“Let’s not forget that he had several very rough years, and when a man comes out of the hell that’s Burma jungle, he isn’t going to be quite himself for some time,” said Rollison. “And like a lot of people he may be more nervous of the police than necessary. They’re not so bad, you know. Human beings and all that kind of thing. No malice or vindictiveness. I have known people nearly off their heads with worry, when ten minutes with a detective-sergeant would have set their minds at rest.”

“You’re like a breath of fresh air!” exclaimed Barbara.

“You want something to blow the cobwebs away,” said Rollison.

As he finished speaking, there was a faint sound somewhere in the flat. Barbara hardly noticed it as she studied him. He had brought calm and commonsense to bear on her problem, and she felt soothed and reassured.

When the noise was repeated, she noticed it

Rollison’s smile remained, but a little vertical furrow appeared between his eyes. Barbara opened her lips to speak, but he raised his hand for silence.

“What——” she began huskily.

“Hush,” murmured Rollison. He put his hands on the arm of his chair and stood up, a swift movement. He looked towards the closed door, and when the sound came again.

“What room is next door?” asked Rollison softly.

“The—the kitchen.”

“And a door to the fire-escape is there?”

“Yes.” She caught her breath.

“Is the kitchen door open or closed?” As he asked that, he approached her. “Don’t get worked up. This may be a false alarm—or it may be just the thing to put us right. Is the kitchen door——”