again,
on the front page. The story was old, of course, there
was nothing about Gillian's murder, no mention of
1\1:edley's. But there was a paragraph which wrenched
his mind off everything else :
128
 SHOCK

Scotland Yard has reason to believe that the

murder of Paul Hope was connected with the
three-month old Midpro Bank robbery, when
thieves made a haul of £30,000.

Paul had worked for the Midpro Bank.

17
SHO C K
BEYOND that, the news meant nothing. Was it signifi­
cant ? Mallen looked at the top of Kay's head, as she
bent over the Daily Pictorial. She did not glance up. He
took another paper and scanned the story, finding a
paragraph that was worded differently but connecting
Paul's murder with the £30,000 robbery. He remem­
bered the sensation which it had caused, and Paul's
excitement on the evening that news of the robbery
broke.
Mallen had gone to Paul and Gillian's flat on a regular
weekly visit. Gillian had seemed almost nervous.
Had she ? Or was he imagining that now?
Kay looked up.
" Has yours got the bit about the bank robbery? "
" Yes."
She said sharply : " What's the matter? "
" Paul worked at the head office of Midpro."
" Heavens ! " Kay dropped her paper. " Then it
could be--" she didn't finish, but after a while she
asked : " Would Paul get mixed up in anything like
that ? "
" I wouldn't have thought so." Mallen was thinking
fast, fiercely. That evening, Paul had had two guests,
both strangers to Mallen, and introduced them as col-
1 29
 MAN ON THE RUN
leagues from the bank. Almost immediately afterwards,
Gillian had said that she wanted a breath of fresh air,
and Paul had suggested that she should go for a walk
with Mallen. It came back vividly. At the time his
only interest had been in �alking with Gillian, but
looking back, he recalled a tension which had come to
Paul as if he hadn't wanted him to see the two men.
Gillian hadn't suggested going out until their arrival;
it could have been because she wanted to get Mallen out
of the flat.
Did looking back and imagining motives which might
never have existed help in any way?
He would recognise those men again.
Then a recollection flashed into his mind, of the man
who had come to his flat when he had been getting ready
to leave. It was one of the 'colleagues'; he was quite
sure.
That could be important; but it didn't help now.
" It seems as if the police have found out something
you didn't know," Kay said. She looked at him very
Keenly. " I can't have been fooled by you, George,
can I? "
He found himself smiling; exulting.
" Not about this ! Kay, I've got to move about the
camp."
" You can't."
" I must."
" Why? "
" I knew most of Paul's friends, Gillian's too. If the
murderer was someone in their circle, I'd recognise him.
If there's anyone in the camp I know and who knew Paul,
then we would have a pretty fair idea, wouldn't we? "
" Why don't you just lie low, and let Richard Fane
worry about that ? " Kay asked sharply. " Why run
into trouble? I tell you you wouldn't be outside for
half an hour without being recognised. Yours is the
best-known face to every member of the staff at Medley's !
You've got to stay in here until you're forced to try to
1 30
 SHOCK

escape. Don't throw away everything that Fane and I

have done to help."
It was difficult to find an answer to that; difficult to
make her see why he could not rest. It was more than a
question of his own safety, more than fear after the death
of Paul. Finding the killer to avenge Gillian was at
least as important as keeping himself free from the police.
Kay stood up.
" I suppose you'll do what you want to," she said
shortly. " Don't leave until I get back from breakfast,
though. The nine o'clock signal will soon sound, every­
one will make a bee-line for the dining-hall. You'll be
here when I get back, won't you ? "
" Unless I'm driven out," Mallen said. " Is there a
hiding place where I can go ? "
She frowned ; then her eyes brightened. " The boiler­
house is up along the chalet line, next to the baths and
toilets. I don't think the door's kept locked. A man
comes to stoke the furnace every hour or so." Her
brightness dimmed. " But that would be searched too."
" It would give me a chance," !\.,fallen said. He moved
suddenly and took her hands. " Kay, I can't tell you
how much you've done to help. I can't think--"
Her grip on his hands was very tight, and she inter­
rupted him sharply, almost fiercely.
" Don't be a fool. Don't run unless you're forced to."
He didn't speak, but thought that she knew that he
would go as soon as she had gone. He expected her to
plead with him, but she didn't, just dropped his hands
and turned away. A moment later, he was alone in the
chalet. The voice came over the loud-speaker, an­
nouncing breakfast. Two or three other people were
passing, there were more good mornings.
Mallen looked about the chalet, to see whether there
were any signs that he had been there. He saw none.
He squeezed the remaining sandwiches in his pocket, and
took two packets of cigarettes from the top drawer. He
glanced round again, then searched the drawer and found
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 MAN ON THE RUN
a letter addressed to Mrs. Kay Linley at a London
address. He took the letter out of the envelope and put
it back in the drawer, slipped the envelope into his pocket,
and went to the door.
He went out.
No one was in sight.
At least there was no longer a risk to Kay ; he need
not have that on his conscience. He stepped out briskly,
darting glances right and left, but no one seemed to be
about. He crossed two bisecting paths, and a boy came
running towards him. He managed to keep going
steadily. The boy went past, without a glance. Across
the next path were long buildings with several entrances :
there were boards hanging from the roof ; Ladies' Baths­
Gentlemen's Baths. Between these two was a door without
a board, painted green, and with some trampled coke
and coal on the path immediately outside it. The green
door was closed. He tried the handle ; it turned and the
door opened. He went in cautiously, hearing a roaring
sound ; the large, dark room struck warm.
He left the door ajar, to get some light, and could make
out the shape of the huge furnace, and see the red-hot
glow round its gate. The roar came from there. Then
he saw a boiler suit hanging from a peg in the wall
He said : " That's it ! "
He snatched the boiler suit down. It was full of coke
dust, his hands were smeared as soon as he touched it.
He shook it vigorously, and then drew it on. It was too
big, but that didn't matter ; it covered his clothes. He
was no longer pretending to be a camper, but a member
of the staff, face and hands grimy with black dust.
No one would be surprised that he hadn't shaved.
He went out again. Two women were hurrying from
the chalets on the other side. He took no notice of them,
but when they had gone, walked towards the dining­
rooms, the shops and the coffee bars. Two or three men
lounged outside the service doors of a dining-hall ; West
Dining Hall was marked on the wall above them. They
1 32
 SHOCK

took no notice of him. He reached the windows of the

hall itself. It seemed crammed with people eating; a
vast room, with hurrying waitresses, an air of bustle and
of clatter.
He felt better now that he was out, but didn't fool
himself. He was looking for another needle in a hay­
stack and one which might not be here; one he wouldn't
recognise so easily, either. But the murderer of Gillian
was probably still in this camp. And that man had
called at the flat, hadn't he? Mallen would recognise
either of Paul's unexpected visitors on the night of the
bank robbery ; and anyone else who had known Paul and
Gillian. He felt that he couldn't miss; it was as if he
knew that luck was with him.
Several people looked at him out of the windows,
and two or three latecomers glanced at him as they hurried
towards the entrance. He took no notice. The entrance
was in the road with the swimming pool on the other side;
all he had to do was watch everyone as they came out.
There would be little difficulty if he could escape notice.
Anyone who saw him would think that he had work to do
at the pool, if he went up there. He went. Chairs were
dotted about, made of metal like the one he had
used outside the first chalet. He began to straighten
them.
Three cars came from the main gates, which he could
see a hundred yards away. They slowed down outside
the West Dining Hall, and six men got out. Among
them was a big man, tall and very broad, who was side­
face to Mallen for a moment, then turned his back on him.
It was only a glimpse but it was enough.
Martin Fane, Richard's brother, was here.
Mallen knew that the others were police.
He kept moving the chairs, noisily. A man glanced
at him, and away. Fane turned so that Mallen could
see his broad, handsome face; the face of a friend. Mallen
looked down at the chair. When he glanced up again,
other cars were on the way, carrying uniformed police.
1 33
 MAN ON THE RUN
These climbed out and took up positions outside the
doors of the dining-hall. Yet more cars passed ; Mallen
guessed they were going to the other camps, sensed what
was happening. All the dining halls were to be searched ;
it would be like a gigantic identification parade.
They were looking for campers, not for the staff.
He moved along, trying to reason out what the police
would do next. They would stop anyone coming away
from any of the halls, of course, until they had finished the
inspection ; but would they go towards the chalets ? Did
it matter now ? He wanted to find out, and moved back
towards the chalet lines. More police were already
moving along them, going in and out of chalets. He
wouldn't have had a chance if he had done what Kay
wanted.
They were looking for him ; he was looking for anyone
who had known Paul and Gillian. He fought against
believing that there wasn't any real hope. That grim,
ruthless determination to find Gillian's killer was stronger
than reason.
Two men sauntered towards him, in working clothes ;
one called : " Nice day." Then the well-dressed man
who had spoken to Kay the night before came briskly
along from the offices and turned towards the We.st
Dining Hall. Mallen wondered how long the police
would take. It simply meant passing along the corridors
between those massed tables, it shouldn't take long.
Between intervals of moving chairs-and there were
hundreds of them, he could go on doing that for an hour
-he watched the hall. · Twice he saw the police inside
reach the end of a line of tables, and then go down
another. He could hear the clatter ; service hadn't
stopped.
Two of the men who had gone inside came out and
spoke to the police on guard. These moved away, at the
double, towards the chalets. The campers would soon
be allowed to come out, surely, and he could start his
vigil. The faces of those two unexpected visitors at Paul's
1 34
 SHOCK

flat were as vivid in his mind as Martin Fane's face ;

or Richard's. One round, with fair eyelashes, eyebrows
and soft, fair hair, a chubby face on a short, plump body ;
the other a big, bulky dark-haired and sallow-skinned
man, nearly as tall as Paul, who was six feet one. He
had called at Mallen's flat.
Campers began to come out.
Martin Fane appeared among the first dozen, the only
one he recognised. Fane turned and went towards the
chalet line. Did he know that Richard had helped
Mallen to escape arrest last night?
Then Fane came back, with a tall, brown-haired man
with his hat on the back of his head and two other men in
plainclothes who were almost certainly detectives. Fane
looked about him, seemed to stare at Mallen but didn't
move. The brown-haired man was probably in charge
of the police. Why were they waiting here? The well­
dressed man, who had been standing near the door for
several minutes, came out.
It was difficult to tell one camper from another, and
many turned towards the chalet, giving Mallen no chance
to see what they were like. The mirage of inevitable
success faded. He felt suddenly hopeless and depressed ;
there had never been a chance. If he were to save him­
self he would have to get out of here. There was more
hope of that now that the police were preoccupied in
the camp, wasn't there?
He glanced towards the main gate, and to the low
fence which separated the camp from the road. Would
anyone notice a worker climbing that fence ?
He moved towards it, but hadn't gone far before he
turned to look at the dining hall again.
He stood quite still.
Kay Linley came out and glanced at the waiting men
but took no notice of them. The well-dressed man raised
his hand and pointed to her. The man with brown hair
stepped forward and touched her on the shoulder. She
turned sharply, to face him ; her back was turned towards
1 35
 MAN ON THE RUN
Mallen. H e could see the detective's lips movmg as
he talked, but noticed nothing else.
Two uniformed policemen stepped to Kay's side, and
escorted her towards the nearest car. She looked straight
ahead, her shoulders squared. A few people noticed the
incident and stood and stared. Kay disappeared into
the police car and the man with brown hair spoke to
Martin Fane, then joined the girl.
Fane moved towards Mallen.
Mallen drew in his breath deeply, hating the police,
hating Fane. How had they discovered that Kay had
helped him ? \Vhy had they taken her off ? It seemed
to have something to do with Martin Fane.
Fane was drawing nearer, looking straight at him.
Mallen fought back the impulse to turn and run, just
moved round and began to walk slowly towards the other
side of the swimming pool. Two or three children were
already playing in the shallow end. Campers were
sauntering along, some already sitting and sunning them­
selves in the metal chairs. Fane drew closer, his long
stride covering the ground very quickly.
The hedge, the wire fence and the road were only
fifty yards away.

