To Bisker it seemed that his own voice came to him from at least a hundred feet distant. He was on his knees when he heard it saying:

“Now, now, Mr. Rice! You hurtbad?”

He turned over the body of the constable, and then ceased further movement whilst he gazed down at the small round hole in the centre of the policeman’s forehead, and at the thin trickle of blood oozing from it.

“The dirty rat!” he said slowly.

Then he was on his feet and running to the closed front door. He swung it open and dashed outside, ran for a short distance over the bitumened space, then pulled up and said again:

“The dirty rat!”

On returning to the reception hall, he discovered Miss Jade on her hands and knees, and because her hair was all awry he had the impulse to laugh at her. Instead, he bent over and hauled her to her feet, and half dragged her into the office, where he put her in her own most comfortable chair.

“Leave it all to me,” he ordered, and was astounded by the timbre of his own voice.

He walked to the office door with the intention of closing and locking the door between the reception hall and the short passage leading to the lounge. Then he had his second brilliant “brain-wave” of that morning. He went back to Miss Jade’s desk and pressed the electric button summoning George.

Bisker was standing at the door between hall and passage when George appeared.

“Bring a bottle of whisky and glasses for two and a siphon of soda-water,” he ordered.

George was on the point of questioning this order when Bisker partly stood aside to give George a view of the dead policeman.

“Get that whisky quick,” Bisker snarled, and George almost ran to obey. When he returned, Bisker let him into the hall and locked the door. He took the tray from George.