“Miss Lome?”

“Yes; do come in.”

He passed her but was facing her as she closed the door. She was used to tension now and recognised it in his manner.

“There’s been—” she began and then stopped, for “accident” seemed the wrong word.

He raised a hand, as if to ward off some sudden rush of fear and she added hastily: “It’s all right now, except that—”

“Is Mr Rollison still here?”

“Oh, yes!”

“I shouldn’t worry, Miss Lome, whatever the trouble is,” said Jolly. His voice was soft and reassuring and his smile was friendly and warming; fear had gone. “Mr Rollison will look after everything.”

“Wrong,” said Rollison, from the front-room door. “You’ll look after everything, Jolly. The police and an ambulance will be here in a few minutes. Miss Lome will tell you what happened. You’ll stay with the injured woman until the police arrive. The moment they come take them up to Miss Lome’s flat and tell them a dangerous customer is in the kitchen— a man who’s lost his gun but might use a kitchen chopper.”

That was the moment when Jolly said the thing which made Judith gasp—and then laugh. Her reaction was absurd but she couldn’t help herself. She laughed weakly and leaned against the wall while Rollison pressed her hand and Jolly opened the door for him.

Jolly had said, “Very good, sir.”

*     *     *

It was nearly a quarter to five when Rollison left the house in Knoll Road. As he turned the corner into a long street leading to a main road a police car swung round and Rollison had to pull sharply into the kerb. He smiled sweetly at the police-car driver who ignored him and raced towards Number 23.

*     *     *

“Now,” murmured Rollison: “I must hurry.”