18
MARTIN FANE

MARTIN FANE was only a few yards behind Mallen,

looking towards the diving platform, from which several
youths were already plunging. No one else was near
this spot. Mallen knew that he must not run ; once
he started, there would be a hue and cry. In the old
boiler suit and walking briskly, he wasn't noticeable.
But he could hear Fane's footsteps drawing nearer.
1 36
 MARTIN FANE

Then he heard Fane's voice.

" If you run, George, I'll have to shout 'police'."
Mallen stiffened, and slowed down. Fane drew level
with him, and they stopped. Fane looked towards the
ruffled surface of the water after a swift glance at Mallen.
" We mustn't talk much here," he said. " My car's
an old Buick, with a white body. It's parked near the
camp garage. See if you can tuck yourself in the boot.
If you can't, sit by the side of the driving wheel and
wait for me." He glanced at a young couple, arm­
in-arm, coming towards them. " Do you know where
the garage is ? "
" I-no." Mallen's heart began to thump with dis­
belief; Richard might do crazy things, but Martin
Fane was a different level-headed, cautious type; yet
he seemed to be offering a chance to get out of here.
" Go past the main gates, then turn left. Keep on
the camp road-it's signposted anyhow. Now I must--"
" Why did they arrest Kay Linley ? " Mallen burst
out.
" They've held her for questioning, that's all. We'll
talk about that later." Fane passed Mallen without
looking at him again. He had a strong face and his
lips were set tightly; his grey eyes seemed calm but
there was tension in his manner. He started to walk
towards the diving platform, and Mallen made himself
turn to face the other way. The young couple passed
him. No one else took any notice.
Mallen tried to remember what he knew of the lay-out
of the camp, heart beating fast at the new hope of getting
away. That told him how completely he had given up
thought of finding Gillian's killer; how much his fear
was for himself. He walked briskly, had to force him­
self not to run. As he approached the main gates he
saw three uniformed policemen and two other uniformed
men, probably camp commissionaires. He must not go
too near them, but there was no way of avoiding them
altogether.
1 37
 MAN ON THE RUN
H e passed o n the other side of the road, without
looking to see if they stared at him, or if any of them
followed. Another long, low building was on his left.
He reached the corner, and glanced round. No one
was coming towards him. Almost giddy, he turned
towards another corner and a signpost with fingers
pointing in several directions. One or two campers were
walking aimlessly, but there were few people about, and
he saw no police.
Soon he could see petrol pumps a hundred yards or
so ahead, at the top of a slight rise. Once near the top
of the rise, he saw cars parked on a big parking space.
There were several vans and trucks, too, all marked
Medley's.
A small car was being serviced; its driver and a garage
hand were across the road from Mallen when he passed.
Neither took any notice of him.
The big white Buick stood at the far end of the car
park, a convertible with a black canvas hood. The body
looked as if it had been freshly painted. Mallen could
hardly breathe when he reached it. He glanced round.
The little car hid both driver and garage hand. There
was a line of chalets fifty yards away, but no one walked
along them. Some way off, several people were going
away from him. He was never likely to have a be�ter
chance of getting into the boot. He opened it; there
was a small case inside, nothing else; he thought he could
squeeze in. He took another desperate look round, and
got in. He sat with his head bent and his knees almost
up to his chin, but he was inside. He tried to drop the
flap. It pressed against his shoulder. He hitched him­
self round, but the flap still wouldn't close. There was
a strong smell of petrol and oil, but that didn't matter.
He kept trying to close the flap, but he was just too big ;
it was open an inch at the bottom. At least that gave him
some light.
He sat huddled up, his heart beating so fast that
he felt suffocated. Had he been seen?
1 38
 MARTIN FANE

What a way to avenge Gillian ! To crouch, cowed,

fearful, craven. He felt that he hated himself, but stayed
there. After a few minutes his heart steadied, he breathed
more easily, and began to believe that he hadn't been
noticed. After five minutes, he felt sure. Now it was
ordeal by waiting.
Why had Fane taken such a chance? If he were
caught helping a wanted man to escape, it would do him
a lot of damage. He wasn't wilful and unorthodox, like
Richard; he was level-headed, and thought deeply before
he took any action. Mallen could remember talking to
him about Prince, one of the few widely known private
inquiry agencies in England. An essential, Martin had
told him, was to work smoothly with the police, not to
make them hostile. A serious false move, and the police
could close the agency down.
Men approached, and their voices sounded. Again
Mallen went rigid with tension.
The men stopped, and talked. He couldn't hear the
words but he knew that they weren't far away, probably
only just in front of the car. Was Fane among them?
That suffocating feeling came back. The light coming
from the bottom of the boot seemed brilliant, all-revealing.
If he could have closed the flap he would have had a better
chance ; now anyone passing might notice that it was
open, lift it to slam-and see him. His teeth gritted
together, and his fingers clenched.
The car swayed, as if someone were getting in. He
heard the sharp sound of the self-starter. Then the engine
turned. There was a throbbing sound beneath Mallen ;
the exhaust. The car shook slightly. Above these
sounds, voices were raised and he thought they were in
alarm or in warning.
The car moved.
The flap bounced a little, never opening wide, but
sometimes letting him glimpse the tarred surface of the
road. They went slowly, then stopped. There were
voices again, and Mallen realised that they were at the
1 39
 MAN ON THE RUN
main gates. The police guard might insist on searching
the car, they would be very alert. Shuffling footsteps
were very near. Then a man said :
" Good day, sir."
Mallen could not hear what Fane said in reply. He
pressed himself against the back of the boot. The car
turned a corner, slowly, then put on speed. They were
going away from the camp, away from urgent danger;
and away from all hope of identifying 9"illian's killer.
Now Mallen had something else to worry about;
the thick and evil-smelling fumes. They choked him.
The car swayed from side to side, round bends in the
road. They weren't travelling fast, but Mallen's head
kept bumping against the top, his feet were pressed
tightly against the side. Once they went over a bump,
and he gasped aloud at the jolt. He couldn't stand this
for long, he was being suffocated. He held himself rigid
all the time, and every bump and turn made him feel
sick.
Then the car slowed down; a moment later it stopped.
Fane came hurrying to the back and lifted up the boot
door.
" Hurry," he said, and helped Mallen out. He didn't
appear to see that Mallen was sick with the fumes, but
hustled him to the car. " Get in." Mallen managed to
get in quickly, next to the driving wheel. " Just take it
easy," Martin Fane said calmly.
Mallen leaned back in the comfortable seat, his eyes
closed and his mouth wide open, drinking in the clear
air. After a while, he opened his eyes and caught
glimpses of the green countryside, nearby hills and distant
mountains. There was little traffic on the road, and
Fane was really travelling now, swinging round the
corners, apparently desperately anxious to get right away
from the camp. He was a man of long silences, and
Mallen began to hate this silence.
" Feeling better? " Fane asked, suddenly.
" Yes-thanks."
1 40
 M A RT I N FANE

" Police will be on our tails," Fane said. " Not that
they know you're with me, but if they catch up they'd
probably wonder what I'm doing with a passenger.
They're going to Caernarvon, we'll be off that road soon
and then we can relax a bit."
" Thanks. Have-have you heard from Richard? "
" Yes. He telephoned me in the middle of the night,
so I knew what had happened," Fane said dryly. " Some
of the police were armed. One hit the number-plate of
his car but didn't do much damage. Richard broke it
a bit more, so that no one could see that it was done by
a bullet."
" And yesterday I was cursing myself for having sent
for you ! "
" Forget it," Fane said. " We won't talk too much
until we stop. Mind? " He would not have changed
his decision had Mallen said that he objected.
They drove through two small villages and a fair-sized
town, then along a road which was signposted Bettws-y­
Coed. A few miles along there, Fane turned off the
main road at a corner where there was a farmhouse with
a sign up reading : Luncheons- Teas. He pulled off the
road. " Hungry? "
" Fairly."
" I'll get something," Fane said. He got out and
strode towards the house, massive, somehow reassuring.
Mallen took out his cigarettes, lit one, and leaned back.
Fane wasn't gone more than five minutes."
" Bacon and eggs in the garden," he said. " I'll call
you when it's been served and you can sit with your back
to the house. Just as well to be on the safe side. You
might take off that coal-heaver's uniform." He smiled
faintly; his face, broad and handsome, held the same
reassurance. His ears were close to the side of his head,
unlike Richard's ; there could hardly be two brothers
less alike. " No reason why you shouldn't walk up and
down a bit, if you feel like it."
" Thanks."
 M A N ON T H E R U N
There was a grass verge. Mallen took o ff the boiler­
suit, put it in the car, and walked up and down. His
knees were bruised and his head was a little painful where
he had bumped it several times, but it was nothing to
worry about. It seemed no time before Fane called out :
" Haven't you finished tinkering with that engine?
Shake a leg ! "
Mallen went through the side gate and joined him at
a table with a snow-white tablecloth, and. with eggs and
bacon which looked fresh and crisp, thick slices of white
bread, a dish of butter, marmalade and a huge pot of tea.
He sat down with his back to the small stone house. The
sun warmed him, and the food was as good as it looked.
He hadn't realised how hungry he was. Ten minutes
later, he poured himself out a second cup of tea. Still
eating, Fane grinned.
" Better? "
" I feel almost human."
" That's good. You were crazy to pull a gun on the
police near Llanmouth. Where is it? "
" I lost it rowing across the bay."
" Hmm." Fane paused. " I didn't think I was going
to get you out of the camp so easily. Fate must be on
your side." He still smiled, but his eyes weren't smiling,
there was an almost sombre look in them. He studied
Mallen carefully, without making further comment, and
Mallen began to find the scrutiny almost unbearable ; it
was as if Fane were trying to see into his mind.
" Martin, why did you take a chance like that? "
" As Richard would say, I backed my fancy," Martin
said. " I can't see you as a double-murderer and a bank
robber. Of course I may be wrong." He smiled faintly
with his eyes this time. " George, you're in a very nasty
spot. It was bad from the beginning, but it's ten times
worse now."
" Because of-Gillian." Mallen drew a deep breath.
" I know. But she was dead when I saw her. Someone
had got in half an hour or so before. It couldn't have
1 42
 WEI G HT OF EVIDENCE

been long." The picture was more vivid now than it

had ever been, and he didn't try to shut it out. " I had
a half-baked idea that if I stayed at the camp I could
find out who it was. There's something I want to tell
you--"
" There's something I have to tell you, first," Fane
said. " You have to see the thing at its worst. I needn't
rub in the mass of circumstantial evidence-Paul Hope
dead in your flat and you on the run, followed by Gillian
dead when you'd been near her chalet. There's another
thing which I don't like at all, and you'll like it even less."
His quiet voice seemed full of a kind of menace. His
eyes, very steady, seemed to be fighting to get past
Mallen's and into his mind. " Under the floorboards in
your bedroom, George, were eight thousand pounds in
one-pound notes. They were part of the £30,000 in notes
stolen from the Midpro Bank three months ago. Did
you know they were there? "

19
WE I GH T O F E V I DE N CE
AT first Mallen rejected it; this was wrong, it wasn't
possible that the money had been found in his bedroom.
That reaction soon passed. Martin Fane wouldn't lie,
and knew what he was talking about; so a fantastic thing
was true. Then, gradually, Mallen began to see just
what it meant, and at last understood the deadliness of
Fane's tone.
Mallen felt no temptation to panic; that was partly
because of Fane's steadying influence, and the fact that
he knew that he no longer had to work this thing out by
himself. But underneath everything else was a hard core
of fear.
1 43
 MAN ON THE RUN
" I did not know the money was there," he said, very
deliberately.
Fane surprised him by grinning.
" That's fine ! I found it hard to believe, and if
you're lying now, I'll give up this criminal inquiry busi­
ness. That's the kind of thing the police have against
amateurs. The police don't waste time on simple trust,
they let the evidence speak for them. There's a lot of
weighty evidence, George."
" Weighty ? " Mallen echoed. " It's damning ! "
" We have to take a brighter view than that," Fane
reasoned. " If you didn't kill 'em, someone else did, and
I don't think the wrong people get hanged."
But for one thing, that would have brought relief ;
instead it brought a wave of depression greater than the
simple statement that the money had been found at the
Chelsea flat. Mallen could picture Kay kneeling by the
side of the bed in the darkness, telling him what had driven
her to despair. And, as if she were uttering them now,
he heard her say : " You wouldn't be sent to prison,
you'd be hanged. They couldn't bring you back to life,
could they ? "
" Now what's up ? " Fane asked.
" I'm not so sure you're right."
" I know, it's a bit frightening," Fane said, and
although he spoke almost casually, nothing suggested that
he was taking it lightly. " On present evidence, they
could get a conviction. There isn't much doubt that they
think that you and Paul committed the robbery, and that
Gillian was a party to it. They seem to think-I'm
doing some guessing but I've heard several of them
talking about it-that Gillian couldn't stand the strain,
and ran away. You thought that Paul and his wife
weren't reliable, and killed them. Or alternatively, that
you and Paul had a quarrel, and you used the knife, then
went to finish off Gillian. I'm not at all sure that's all
they think, and they may have let me hear a few asides
in the hope that I'd get on to the wrong end of the stick.
1 44
 WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE

They're friendly enough but they still aren't whole­

heartedly on the side of the amateurs. Did you realize
that Gillian was in trouble? "
The question came out quietly, unexpectedly.
" Well, yes, but I didn't dream it was anything like
this."
" Did you know that Paul and Gillian knew anything
about the bank robbery? "
" No ! "
" I shouldn't shout." Fane proffered cigarettes, then
took a pipe out of his pocket and began to fill it. The
garden was quiet except for the birds. A cocker spaniel
came trundling out of the house and sat nearby, staring
at them. No one else came near. Now and again a
car passed along the road but did not slacken speed.
" George, knowing you as well as I do has its disadvan­
tages as well as its advantages. I wondered if you'd
realized that Gillian was in a bad spot and, for love of her,
let yourself be a party to hiding this money."
Mallen pulled hard at the cigarette.
" It wasn't like that at all. You knew Gillian slightly,
didn't you ? She was always a bit unworldly, wasn't
she? " He was almost pleading.
" I know what you mean."
" Lately, she'd been almost hysterical. I thought it
was because of trouble between her and Paul. I didn't
think-Good God, I can't believe that she knew anything
about the robbery ! " But that was a senseless thing to
say, and he realised it as soon as he stopped.
" Faithful George," Fane said. " I'm afraid she did.
And you gave her shelter without Paul knowing? "
" Yes."
" What did she say when she came? What did she
bring with her? "
George tried to think back to the afternoon when
Gillian had arrived. She had been almost hysterical,
fighting against tears, begging him to let her stay. He
had not been able to get any real sense out of her; but
1 45
 MAN ON THE RUN
for love of her, had been determined to help. He
couldn't recall her words, except the continual : " Let
me hide here, away from Paul, away from everyone."
He tried to make Fane understand that words, as words,
had meant very little.
" I see," said Fane. " And what clothes did she
bring? "
" Practically nothing. It was the damnedest thing.
She had a big suitcase with her but apparently she had
only oddments in it. I thought she must have been
nearly off her head when she'd left, and not known what
she was doing."
" Did you handle that case? " Fane asked, very softly.
" Yes."
" Did you open it? "
" No, it was locked." Mallen found himself breathing
very hard again. He had picked up the case and put
it in the bedroom for her; now he remembered that it
had been quite heavy. He hadn't given that a thought
when he had discovered how little Gillian had brought
with her. " I didn't think about it."
" £8,000 would go comfortably in a suitcase," Fane
said.
The truth was hitting at Mallen savagely. Gillian's
fears, her desperate eagerness to have the doors locked,
told the same story. She had brought some of the money,
knew there was danger of someone trying to get it. If
Fane were right, she had admitted someone else, perhaps
helped them to get the money in and put it under the
floorboards. Gillian, whom he had seen as purity and ,
honesty itself !
Another thought flashed into his mind.
" But she broke open my cash box to get some money
to travel with."
" Did she ? "
In fact someone else might have done that, Mallen
thought belatedly, but he didn't interrupt Fane.
" She wouldn't want to use the stolen notes, anyhow,"
1 46
 WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE

Fane went on. " They were traceable. The bank had
the numbers of most of them. The police knew that an
employee was involved because an attempt had been made
to destroy the records of those numbers, but only £2,ooo's
worth was really obliterated. The thieves could use
those, but not the bulk of the money. The rest would
have been released very cautiously, the safest way would
have been to get it out of the country. That isn't easy,
these days."
Fane was still calm and matter-of-fact. He didn't
rub in the obvious : that Gillian had fooled Mallen com­
pletely, traded on his love for her believing that he would
both help and trust her. The bitterness from that reali­
zation was only just stirring.
" Well, we still have a pretty problem, George," Fane
added. " My chief hope will be to persuade the police
that you knew nothing about it-get them looking for
someone else. I don't know what we're going to do
with you meanwhile. I wanted this talk with you, and
it would have been impossible had you been arrested."
He seemed so casual as that; but in fact there was nothing
casual in him. " That's why I took the chance I did."
He didn't add that he had wanted to satisfy himself that
Mallen had known nothing about the burglary; or that
he was satisfied. " Know anywhere you can lie low for
a bit? "
Mallen shook his head.
" You've a face that people recognise quickly," Fane
mused. " And you're known to a lot of people from
rour boxing pictures. We'll try to think of something
soon."
Mallen said tautly : " I'd expect you to advise me
to giv� myself up."
" At one time I would have. Now--" Fane
shrugged. " It may be wrong, but I think the longer
the police are hunting for you, the more chance there is
that they'll strike another line. Maybe I can suggest
one. They'll try to find you through contacts with
1 47
 MAN ON THE RUN
Gillian and Paul, of course, who almost certainly knew
the murderer."
" I suppose so."
" Richard seems sure that you didn't know this Mrs.
Linley before," Martin Fane said unexpectedly.
" I didn't."
" How did you meet her? "
While Mallen explained, everything that had happened
between him and Kay became vivid. He could see her
walking, sitting by the stream, coming out of the coffee
bar, watching him when he had left the ballroom. He
could imagine her voice, too ; and the story she had told
him with simplicity and feeling that had dulled his rage
and his concern for Gillian and for himself.
He finished abruptly by asking :
" How did the police know she had helped? "
" A bit of bad luck. You'd shown her a photograph
of Gillian, hadn't you? It had dropped on the floor,
and you didn't notice it. The police looked in every
chalet and under the beds. They found the photograph
under hers."
" I see," Mallen lit another cigarette, hesitated, and
then said very slowly ; " I think I ought to give myself
up, Martin. I can't let her take a knock like this. Once
I've explained, they'll let her go. Won't they? " He
had doubts himself.
" Don't be too sure." Mallen began to wish that
Fane would shake himself out of his calmness ; it wasn't
easy to keep steady. " While she's known to have
sheltered a man wanted for murder, they'll hold her.
It will work out all right once we've cleared you but I
don't think we can do much until then. The police
won't ill-treat her, you know."
Mallen sat silent, his hands clenching. The situation
had become far worse. Supposing he could not clear
himself. Supposing they tried, convicted and hanged
him. What would happen to Kay, then?
Mistakes were made.
 WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE

Fane said more briskly : " She helped voluntarily,

almost thrust herself upon you. Don't worry about Kay
Linley. She seems a young woman who can look after
herself. I seem to remember something about a man
named Linley who died from injuries after trying to
escape from Dartmoor." He stood up. " Is there any­
thing you can say at all, to help? All we need is a fresh
line. Richard asked you to go through everything,
didn't he? "
" Yes. There's one thing." Mallen described the
two men who had called on Paul on the night that the
robbery had been in the newspapers ; and the caller at
the flat while he had been on the telephone to his office.
During the telling, something happened to Martin Fane.
This casualness dropped away, he became eager, tense,
could hardly wait for Mallen to stop.
" Do you remember their names? " he demanded.
" I've driven myself silly, trying to."
" But you know what they look like? " Fane rapped
the question out.
" Yes, I'd recognise them again in a moment." He
described them; and since the night before he had
sharpened his memory, the word pictures were vivid.
" And Paul said they were colleagues from the bank? "
" Yes. I can't be sure that was true, of course."
" Not the kind of thing he'd say if it weren't, he'd
simply introduce them as friends," Fane was still eager.
He took a pencil out of his pocket and a pad. " Now,
tell me where I go wrong. One man had a round face,
silky fair hair growing well back on his head, chubby­
looking, small lips." To Mallen's astonishment, he was
sketching. He went on talking, and switched to the other
man. When he'd finished, he handed the paper to
Mallen. " Anything like them? "
Mallen looked at the two faces and said slowly :
" Well-yes and no. That's the kind of face, but--"
" It'll do. Come on," Fane said. " I've got to get
to a telephone and call the Midpro Bank head office.
1 49
 MAN ON THE RUN
We'll decide what to do with you on the way." He put
a pound note down on the table. " We needn't wait
for change." They hurried to the Buick, and two minutes
later were travelling fast. " I've been in touch with the
Security Officer at Midpro, he's ready to try anything.
He'll get a list of people who were away from the office
yesterday, and then we can find out if anyone looking
like either of these chaps was among them. If one was,
we might find that things are beginning - to crack. No
need for gloom ! " He darted a sideways glance and a
grin at George.
" It's-a long shot."
" Whatever we do is going to be a long shot," Fane
said. " Don't make any mistake about that. Two
murders on your doorstep and the notes hidden in your
flat are going to take a lot of explaining away."
Kay had said : " They can't bring you back to life,
can they? "
Fane was travelling very fast along a narrow but
straight road. They turned a corner, still at speed but
safely enough, and then Fane slowed down behind a big
red lorry loaded with felled trees. The lorry stopped.
Just ahead was a village with grey stone houses. Across
the road leading into the village was a barrier with several
policemen moving about near it.

20
B ARR IER

MALLEN sat so stiffly that he might have been carved

from stone. Fane pulled back a few yards from the
lorry. There were two or three cars in front of the
timber-lorry and some on the other side of the barrier.
The police were talking to the drivers of two cars. No
one could see the Buick clearly.
1 50
 BARRIER

" You could still cut and run for it," Fane said, very
quietly. " I'd talk my way out of any trouble. It might
delay things a bit, but if the worst came to the worst I
could get the police moving on those two men y ou saw
at Paul Hope's flat. Going to run? " He did not try
to persuade Mallen either way.
A car moved slowly past the barrier.
Mallen said : " What's the use? They'll be after me
like a shot." He stared at a policeman whom he could
just see, and his voice dropped to a whisper. " What do
you really want me to do ? "
He knew what Fane would advise ; there wasn't any
choice. Now that it was so close, dread of being caught
welled up, made him feel physically sick.
" If you've the nerve, have another shot." Fane's
words poured unexpected hope into him. " They can't
see you, only me. They probably haven't noticed I've
a passenger. Get out and climb through the hedge as
soon as you can, then work your way round to the other
side of the village. I'll wait for you half a mile or so on."
" Supposing-they see me? Won't you--"
" Never mind about me."
The engine of the lorry started up ; it was going up for
inspection, and the police would come round the back, to
look inside. Mallen opened the door and jumped out.
Fane was leaning across, to close the door. Mallen
stepped behind the white Buick ; there was no car behind
them. He walked quickly, tempted desperately to break
into a run ; he fought the temptation down. Lorry and
Buick would surely hide him until he reached the corner.
Mallen reached it ; no one shouted out.
He began to run, looking on either side for a gap in
the high hedge, or a gate ; there was a gate fifty yards
along. As he climbed it, he heard a car coming towards
him. He didn't know whether the driver had seen him
or not. He found himself on a hill, looking down at the
straggling village ; there seemed to be only one main road
but there was a criss-cross of lanes with a few houses
151
 MAN ON THE RUN
dotted along them. He struck out downhill, knowing
that the police at the barrier couldn't see him, but there
might be other barriers, other watches.
He passed the backs of cottages. At one, a young
woman was hanging out washing ; at the open gate of
another, an old man sat smoking a pipe, reminding him
of the man at the first cottage he had stopped at ; that
seemed an age ago.
He passed both.
No one took any particular notice of him.
He reached a field where there were several cows ;
they watched him with their big, ruminative eyes. At
the other side of the field, he was beyond the main part of
the village, but could not be sure whether there was a
barrier on the other side. A row of telegraph poles and
wires showed him where the main road lay. He stepped
out quickly over uneven land.
After walking for about two miles, he headed for the
road again. This was going to be the danger. His
breathing grew short as he neared the hedge. There was
a five-barred gate in sight, and he went straight towards
it. Then, through a gap in the hedge some way ahead,
he caught sight of something white.
Was it the Buick?
He reached the gate and climbed into an empty road.
The car wasn't in sight, but there was a corner not far
along. He rounded it. Some distance from the corner,
Fane's Buick was pulled into the side. Fane stood
beside it, with the bonnet up, as if he were in trouble.
Mallen fought down a new temptation to run.
Two cyclists went slowly past him, from behind ; they
couldn't see his face.
He reached Fane.
" I hand it to you for nerve," Fane said, closing the
bonnet and grinning. " In you get." Soon they were
on the road again, a nightmare lay behind Mallen.
" They picked up a report that you'd been seen coming
along this road-someone mistook you for someone else !
1 52
 BARRIER
I shouldn't think there's much risk of more road barriers.
Anyone you know in London who would let you hide
for a few days?"
Mallen said : " I don't think so."
" Odd creatures, friends."
Mallen felt a surge of excitement. " There's a girl
-my secretary. She might ! " In that moment he
felt sure that Betty would help him. She wouldn't
believe the nonsense that she had read in the newspapers.
" Where does she live?"
" She has a flat in Victoria."
" Nice and central. Does she live on her own?"
" Yes." Mallen knew all about Betty's flat-and of
her rebellion years ago against the so-called tyranny of
her parents. How could he doubt that she would help ?
But they were over two hundred miles away from
London.
" It's worth trying," Fane said, " although there's
a risk that her place is being watched. With luck, we'll
get through. It's a good road, and I can bypass most
of the towns. After beating that barrier I can believe
anything ! " Nothing seemed to disturb him. " We
can get a scratch meal on the way, and with luck be in
London in six hours. Say by half-past five. If the worst
really comes to the worst and we can't find a hide-out
for you, my father will help. He's in Dorset. A great
one for championing the odd man out ! " Fane fell
silent, Mallen sat back, watching cars and people whom
they passed, wondering if there really were a chance to
get to London. An A.A. Box loomed up. " I'll call the
bank from there," he said.
While he was at the telephone, Mallen sat in the car,
tensing whenever other cars approached. He was fearful
that one might be a police car, but none came along.
Fane was back in about fifteen minutes.
" Got through very quickly," he said. " Siddons, the
Security man, will get that list and I'm to meet him at six.
So we'd better get a move on." He paused. " I've
1 53
 MAN ON THE RUN
asked my office to get in touch with your secretary and
find out if she'll play. Can't telephone her, the line's
probably tapped, but they'll contact her somehow."
In spite of the big man's confidence, Mallen couldn't
believe that they would get through. Each mile brought
its dangers ; every time they had to slow down he felt
nearby motorists and pedestrians were staring at him.
Every village had its policeman.
No one stopped them.
Fane pulled up in a small town, left him to get some
sausage rolls, sandwiches and fruit; and no one took any
notice of the passenger although several small boys
gathered by the nose of the Buick.
Fane came back, large and reassuring, got in and
started off.
" We'll change drivers next time we stop. That's if
you feel up to it."
" Of course."
" Good. Then we can eat as we go along. Why don't
you close your eyes and see if you can get a nap? "
Mallen tried. He found himself thinking more about
Kay Linley and what she must be feeling. He shied from
thought of Gillian. He kept seeing the faces of those two
men who had visited her and Paul on the night of the
robbery.
They might have been friends who had just dropped
in ; except for imagined eagerness to get him out of the
flat, he had no reason to think that they were involved.
Beyond Shrewsbury he took the wheel, drove as far
as Warwick, then handed over to Fane. No one stopped
or showed any interest in them.
At twenty past five they were in the heart of London.
Traffic was thick in the narrow streets, crowds streamed
out of banks, insurance offices, big business blocks, offices.
Fane found a place to park near a telephone kiosk.
" I won't be long," he said, and went off.
Within two minutes a policeman appeared, walking
slowly and as if deliberately towards the Buick. He
1 54
 BARRIE R
stopped at a smaller car, just in front, and examined the
licence. Mallen could hardly breathe.
The policeman went past.
Fane came hurrying back, got in, and said :
" Your secretary will play. She doesn't think her
flat's watched. I'll try to make sure. You can't go
there until after dark, of course, the best thing to do is
stay in the car while I make my call on the security chap.
Can you stand the strain?"
" I'll have to."
" Good man," Fane said. " My chap's staying at
the bank's offices, in Leadenhall Street. He won't be
surprised that I'm late." He drove off into the stream
of traffic.
Gradually Mallen's tension eased. In the crowded
city he felt safer than he had on the country roads. He
smoked all the time. His nerves tightened again when
Fane left him parked in a side street with a Parking notice
up. No one took any notice of Mallen. There were
fewer people about and the traffic was thinning.
Somewhere not far off, Fane was starting the investi­
gation which might bring rescue-and might prove a
mare's nest. In two hours it should be dark enough for
him to go to Betty's flat. He could even sit there and
think, almost emotionally, of the fact that the Fanes and
Betty were prepared to take these risks to help him. Kay
had, too. He would feel better if he knew that Kay was
all right ; it would do him a world of good if he could
learn that she had been released. That wasn't likely.
Where had the police kept her? In Wales? Would
they bring her down to London?
He heard footsteps but so many people were walking
by that they had lost their terrors. He did not notice a
man stop by the side of the Buick, had no idea that any­
one was there, until the man's face appeared at the
window.
" Going to be long, here ? "
Mallen turned and looked into the face of a policeman,
1 55
 MAN ON THE RUN
seeing his blue collar, the metal numbers on it, the
bottom half of his helmet. Mallen could not speak, his
throat went stiff.
" I said, are you going to be long here ? " the police­
man repeated more sharply. " They're going to do some
repairs, you've got another ten minutes."
" We-my friend will be back," Mallen managed to
say.
" If he isn't you'll have to move the car." The police­
man straightened up, and his face vanished.
Still petrified, Mallen watched him moving away.
There were no other cars in front, a long stretch of the
pavement was visible, with several people walking in
either direction and the policeman going stolidly away
from him. It was fantastic, unbelievable--
He saw the policeman stop and swing round ; the
man's first hurried movement. He came hurrying
back.
Mallen knew that he had been recognised, that the
policeman was coming to make sure.
Mallen slid across to the driving wheel, heard the
policeman running, thrust open Fane's door and jumped
out. A car hooted wildly, and swung to avoid him ;
others were coming behind. The policeman bellowed.
Mallen raced across the road, heard brakes squealing
and, as he reached the pavement, heard the blast of the
policeman's whistle. He was near the corner of Leaden­
hall Street, and ran towards it. None of half a dozen
people made any attempt to stop him, but as he reached
the corner a man stuck out his foot, to try to trip him up.
Mallen s2w it in time, jumped clear, dodged the man's
outstretched arm, and turned the corner. The whistle
sounded again. He knew that he hadn't really a chance,
might as well give himself up. He hardly knew what kept
him going. People stared and sprang aside, another man
made a timid attempt to grab him, clutching his sleeve
but letting go at once. Mallen saw buses and cars
streaming towards him, dived across the road and ran on ;
1 56
 BARRIER

the traffic would hold his pursuers, and the bus hid him
from sight.
He reached a little archway and an alley between
two buildings. If he went in there, he would probably
be trapped. But he took the chance. The alley turned
sharply, twenty yards along ; and again, and he found
himself in a wide yard with an exit to another street.
Several cars were parked, and two bicycles stood against
the kerb. No one was here. He heard no sounds of
pursuit, but someone would come along that alley. He
pulled a bicycle from the kerb, swung his leg over it, and
cycled towards the exit. The road beyond was narrow
but turned into a wider one. He turned right, pedalling
furiously. In the distance he heard a police whistle, but
none sounded near. No one took any notice of him now,
there were plenty of other cyclists.
He twisted and turned among the traffic, came into
a main street again, and then reached the Bank. He
was held up at traffic lights, and a policeman stood on
the pavement, surveying the crowds, the waiting cars,
the cyclists. The man made no move. In the shadow
of the massive walls of the Bank of England and the pillars
and steps of the Stock Exchange, the lights turned green.
Mallen pedalled on, his pumping heart a little steadier.
If he could get to Betty's flat he still had a chance. He
had been there two or three times, to look in at 'bachelor'
parties she was fond of throwing. It wasn't dark yet, he
had at least another hour to wait, but could keep cycling
round. He would be less noticeable that way.
But the police knew that he was in London.
It was a quarter to seven when he reached the street
where Betty lived, a terrace of tall, narrow houses. He
cycled past hers. In half an hour, three-quarters at the
most, he could go in. He watched the street and the
street and the doorways, saw nothing to suggest that the
flat was watched. It was on the second floor of a house
half-way along the terrace.
Mallen cycled off again. Dusk had never been so
1 57
 MAN ON THE RUN
long in coming, darkness had never seemed so far away.
But gradually it fell; and at half-past seven he saw a
light in Betty's front window. It wasn't dark outside by
a long way, but it would be on the narrow stairs and on
the landings. He made himself cycle off again, came
back in ten minutes, and put the cycle against the kerb.
Then he walked smartly towards the house. Tvm other
people were in the street, and a lamp shone near the front
door he had to enter. He dawdled, to let a man pass him
before they were under the light. The man didn't look
round. Mallen went into the doorway; it was closed.
On the side were several bell-pushes and cards, but the
light wasn't good enough to read the names. He struck a
match, found Betty's bell, and pressed. He stood rigid
while he waited. If anyone else went in, or came out
for that matter, there was still a risk. Everyone who lived
here would realise that Betty worked for a wanted man.
Then he wondered what had happened to Martin Fane.
The police would have been waiting for him when he
came back for the Buick. He was probably being ques­
tioned, and that might mean that he wouldn't be able to
do what he planned. Would he have found anything
out from the bank's Security Officer, and be able to set
the police on a new trail?
Footsteps sounded in the house; a man's. !\fallen
felt a driving impulse to turn and run. He resisted it.
The door opened, a man looked at him, and said :
" Bin expecting you, old cock. Come in."
It was the Cockney with whom Mallen had travelled
to Shrewsbury.
 BETTY

21
BE T T Y
THERE was no mistaking the Cockney ; his voice and his
face gave him away. He gave a one-sided grin and stood
aside for Mallen to pass. There was a light on in the hall
and another on the landing above. The Cockney,
wearing a muffler and an ill-fitting suit, turned and led
the way when he had closed the door.
" Never fought you'd see me agen, did yer? " He
spoke out of the side of his mouth, and very quietly.
" No need ter worry, it's okay. Wot do yer fink I'm
'ere for? "
Mallen didn't speak as they went upstairs.
" The boss sent me along to keep me peepers open.
Can't trust them dicks," the Cockney went on. " Perlice,
to you. Just 'ad ter make sure none of the buzzards was
watching the 'ouse. Can't be too careful, that's wot the
Boss says, and when you're dealin' wiv' the rozzers, take
it from me 'e's right." The 'take' sounded more like
'tike'. " Yer seckertry's a bit've orl right, getting a meal
ready for yer, too."
The door of the flat opened, and Betty appeared,
plump in the pink dress in which he had seen her near the
office.
" 'Ere's yer Boss, you can stop sniffin'. I'll be seeing
yer, guv'nor, got to keep a look-aht. She'll tell yer any­
fink there is ter know."
The Cockney went out, pulling the door behind him.
" George," Betty said, and stopped ; her voice was
low-pitched and hoarse, as if she had been crying.
" Come in." She led the way into a living-room ; he
saw the kitchen door standing open and could smell
frying onions. She sniffed when they reached the middle
of the room, and turned to look up into his face. He had
1 59
 MAN ON THE RUN
seldom seen her so pale and unsure of herself. " Oh,
I've been scared," she breathed. Then sharply : " But
you want a wash, I'll get supper. The bathroom's over
there."
She turned and hurried off, as if she couldn't bring
herself to talk any more. Mallen went to the door which
led to the bathroom and Betty's small bedroom. The
light was on in the bathroom. Standing on a shelf was a
razor, shaving cream and a new tooth.-brush ; Martin
Fane must have told her that he needed them. He stood
in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection, the long,
sharp stubble, and his tired eyes. He looked as if he had
been on the run, it was hard to believe that he had passed
unnoticed through so many crowds. But he felt limp,
washed out, not at all like shaving.
Betty appeared behind him.
" Thought you'd like a drink," she said. " I forgot."
She had a glass in her hand ; as he took it, he found that
it was a whisky and soda. " Oh, I've been scared ! "
she repeated.
" So have I." He forced a grin, and drank. " By
George, that's good ! "
" There's plenty more."
" One's enough," he said. " Betty."
" Mm ? "
" If you're worried in case the police come here, I'll
leave right away."
Her eyes blazed at him.
" Don't be a bloody fool ! " She swung round on her
heels. He had to grin. That flare-up, the whisky and
the knowledge that he could get as much as he wanted,
did him good. He felt that he could shave, after all.
The water ran hot. Shaving was more difficult than
usual, it was years since he'd grown such a beard. The
blade was new and he cut himself slightly.
Shaved and washed, he felt refreshed, almost confident.
There was still a drain or two in the glass. He finished
it, and went out. The table was laid, and he could
1 60
 BETTY

see Betty moving about in the kitchen. He went in to

join her. Sausages sizzled in one frying pan, omons m
another, and two saucepans were on.
" Can I help? "
" Wouldn't like to trust you," she said. " No, it's all
right." She gave a pert grin, much more hersel£ " I'm
better, now. I couldn't believe it was really you. I've
been almost out of my mind. It-it looks so bad."
" I didn't, you know. Kill them, I mean, I--"
" Look, what's happened to you? " asked Betty sharply.
" And what do you think's happened to me? Of course
you didn't. We had the police at the office again this
morning. They were asking about that money. Mr.
Fane had told me a bit, too, I put two and two together.
How on earth did you manage to get yourself mixed up
in this, George? "
He didn't answer.
" Oh, I know," she said. " I must say I'm surprised
about Mr. Hope. And her." She began to dish up,
elbowing him out of the way. " But it will all come out
in the wash, I suppose." She sniffed again, dished up
straight on to the plates, and gave him his to carry into
the living-room ; it was piled high. " I hope you're
hungry." She came after him, but didn't start eating
until he had. " Good? "
" Wonderful ! "
" You look better now that you've had a shave,"
Betty said. " But anyone would recognise you. I don't
know how long you're expecting. to stay here, but you
certainly can't go out."
" I'm hoping to hear from Martin Fane."
" He'll be here, or ring through," Betty said confi­
dently. She went on eating ; anxiety hadn't spoiled her
appetite. Her fluffy hair was untidy, and her nose was
shiny. " Oh, I knew I'd got something to tell you. The
day after you left, Langley said he would wait-until the
evening papers came out with your picture ! Then he
rang up and said his business was too urgent, he couldn't
161
 MAN ON THE RUN
wait until you'd settled your troubles. I could have
cut his throat. He-oh, George ! George, I'm sorry,
I didn't mean-Oh, what a fool I am."
Mallen said very quietly : " It's all right. You seem
more on edge than I am. I feel as if I've come home, it's
good not to be looking over my shoulder all the
time."
That was true up to a point, but he was on the alert
for the telephone bell to ring. If Martin Fane had walked
into that policeman, he might not be able to get in touch
at all tonight.
" I should think I am upset," Betty snapped. " Per­
haps it didn't occur to you that I'm fond of you, George."
Her eyes gleamed, she did not feel as sharp as she sounded.
" Like a sister ! I've got some ice cream for sweet, will
that do? "
" Just right."
" Good. I-oh, what a fool I am, I forgot the beer ! "
She jumped up and ran into the kitchen, came back
quickly with a glass tankard and an opened bottle of beer.
" You can pour out, try to mind the cloth, won't you? "
He grinned at her as he poured, but was still on edge for
the telephone. " Might as well tell you what I can,
now," Betty went on. " Fane sent Rebbie or whatever
his name is, that Cockney, to make sure the police weren't
watching the flat. It was Rebbie or Reekie or something
who came round to see if I'd let you in. I felt safe with
him around, I will say. How did you get down here from
Wales? "
" Martin fetched me.''
" He's got some nerve. I-damn that telephone, why
doesn't it ring? " She turned and glared at it, then
looked back at Mallen. " Does he-does he think he
can do anything? "
" He couldn't be trying harder," Mallen said. " It
will work out somehow. 1--"
A bell rang, sharply. They both started up. Betty
went pale, and muttered :
1 62
 BETTY
" It's the front door." She stood up slowly, and then
almost ran across the room, saying : " Reekie said that
he'd warn us if there was any trouble. The police came
here last night." She opened the door and he heard
her hurrying down the stairs. There was no back way
out ; if he wanted to escape there was only the window
and a long drop.
It was Martin Fane; Mallen heard the deep vmce
almost at once.
Mallen stood up, but didn't go towards the door.
Betty came in first, beaming with Fane dwarfing her.
" It's him ! "
' ' Hallo, George," said Fane mildly. " I gather that
you've picked up quite an appetite. Sorry about that
boner with parking. It's all right usually, but they had
a gas main to repair, or some nonsense like it. I saw a
crowd round the car, and dodged it. They'll find out
that it's mine soon, but we'll deal with that one when it
arises." As he spoke, he took an envelope from his pocket
" I've several photographs here. Have a look at them,
will you? "
Did that mean that he had hopes that they were on
the right lines? Mallen took the photographs eagerly,
stared down at the top one, a young man he had never
seen before. He hadn't seen the next, either, although it
was of a man with a round face and fair hair, not unlike
the sketch which Martin had drawn. He put that aside.
The face of the other man who had been at Paul's
flat peered up at him ; the man who had called at his flat
while he had been talking to Betty.
" So that's one of them," Fane said, with deep satis­
faction. " Fine. Try the next."
There was another stranger; then the face of the
other man, round, curly-haired, rather babyish. There
could be no mistake. Mallen felt himself trembling until
the photograph shook in his hand.
" What's all this about? " Betty squeaked.
" We might be on to something," said Fane quietly.
1 63
 MAN ON THE RUN
" The round-faced chap is named Carpenter. He's oa
the bank's staff-the accountancy side. He was in the
office on Monday, and telephoned to say he was ill on
Tuesday. He hasn't been in today, and he could have
been at the camp. The tall dark chap is named Hall,
a cashier. He was on duty today. Sure he's the fellow
who called to see you when you were preparing flight? "
" Yes ! "
" I can't think of any reason why he should call at
your place, unless it was to see Gillian, which implies
that he knew she was there," Fane reasoned. " Now,
listen. Richard's back in town. He's keeping an eye
on Hall's place. Rennie, the man who was here--"
" I could have sworn it was Reekie," Betty broke in.
" Or Rebbie."
" Rennie. I've sent him to watch Carpenter's place.
I'm hoping that he and Hall will join forces." Martin
sat down in an easy chair that was only just large enough
for him. " I haven't told the police about these bank
fellows yet. There's nothing the police could act on, of
course, we're just trying a long shot. If the police took
it seriously they might start following this brace and
questioning them. I fancy that both of them feel pretty
safe, George, with you a ready-made victim. The thing
to do is try to shock them into making some kind of
admission, and getting something we can use as evidence."
" How ? " breathed Betty.
" Haven't worked it out yet," Fane admitted. " But
there isn't much time. I've sent a messenger up to the
camp with a picture of both Hall and Carpenter, and by
the morning, midday at the latest, we should find out
whether either of them's been at Medley's. Only Car­
penter could have been there last night, of course." He
fell silent, nursing his knee. Betty fidgeted, and Mallen
stood quite still. Suddenly Betty made a dive for the
table and started to clear away, as if she could not bear
keeping quiet. Dishes and cutlery clattered.
" How's your nerve? " Fane asked Mallen, abruptly.
1 64
 BETTY
" All right, I think. What's in your mind? "
" You could visit Hall. That would shake him. You
can pretend to know a lot more than you do. If there's
nothing in this business, you'll soon know. If he's
involved--"
" How will that provide the evidence? " Betty
paused in front of Fane with the empty bottle of beer in
one hand and a plate in the other.
" We'd watch Hall and see what happens," Fane said.
" The chief hope is that one of them will make a mistake.
I'd rather work on Carpenter, but he's not at home,
and I don't think we ought to leave it too long. Let's
say we'll wait until ten o'clock."
Mallen nodded, dumbly.
" I won't stay here," Fane said. " I'll call you later
and tell you where to meet me. It'll be safe enough
to go out now that it's dark. Betty will look after you
here ! Oh "-he smiled as he changed the subject­
" Kay Linley's in London, they brought her down. She's
still being held. I couldn't probe too far, and the Yard
doesn't give much away." He smiled more broadly at
Betty, who was staring at Mallen with rounded eyes.
" Betty, you've been--"
The telephone bell rang, startling her so much that
she dropped the bottle. It thudded and bounced ; and
the bell went on ringing.
 MAN ON THE RUN

22
T \VO M E N

" SHALL I answer it? " Fane asked, and turned towards
the telephone, in a corner of the room.
" No, I-I'd better," Betty said. She moved, kicked
against the beer bottle but took no notice of it, and went
slowly towards the telephone. She looked as if she
feared that it would bite her.
Fane bent down, picked up the bottle and stood it
on the table, then followed the girl. l\1allen felt the
tearing at his nerves again. Certainly he couldn't stay
here much longer; his presence was terrifying Betty.
" Hal-hallo? " Her voice was unsteady, her knuckles
were white where she gripped the telephone. " Hallo?
. . . Who ? . . . Hold on ! " she cried, and spun round,
the fear dropping from her, her eyes blazing. " It's
your brother, Richard ! "
" Really? " Fane sounded surprised as he took the
receiver from her. Betty moved to Mallen, and he found
her gripping his arm. " Hallo, Skip," Fane said, a:nd
listened; all the time he was relaxed, and his smile looked
almost smug. " Oh, that's fine . . . Yes, he'll play."
He put the receiver down, and turned to eager Betty and
hopeful Mallen.
" Carpenter is back at his flat, and Hall's just joined
him," he said. " You can tackle the two together,
George."
Mallen said : " That sounds-fine." But he wasn't
sure where this would lead him.
" Still game to try ? "
" Of course."
" Mr. Fane, listen," Betty said. There was a new
note in her voice, and the brightness had gone out of her
eyes. " Are you sure this is going to do any good ? "
1 66
 TWO MEN

" No," Fane said frankly. " It's a long shot. I

don't think there's much doubt that this pair is involved.
Proving it won't be so easy. But once they know that
we're after them they might crack. It's surprising how
easily men do."
" It's surprising how smoothly you can talk," Betty
flung at him. " I don't like it. George, you'd better
be careful. It's all very well to take risks, but-but if
these are the men, they're killers." She took both his
hands, gripping very tightly. " You ought to be careful.
If Mr. Fane's so sure they're the men, why not leave it to
the police? " She turned to Fane, demanding an
answer by the way she looked at him.
Fane smiled faintly.
" I've thought over that, Betty, and I'm not happy
about it. We take it for granted that George didn't kill
Paul or Gillian. The police don't. It wouldn't surprise
them to find out that there were others in the bank
robbery.
" But George doesn't have to do this, you know,"
Fane added quite mildly. " He can lie low-I should say
there's a chance that he'll be all right here for a bit. If
not, we can find somewhere else for him. I can tell
the police about Hall and Carpenter and leave it to
them."
After a pause, Fane went on thoughtfully :
" I've been trying to get into the minds of those two
men. Let's assume that they did kill. Now-they're
still free. They've read all the newspapers. They know
that George is being hunted. They had already used his
flat to hide the money-one of them did that, anyhow,
and probably they worked together. They know the
strength of the evidence against him. They probably
know that the money's been found. And they're not
fools." Fane did not raise his voice, just talked calmly,
giving the impression that he had thought it all out care­
fully. When he stopped, Betty didn't interrupt, but did
not look happy. " As they're not fools, they can see the
1 67
 MAN ON THE RUN
way things are moving. They'll probably be caught.
It's one thing to be charged with the bank robbery,
another to be charged with murder. Ever heard of
Queen's Evidence, Betty ? "
" What do you think I am, a babe in arms ? " Betty
asked, but there was little life in her voice.
Fane gave his most attractive smile.
" All right, then. Imagine how easy it would be for
Hall and Carpenter to pretend to turn Queen's Evidence
-to admit their part in the robbery, implicate George,
and give evidence to make it look certain that he was the
murderer. Mind you, I don't say this will happen.
Only that it could. I'd be much happier to have a go
at them ourselves before the police see them."
Betty let George's hands go.
" I see what you mean," she conceded reluctantly,
" but I don't like the idea of George going alone."
" He'll have to start out by himself," Fane said, and
his attract.ive smile came again. " But we won't leave him
alone for long. He'll be admitted to the flat, all right.
Then we'll break in. Rennie is an expert at picking locks,
and while Hall and Carpenter are busy with George,
Rennie will let Richard and me in." Fane paused.
" You know, Betty, I wouldn't suggest this unless I
thought desperate measures were needed. I don't
exactly like taking this kind of risk. The Agency could
be closed down if we went wrong. I still think we ought
to do it."
" I suppose you're right," Betty mumbled. " Only
look after him, see." . She gulped. " If you don't, I'll
be out of a job ! "
There was a film of tears at her eyes. Martin Fane
ignored that, and spoke very quickly.
" We may as well get moving, no point in leaving it
now that Hall and Carpenter are together. Ready,
George ? "
Mallen said : " Any time."
Betty opened the flat door for them but did not come
1 68
 TWO MEN

downstairs. A bright light was on. Mallen found him­

self looking at the closed doors of the other flats, fearful
that one would open. He was on the run again, there
was no true sanctuary. He followed Fane out of the
front door, paused while Fane looked up and down the
street, then hurried after him. A small car stood beneath
the lighted lamp, and Fane said :
" In you get." When they were moving, he added :
" I borrowed this from a friend, I'll collect the Buick
tomorrow." He turned a corner, and George looked
back at the lighted window of Betty's flat, and fancied
that he saw her shadow against it.
" Good girl, your Betty," Fane said. " I've got to
make a call first, it won't take long." He pulled up at a
telephone kiosk not five minutes' walk away from Betty's
flat, and was gone for at least ten minutes. He spoke
as soon as he took the wheel again.
" Rennie was to telephone my office if there was any
trouble, but he hasn't been through. We shan't be too
long now. Carpenter's flat is in St. John's Wood," Fane
added. " We could stop at a pub for a drink, if you feel
like one."
" Let's get it over," Mallen said.
Here and there they passed a policeman but Mallen
hardly thought of danger. He was trying to see this
Fane's way; asking himself whether Fane hadn't imag­
ined too much. It was still not certain, not absolutely
certain, that the two bank employees were guilty.
They were driving through the quiet, dimly lit streets
for twenty minutes; Fane seemed to know every turning.
When they reached St. John's Wood, he stopped by a
telephone kiosk. " I don't want to take chances," he
said, " I'll check with the office again."
Mallen had to sit, fighting down impatience. This
time he was alone only for five minutes.
" All clear," Fane greeted.
Soon they pulled into a short street of tall houses ;
there were three lighted street lamps. Two cars were
1 69
 MAN ON THE RUN
parked on opposite sides but no one seemed to be about.
Fane pulled up.
" We want Number 1 7, it can't be far away. Rennie
followed Hall from his place, so both Rennie and Richard
should be here." Fane made no move to get out of the
car. " Betty was right in one way, you know, there's
danger all right. I might have guessed the truth, and
I might be hideously wrong. Seeing you might make
them think that the game's up. They're killers. They
might decide to kill you and make a thorough job of it.
I just don't know. If they kill, they'll probably act
quickly. Sure you're up to it? "
Mallen said slowly : " Yes."
" Good man," said Fane. " Take this." Mallen felt
something cold against his hand. " It's an automatic, a
comforting thing to have when killers are about ! You
might even use it to scare them into telling the truth."
Mallen took the gun, weighed it in his hand, and then
put it into his pocket.
" You don't forget much."
" We mustn't forget anything in this job," Fane said.
" You must keep them quiet for ten minutes. Within ten
minutes Richard and I will be in the flat with you. It's
possible that they'll find out that we're breaking in, but
I'm not very worried about that. After ten minutes, get
them talking. I wish I could give you a lesson on how
to do it all, but it's up to you. You might be killed,
George."
" I know," Mallen said. " Let's get a move on."
They got out of the car. The number of the nearest
house was 2 9 . They walked on. Suddenly, Richard
Fane appeared out of the shadows. He showed up for a
moment under the light of a street lamp, and Mallen saw
his grin, his ears, his hair ruffled by a slight wind. He
drew up.
" All well, all quiet," he said. " Hallo, George."
" Hallo."
" I shouldn't think they're feeling too good in there,"
1 70
 TWO MEN

Richard said. " Thieves falling out. Torment 'em,

George."
" This isn't a game," Mallen snapped.
" Oh. No. Sorry. But we'll soon be with you, you
know." He paused. " It's a ground floor flat. Rennie's
opened the street door. You go in, up two steps, and
Carpenter's front door is on the right, Number 2."
" Thanks."
They walked with Mallen quietly, as far as the front
door of Number 1 7. There was no light on downstairs
except in the hall; he could see that through the fanlight.
He went forward ; the door creaked a little as he pushed it
open. The Fanes were only a few yards away and their
man Rennie couldn't be far away, but Mallen had never
felt so completely alone. The gun, heavy against his
side began to thump as he stepped towards the big, brown
door with a brass numeral 2 on it. There was a letter­
box and a bell. He hesitated, with his hand raised
before he pressed. Then he stabbed, and the bell jarred
out, so loud that it startled him. He drew back a pace.
He wished that the Fanes were inside instead of outside.
He couldn't be sure that he was going to be face to face
with Gillian's murderer but had little doubt. Hatred
for the two men in here began to drive out his own
fears.
He heard footsteps-the sound which in the past two
days had become sinister, menacing. They were quick
and heavy, those of a man. Carpenter lived here, so he
would probably open the door; the round-faced, silky­
haired man. What would he do when he saw who had
called?
The handle turned ; the door clicked open.
As it was pulled back, Mallen became aware of figures
behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, with a
sudden onrush of fear ; two men he had noticed before
were at the foot of the stairs.
The door opened.
It wasn't Carpenter and it wasn't Hall. It was a big,
171
 MAN ON THE RUN
heavily built man. In the split second between seeing
him, and hearing him speak, Mallen knew the truth.
This man was a detective; the police were there.
" Don't do anything silly, Mallen," the man said.
" You're covered from behind. We've been expecting
you."
Mallen reared up. There was no thought in his mind,
only panic and the instinct to save himself. He struck
out at the big man, and swung round. The couple were
rushing towards him from the foot of the stairs. He ran
for the front door. One man flung himself forward, to
grab his ankles. Mallen jumped clear of the outstretched
hands and reached the door, but it was closed. The
Fanes had closed it. He pulled at it desperately, opened
it and turned. Two men were close behind him, the
big man not far away. One man held a gun.
" Stay there, Mallen ! "
" Damn you ! " Mallen spat at them. " Damn you to
hell ! " He pulled the door wider and rushed into the
street. He heard the roar of the shot, and felt a sharp
pain in his leg. He staggered but didn't fall.
" Stop him ! " a man roared.
Mallen heard them coming, and swung towards the
nearest car. He expected another shot, but none came.
He reached the car and pulled at the door handle, but it
was locked. He heard a man running in the road, on
the other side of the car, to cut him off.
They were armed.
He had a gun in his pocket.
In that moment of wild fury, rage and disappointment
mixed with fear, there was madness in him. He snatched
at the gun, but it stuck in his pocket. Then he heard
footsteps just behind him.
" Give yourself up ! " That was Martin Fane, roaring
at him. " They've got you, don't--"
The gun came out, and Fane was only two yards away.
The lamplight fell upon his face ; and must have shown
him the gun. The police were very close, but there was
1 72
 B E T R AYAL

Fane-and Fane had led him into a trap. He hated

Fane, the police, the world.
He fired.
He saw Fane drop, knew that he fell a split second
before the shot rang out.
Then Mallen felt his ankles collared, he was tugged
fiercely, and fell, striking his forehead on the pavement.
He felt a man snatch at the gun ; he let it go. A fist
smashed into his face as he tried to get up, gasping for
breath. He let his head drop, and stopped moving.
There were roaring noises in his ears but he could distin­
guish Fane's voice.
" Don't do that again ! Harker ! "
" Who the hell--" a man began, and then another
blow caught him behind the ear. His senses reeled. He
heard a confusion of sounds, shouts, thuds ; then he lost
consciousness.

23
B E T R AY A L
MARTIN FANE said savagely : " I'd like to break your
neck ! " He had his great hand round the wrist of one of
the men from the stairs ; the man who had first struck,
then kicked Mallen, who lay still and silent. He flung
the man away from him, and the second man said :
" Do that again, and I'll put you on a charge."
" Listen," Fane said, harshly, " you'd got your man,
you don't have to beat him up." He looked into the face
of the man who had opened the door to Mallen ; a big­
faced man dressed in brown, hatless, nearly bald-headed.
" Bennett, you'd better teach Harker that we aren't in a
police-state yet."
" If I hadn't--" the man named Harker began.
I 73
 MAN ON THE RUN
" All right, all right," said Bennett in a quiet voice.
" We've got him, haven't we? See to him, Jones."
That was to the second man from the stairs. " Didn't
he shoot at you, Fane? "
" He shot at the whole mad world that thinks he's a
killer," Martin Fane said quietly.
Bennett said : " When you work for anyone, you work
for them, don't you? " There was a tinge of admiration
in his voice. " He'd have killed you, th0ugh. Now we
know he's got a killer's instinct."
" You fight for your life and see whether you've an
instinct to kill," Fane growled. " It was my own fault,
anyway. I gave him the gun."
" So you did." Bennett's voice grew sharp. " I'll
need a talk with you, too." He glanced down at Jones,
who was on his knees beside Mallen. Doors were opening
in the street, lights came on at nearby windows. " How
is he? "
" Coming round."
" Harker, tell these people there's nothing to worry
about," Bennett said, and waved to the people who were
coming from their doorways. " Go into Number 1 7,
Fane." He watched Fane pass him, then grabbed his
arm. " Your brother here? "
" He was."
" Where his he now ? "
Fane drew a deep breath.
" Haven't you any sense? " he asked searingly. " How
do I know where he is? " He stalked off, towards
Number 1 7. The door was open and a man stood on the
front step ; Fane recognised him as a Yard man. " Bennett
sent me here."
" Okay, Fane." The man stood aside. " Room on
the right."
" What happened here? "
" Room on the right, I said."
Martin Fane went into the room. It was small, with
a dining-table, a cheap modern sideboard and half a
1 74
 BETRAYAL
dozen chairs ; and in one corner, a television set. Fane
didn't sit down, but mopped his forehead with his hand­
kerchief. He glanced down and saw fresh blood.
" Damn," he said, and turned to look at a small
mirror over the fireplace. There was a scratch on his
forehead ; he couldn't be sure whether it had been caused
by a bullet or by his fall. He smiled with relief. He
wasn't smiling when he watched Harker and Jones
carrying Mallen through the small hall and into another
room. They closed the door. Bennett came in and
joined Fane.
" You might go and see them," Fane said abruptly.
" Make sure they're not using third degree."
" Don't be a fool," Bennett said. His big face was
red and fleshy, he had small blue eyes. " Harker lost his
temper, and I'm not surprised. There's a hell of a
sight too much violence these days, and that man's
a killer."
" He's no more a killer than you are."
Bennett said with unexpected mildness : " Sure?
Or just guessing? It's one thing to know a man's in­
nocent, another to believe in him."
Fane didn't answer.
" Listen, Martin," Bennett said, still mildly, " I know
you like the chap. I know you've been doing all you
possibly can to prove him innocent. That's all right
with me. But this time you've been fooled. You've
done plenty of good work, don't get sore because you've
slipped up for once. I don't want to hang a man who's
innocent any more than you do."
Martin said more quietly : " Did anyone ever tell
you about a man named Mark Linley? "
" Oh, that can happen. It doesn't often. I'm still
not convinced that Mallen meeting Linley's widow was
just a coincidence," Bennett added thoughtfully.
" The coincidence was to find them both going to
Medley's," Fane said. He dabbed at his forehead again,
then took out his pipe. He smiled suddenly. " I feel
1 75
 MAN ON THE RUN
better ! I still say that Mallen isn't a murderer. What
brought you here ? "
" We had a squeak," Bennett said. " And got in the
back way."
" Who squeaked ? "
" Mr. Anonymous. We were told that if we wanted to
pick up Mallen and get the Midpro gang, we'd better
come here. We didn't lose any time. And we've got
'em all, now." Bennett almost purred with satisfaction.
" All? " Fane asked sharply.
" Fellow named Carpenter and another named Hall.
They both work at the bank. They've admitted that
they were in it. The pair of them, the Hopes and Mallen.
There was woman trouble between Hope and :Mallen,
and that started the killing. They've come right across,
so Mallen hasn't got an earthly. We know everything,
and Carpenter and Hall will give evidence against him.
Mallen killed Hope, then went after Hope's wife and
killed her. He's just bad."
Martin's pipe was between his teeth. He didn't
answer. Bennett's shrug might have meant : " Now
perhaps you'll see sense." Bennett took out a cigarette,
but before he lit it, the door across the little hall opened,
and Harker appeared, a black-haired, sallow-faced man
whose look at Fane wasn't friendly.
" He's come round, Chief."
" I'll be there in a minute. Anything he needs? "
" He's only got a bruise or two, and a slight wound
in his leg. If it hadn't been for me, he'd have killed
Fane." Harker glared again.
Fane spoke quickly, with a smile which changed his
whole expression.
" Probably. Thanks, Harker. I shouldn't have got
so mad. Mutual."
That won no response from Harker, who turned out
of the room, but Fane put a smile into Bennett's eyes.
" So you got a squeak," Fane said.
" We've finished with that part of the story," the
1 76
 B ETRAYAL

Chief Inspector told him. " Now it's your turn. He

had a gun before."
" He lost it. My error was to give him another. I
thought he'd scare the lights out of Carpenter and Hall.
I found out that they were probably in it, and I didn't
like the idea of Mallen being framed."
Bennett said : " Look, Martin, you ought to know
better than that. I don't see how I can keep this quiet.
You gave a man suspected of being a cold-blooded mur­
derer a loaded gun. You must have been crazy."
" That's right," Martin said. " Only I think they're
the killers, and that if he'd gone in unarmed, they'd
probably have killed him. You don't have to keep it
quiet. I knew that I was taking a big chance. I
couldn't see forcing Hall or Carpenter to admit that they
killed Paul Hope and then his wife, without first scaring
them. You could try from now until Christmas and not
shift their story. They'll put that rope round Mallen's
neck."
Bennett shrugged.
" He put it there himself."
" I don't believe it."
" You don't often go as wild as this," Bennett said.
" Can you give me a single reason for believing that
Mallen didn't kill the pair of them? Come on, can you?
Can you give me a single line which I can follow and
which might help to prove it? " Fane didn't answer,
and Bennett shrugged again. " Obviously you can't.
You just put your shirt on him, and you've lost
it. Don't think I'll gloat, but after this you'll probably
be barred from running your agency business. You
knew where Mallen was, obviously, and brought him
here. The more I think about it, the worse it gets.
I ought to hold you."
Fane was smiling, tight-lipped.
" Going to ? "
" You won't run away," Bennett growled. " I must
go and talk to Mallen."
1 77
 MAN ON THE RUN
" Treat him better than Harker did," Fane said. He
moved towards the door. " What time did you get that
squeak, Bill? "
" About nine o'clock."
" Sure it was a man? "
" It was a man. Are you guessing who? "
" I could," said Fane.
" Name him, don't play the fool." Bennett growled.
" You'll laugh. The Chief SecurityOfficer at Midpro."
Bennett laughed, in spite of himself.
" I told you what you'd do," Fane said.
He stood by the door of the dining room as Bennett
opened that of the room opposite. He caught a glimpse
of Mallen lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his eyes
open. There was a nasty graze on his forehead.
Harker and Jones were standing by the wall, looking
down on him.
" George," Fane said very clearly, " just tell them the
cruth. Nothing else. I still don't think they'll hang
you." Before Bennett could move or speak, he went to
the front door. The man on duty there put a hand on
his arm. " Holding me? " Fane called.
" Let him go," Bennett said, and went in to Mallen.
" How do you do it? " the man at the door asked
Fane. " Mesmerise him? "
Fane grinned, and went into the street. Two or three
neighbours were gathered about an open doorway, and
they stopped talking when they saw him. He walked
past, towards the main road. He wasn't surprised when
a dark figure moved from the shadows near the corner,
and approached him. He didn't speak until they were
side by side.
" Where's my brother, Rennie ? "
" Where'd yer fink? " asked Rennie. They walked
briskly, side by side. " Them ruddy dicks must'a seen
your brovver an' me, and gone in the back way." He
paused. " You're the boss, Mr. Fane, I'm just the leg­
man, but I'm older'n you. I'm not so sure you've got
1 78
 B E T RAYAL

the right end've the stick this time. Nearly drilled a

n'ole through you, Mallen did. So he'd have killed you.
Killers get that way."
After a short silence Fane said : " You and Bennett
don't often make a pair."
" Even the perlice," said Rennie, with withering scorn,
" can't 'elp getting it right sunnines."
Fane's taut smile showed as they went beneath a street
lamp. Just ahead, the traffic was flowing along Maryle­
bone Road; buses passed, lighting up the darkness.
" Richard didn't say where he was going, did he? "
" I never said so. 'E's gone to see 'er."
" Betty Willis? "
" S'right."
" He's quick," Martin said. " He's a lot quicker than
I am, Rennie. I'd only just got round to that. Someone
squeaked. Two people could have squealed about Car­
penter and Hall, the bank's Security Officer and Betty
Willis. But only Betty could have told the police that
they'd find Mallen at that house. So it's like that. She
tipped Carpenter and Hall off, and they decided to play
it out, swear that they knew nothing about the killing
but admit their part in the robbery. One of them called
the Yard. Nice girl, Betty. She never did like the idea
of Mallen going to tackle Hall and Carpenter, did she?
She tried to scare Mallen off. When you breathe like
that," Martin Fane growled, " I know you're thinking
I'm a fool."
Rennie was breathing hoarsely.
" S'right," he said.
They reached the Marylebone Road, and Fane kept
looking round until he saw a taxi coming along with its
sign lighted. He put up a hand and the cab pulled into
the kerb.
" In you get," he said, and added to the driver :
" Kingsley Street, Victoria, and we're in a hurry, please."
He got in after Rennie. " We've got to do some quick
thinking," he said as he settled down in his corner. " I
1 79
 MAN ON THE RUN
hope Richard hasn't jumped his fences too soon."
" I told 'im to wait for us," Rennie said gruffly. " 'E
said 'e would, just wanted to keep a n'eye on the place,
ter see if anyone else turned up. I told 'im 'e was torking
aht've the back've 'is neck, but you're worse'n 'e is."
Martin grinned.
" Much worse ! If we can't make her talk, l\fallen
might be hanged, and I'd have that on my conscience."
Rennie took out a tin box, put a cig�rette to his lips
and lit it ; the tobacco smelt very strong.
" And you'll be out of a job," Fane went on vengefully,
" because if the police convince themselves that l\1allen
did this job, they won't turn a blind eye on our tricks.
You'd better hope I'm right."
All Rennie did was to puff the strong smoke up to the
low roof of the cab.

24
A L L QU I E T
RICHARD FANE came along the other side of the street as
Martin and Rennie got out of the cab, paid him off,
and watched him drive away. There were no cars in
this street now ; only the dim light beyond the main
radius of the street lamps, and the square yellow bright­
ness at the windows, here and there a light shining from
a fanlight.
" All quiet," Richard said. " There's a light at her
ladyship's window, though."
" Good. You haven't been up to her ? "
Richard's grin had seldom been broader.
" I had to wait for the Boss, didn't I ? "
" Wot you mean is, you 'noo yer couldn't pull this
one aht've the fire by yerself," Rennie growled. " No
1 80
 ALL Q.U I E T

more you can't, none've u s could. Wot d'yer want me

for ? Bin on duty three days, ain't I ever supposed to
sleep ? "
" vVe couldn't do without you," Martin Fane said.
" Just let us into the house and then pick the lock of Betty
Willis's door without her hearing anything. That's all.
Then you can go and sleep or get drunk or even bury
yourself.''
He sounded very like Richard; it was because he was
feeling much more on edge than usual.
Rennie sniffed.
He opened the street door in twenty-seven seconds.
The three of them crept upstairs, making hardly a sound.
As they approached the door of Betty's flat, Martin put
a hand on Richard's arm.
" Skip, I've had a thought. Nip down, give Rennie
time to open the door, and then telephone her. Say that
it's a message from Carpenter-or Hall, it doesn't matter
which. Say that the police asked questions about her,
that's all."
Richard whispered : " She'll never fall for that one."
" She won't when she's had time to think about it,
but her first reaction ought to be interesting."
" Oh, well," Richard breathed. " Don't wring her
neck until I'm back."
He padded downstairs, while Rennie waited for them
to finish talking, and then reached the door of the girl's
flat. Radio music in a nearby room was fairly loud; it
might be loud enough to drown any sound that Rennie
made. The Cockney paused to study the lock ; Martin
Fane guessed that he had taken a good look at it earlier
in the day. It was a Yale. Rennie took a small strip of
mica from his pocket and set to work. He did not hurry.
The only sound was their soft breathing and the radio
until the lock clicked.
Both men stood quite still.
There was no sound from inside the flat. The girl
might be in the bedroom, bathroom or the kitchen ; but
181
 MAN ON THE RUN
there was a light in this room. Rennie made no move
to go. The door was only open a crack, and he put his
foot against it, to make sure that it couldn't close.
They waited for a long time; then the telephone bell
rang. Martin Fane put a hand on the door and pushed
it open an inch; brighter light came through. Hurried
footsteps sounded. He thought of the position of the
telephone, and believed that Betty was probably standing
with her back to the door. He opened it another inch.
" Hallo ? " Betty's voice was sharp. Silence followed,
until they heard her gasp. Then : " Oh, no, no !
. . . Oh, God, what shall we do ? " There was no longer
silence; the sound of her agitated breathing came clearly.
" But how did they find out about me, what made them
ask . . . How did you get away ? " She was beginning
to think, it hadn't taken her long.
Fane pushed the door wide open.
" I told them to ask about you, Betty," he said.
She dropped the telephone, and it clattered to the
floor. She spun round, facing Fane, with her hands in
front of her breast, her mouth wide open, her eyes round
pools of fear. He went forward slowly, and Rennie
ranged himself by the door. The girl didn't move, except
that she began to tremble.
" You telephoned Carpenter and Hall, my pretty,"
Fane said. " I know. Rennie stayed behind, and heard
you." That would sound true and should rob her of any
hope that she could brazen this out. " Nice trick, Betty,
and you acted so well. George was sure that you would
do anything to save him. Now let's have the truth."
" I-I-I--" croaked Betty.
" Your friends are under arrest, and very anxious to
save their necks," Fane said. " They'd gladly put the
rope round Mallen's or yours. Like to be hanged,
Betty ? "
" Oh, no, no ! " she moaned, " I didn't kill either of
them, I didn't know about it until afterwards." Her
voice broke off, she just couldn't get words out.
1 82
 ALL Q.U I E T

" Drop o ' Scotch'll do 'er good," Rennie said laconi­

cally. " Nar where does she keep it? Wouldn't mind a
nip meself, I never fought she was mixed up in it." He
turned his head towards the door. " Sounds like yer
young brower, don't 'e make a noise?"
" Quiet, Skip," Martin said to Richard, " we don't
want to draw a crowd. Yes, give her a drink, Rennie."
He went towards the girl, and she let him take her arm
and lead her to a chair. " Now let's have the truth.
It's the only thing that can save your neck."
She began talking before Rennie brought the whisky.
* * * *
Martin and Richard Fane pulled up in a taxi outside
the main gates of Scotland Yard, and a policeman on
duty came forward, recognised them, and said: "Okay."
They went in. Two more policemen and a sergeant
stopped them, but eventually they were escorted up in
the lift, along the wide passages in the new building, to
Bennett's office. He was there with Harker and Jones.
Harker glowered.
" Now what's on? " Bennett asked sharply. " I can't
waste time on your fancy ideas. Mallen did it. I've got
the statements from Hall and Carpenter here, they
dovetail and I don't think you'll ever break them
down."
" Give me two minutes with them," Martin said.
" Now listen--" began Harker.
" All right, Harker," Bennett interrupted. " Fane,
you know perfectly well that I can't let you talk
to men under a charge. You're still bluffing and still
wrong." He stood up from his desk, one of several in a
large room ; a coal fire burned in the grate in front of the
desk. " We know that Paul Hope and the pair we've
caught worked with Mallen on the bank robbery.
Hope's wife was in it, too. There was woman trouble
between Hope and Mallen, and that's what caused the
killing."
 MAN ON T H E R U N
" Hard and fast case," murmured Martin Fane, while
Richard, showing exemplary and unusual patience, leaned
against a desk and turned his huge blue eyes towards the
Chief Inspector. " Only there's another witness. The
original squeaker. She's still at her flat. I didn't risk
moving her, she collapsed. Rennie's looking after her.
He's been prising up floorboards and finding more money.
Would you like me to tell you what really happened?"
Bennett said slowly, heavily : " Is this true, Fane? "
" Who is she ? " rasped Harker.
" Betty Willis, Mallen's secretary, remember ? The big
lie is naming George Mallen as one of the gang, instead
of Betty. Betty's engaged to Carpenter. They began
the plot months ago. It began when Carpenter helped
himself to several packets ofone-pound notes and managed
to hide the traces. He was engaged to Betty then-Paul
Hope, who knew Betty well as he was often at Mallen's
office, had introduced Betty to Carpenter.
" Paul found out what had happened. So did Car­
penter's close friend, Hall.
" It was bound to be discovered by the bank sooner or
later, so they hatched a plot to stage a big robbery, and
so cover up the smaller one. Paul Hope wasn't averse
-he was living above his means, and heavily in debt.
" Gillian Hope knew what was going on." Martin
Fane continued. " She hadn't any scruples, Betty says,
provided they could get away with it. Everything
seemed fine. They pulled off the robbery and hid the
money in Betty's flat. Then they discovered that eight
thousand pounds of it could be traced-the rest wasn't
so easy to trace. That was the dangerous lot to dispose
of. But they soon had another trouble. Paul Hope
got an attack of conscience."
Fane paused. Harker struck a match and the rasp
on the side of the box sounded vicious.
" I don't know why, but this affected Hope pretty
badly. He wanted to confess and turn the money in.
He certainly had to confide in someone, and Mallen was
1 84
 ALL Q,U I E T

the someone-that's why Hope was trying to get in touch

with Mallen on the day of the first murder.
" Gillian was terrified. So were the others. Hall,
Carpenter and Betty decided to murder Hope-it was the
only certain way to keep him quiet. The two men
worked on Gillian and made her persuade Hope to keep
quiet until they could get rid of him safely. Gillian ran
away, but didn't tell Mallen what had happened. She
hardly knew what she was doing, just hadn't the strength
of mind to stand up to this kind of tension.
" Betty "Willis knew she was at Mallen's flat however.
" Hall and Carpenter hit on the bright idea of framing
Mallen. Betty hadn't any love for Mallen and fell in
with the idea. It was all arranged quickly-and at the
time it looked foolproof. First they got Gillian away
from Mallen's flat-they simply went there and took her
away. That was easy. Then they 'phoned Hope and
said he could find Mallen at home. Betty hurried to
Mallen's flat. The door was open-Betty now had the
key Mallen had given to Gillian-and the flat seemed
empty. In fact Carpenter was hiding behind a door.
He killed Hope, and then put him in the armchair. Next
he hid the £8,000 which could be easily traced under­
neath the floorboards.
Harker drew very deeply at his cigarette. Bennett's
tension relaxed, as if at last he was beginning to think
that it could have happened this way.
" Meanwhile, Carpenter went up to Medley's with
Gillian-where he'd booked a chalet as Gillian Appleby.
She didn't know about the murder then. Carpenter had
made her telephone Mallen ; if Mallen hadn't been in,
they would have found another way of luring Mallen up
to the Camp.
" That left Hall in London, with Betty. It all hap­
pened more quickly than they'd planned. Hall actually
went back to Mallen's flat, expecting Mallen to be gone
and Betty there, making the planted money more secure.
Hall was seen by Mallen, who hadn't left. If Mallen
185
 MAN ON THE RUN
hadn't seen him, I doubt if we'd have got on to the other
fellows at the bank. So he had some luck."
Bennett stirred. " He had a lot of luck. He sent
for you."
Fane said mildly : " That's generous. Thanks. We
tried, because we believed in Mallen. As a matter of
fact, he'd first seen Hall and Carpenter on the evening
of the robbery, when they went to see Paul Hope and
Mallen was at the Hopes' flat. Gillian took him out to
ease the tension, I gather.
" You can work the rest out easily," Fane went on.
" Carpenter knew that Mallen wouldn't lose any time
getting to the Camp where he'd already booked Gillian
in under the assumed name. When the Medley's Radio
broadcast the warning about Mallen, Carpenter felt he
could safely kill Gillian, silencing her at the same time
as damning Mallen. It looked foolproof from that
moment. Gillian probably didn't know what was coming
to her, although she was terrified. Carpenter apparently
convinced her that Mallen had killed her husband, for
love of her. There was one pathetic little touch," Fane
added, very quietly. " Before Carpenter and Hall took
her away from the flat, Gillian was going to try to hide
from all of them. She'd forced open Mallen's cash-box,
to get some money. Before she left, the others had come
for her."
He stopped.
" We'd better go and see Betty Willis," Bennett said
gruffiy. " Come on, Harker."

1 86
 NO MISTAKE

25
NO M I S T A KE

MALLEN sat in the waiting-room where Bennett had put

him, nearly four hours ago. The numbness had eased
but he was still despairing. Now that he could think
about it, firing at Martin Fane looked likely to damn him.
The police had taken his statement without comment,
but he'd felt little hope when he had signed it.
How could he expect them to believe the story?
A police-sergeant sat in the room with him. They
had dressed his wounds. He'd had cocoa and been
offered sandwiches, and they had given him a packet of
cigarettes. He smoked one after the other, until his
mouth was dry, going over the same ground. If he
hadn't fired at Fane there might have been a chance,
but--
He got no further.
He heard footsteps; and like so many he had heard in
the past two days, these sounded full of menace. Several
men approached. He didn't get up, but stared towards
the door. The police-sergeant went to open it, was
actually turning the handle when a man banged on it.
Bennet came in, with Martin and Richard Fane.
Incredibly, the Fanes were smiling. Bennett looked
amiable. Mallen stood motionless, hardly daring to
hope.
" You owe a lot to your friends," Bennett said promptly.
" We know all about it now-the Fanes will tell you.
Not planning to leave London again in the near future,
are you? "
Mallen managed to say : " No, but--"
" We'll answer for him," Martin Fane said.
" We shall want to question you again," Bennett
went on briskly, " and you may have to answer for using
187
 MAN ON THE R UN
the guns. That's up to my superiors; I shan't press it.
All right, sergeant, he can go when he wants to."
Mallen was standing up, unsteadily.
Bennett and the sergeant went out and the door was
closing when Mallen called shrilly :
" Wait a minute ! "
Bennett looked in. " You surely can't want anything
else."
" Kay Linley, where is she ? "
" I'm just going to tell her that we needn't hold her,"
Bennett said. " She ought to be charged with obstructing
the police in the course of their duty, but I doubt if she
will be."
He went out again.
Richard Fane took a brandy flask out of his pocket,
and said lightly :
" Have a spot first, then Martin will tell you what
it's all about." He unscrewed the cap and filled it,
handed it to Mallen. Mallen still had a shock to come,
but compared with what he'd had to face it w1.s almost a
trifle.
* * * *
There were a few little puzzles in Mallen's mind when
he'd heard the story. The Fanes were able to clear them
up.
Martin had told the police, but Richard hadn't told
anyone that Mallen was on the train. Yard officials,
knowing the Fanes were working on the case, saw Richard
at Paddington and suspected that it was because he ex­
pected to meet Mallen.
The Yard soon had Mallen's description, from photo­
graphs. A man had seen Mallen leave by the back way,
with his rucksack, but the police hadn't been in time to
stop Mallen at Paddington. They'd been sure that he
would be found at Swindon.
" The local police were on the look-out for me."
Richard Fane grinned. " But not for Rennie, who kept
1 88
 NO M I ST A K E

a very close eye on you. Neat job you did, getting from
one train to another."
Mallen was able to smile.
There was little else. Richard had gone to Medley's,
believing it was the kind of place, in the Lanmouth
district, where he might meet Gillian. In the ballroom,
Richard had been looking for Giilian.
" I know this must be a major hell for you," Richard
ended. " But hell has its angels. Kay did a very nice
job for you."
" As if I didn't know," Mallen said.
* * * *
Three months later, Mallen pulled up his small car
outside the house where he had his flat.
Kay Linley was with him,
He handed her out, and they went in, up the stairs
and into the flat, without speaking. It was the first time
she had been here.
They had met several times, always with constraint
between them. The past laid its shadow on them both.
They had been at the court most of the past two
days, during the trials. Carpenter and Hall had been
sentenced to death, Betty to a long sentence of imprison­
ment.
The Fanes had been there. Mallen and Kay had had
lunch with them. Then, with Richard, bright and cheer­
ful and Martin thoughtful, they had gone off. Prince was
still a flourishing agency, and no charges had been brought
against Mallen or Kay.
The rooms of the flat looked bright in the December
sunshine. The daily woman had lit a fire, and the
living-room was warm. Kay loosened her sleek, black
seal coat, and took it off. She wore a red woollen dress.
She looked beautiful. She put her hands to her hair,
in much the way that she had when, three months ago,
she had slipped into a cotton dress, before going out to
get the newspapers and to learn what she could.
1 89
 MAN ON THE RUN
She smiled, almost lazily.
" So it's all over, George."
" Nearly," he said. " I shan't enjoy the thought of
the execution." He forced a smile. " Now you know
what idiotic things I can say."
" You're good at them," Kay said, and went and
warmed her hands by the fire. " Have footsteps behind
you lost their terrors?"
" All gone," Mallen said, more briskly. - " The shadows,
too. Kay, you don't have to listen to those idiotic things
I say. You know I'm in love with you, don't you?"
She stood up, and they faced each other.
" Sure, George?"
" I'm quite sure."
" You're not simply grateful because--"
" I love you," he said, very steadily. " It's very simple,
and very deep."
" But no mistake? "
" No," he said, and smiled and drew her closer fiercely.
" All my shadows are gone. What about yours, Kay?"
There was only brightness in her eyes.
1 1:0111111111111
WtNCHfST!II Ptlll:10-Y

·. A93000.099238-
 John
Creasey
....
is one of the most famous
and prolific writers of
mysteries and suspense

m
novels in our time. His
ability to write different
but equally compelling
kinds of stories under
each of ten different pen

:D:,
names qualifies him as a
modern master. He has

c o:,
over 550 books to his
credit (As Empty As Hate,
As Lonely As the Damned,
Take a Body), and his
characters have become
part of the popular imagi­
nation.

:, Mr. Creasey has homes

both in England and Ari­
zona. Father of a com­
fortably large family, he
also finds time for exten­
sive traveling and partici­
pation in political affairs.
The late Anthony Bou­
cher best summed up the
activities of this many­
sided man when he re­
marked in his column in
The New York Times :
"Creasey is creating his
own kind of Comedie
Humaine-Policiere - and
a splendid achievement
it is."
Jacket design by
Milton Charles

WORLD PUBLISHING
TIMES M IRROR
NEW YORK