He saw at once he had nothing to worry about. Fay was right. These people certainly didn't come from his part of the world. The women were hard, showy and noisy. The men looked tough and sporting. Several of the women and a number of the men were in evening dress. None of them took any notice of Ken. Three or four of the men saluted Fay and men looked away.

The barman came over, wiping the shiny counter with a cloth.

"Evening, Miss Carson."

"Two martinis, Jack."

She climbed up on to a stool, while Ken stood at her side.

The barman served two martinis, and then moved away to serve a tall negro who had just come in.

Ken looked at the negro curiously.

He was a ma.s.sive man, standing about six foot four, with shoulders that looked as wide as a barn door. His head was closely shaved, and he had a crinkled scar that began just under his right eye and went down in small puckers to his mouth.

He wore a lavender-coloured velveteen jacket, black trousers, a white nylon shirt and a mauve bow tie. A big diamond glittered in the centre of his shirt and flashed every time he moved.

"h.e.l.lo, Sam," Fay said, lifting her hand and wriggling her fingers at the negro.

He gave a slow, expansive smile, revealing a mouthful of big, gold-capped teeth.

"Enjoy yourself, honey," he said in a deep, rich voice.

His black eyes dwelt on Ken for a brief moment, and then he gave him a little nod. He carried his drink across the room and sat down beside a thin mulatto girl in a low-cut green evening dress who was smoking a cigarette in a foot-long holder. She caught Fay's eye and waved.

"That's Sam Darcy," Fay told Ken. "He owns this joint. He gave me my first break. He's a swell guy. That's Claudette, his wife."

"What a size he is!" Ken said, impressed.

"He used to be one of Joe Louis's sparring partners. He built up this club from nothing. I wish you could have seen it when I first danced here. It was nothing but a damp cellar with a few tables and a pianist. In five years it's grown to this." She finished her martini and slid off the stool. "Let's eat. I'm starving."

Ken paid for the drinks and followed her across the bar, and into the restaurant.

Several couples were dancing, and most of the tables were occupied.

The Captain of waiters, a dark, hawk-eyed Italian, bustled forward, greeted Fay effusively and conducted them to a table against the wall.

It was while they were finishing an excellent mushroom and prawn omelette that Ken noticed a strikingly beautiful girl come to the door of the restaurant.

She immediately attracted his attention, and he wasn't the only man in the room to stare at her.

She was tall and willowy. Her blonde curls were piled high up on the top of her beautifully shaped head. She wore a sea-green evening gown, cut low enough to show an expanse of creamy white skin that made Ken's eyes pop. Her enormous eyes were emerald green and her eyelashes curled upwards and seemed to be touching her eyelids.

It wasn't so much her face that Ken stared at. Her figure would have stampeded an octogenarian. It stampeded Ken.

"Phew! Who's that ?" he asked turning to Fay.

"Sensational, isn't she?" Fay returned, and he was startled to see how hard her face had become. "You're looking at the biggest b.i.t.c.h in town."

"You sound prejudiced," Ken said, and laughed. He looked again at the blonde. She glanced at him without interest, looked beyond him at Fay and then turned and went out of the restaurant. "Who is she, anyway?"

"Her name's Gilda Dorman," Fay said. "She and I used to share an apartment together once. She sings now. I guess if I had her shape, her morals and a voice like hers I'd be a success too."

The angry bitterness in her voice embarra.s.sed Ken. He pushed back his chair.

"Let's dance," he said.

Fay made an effort and forced a smile.

"Sorry: I was just sounding off. I hate that b.i.t.c.h like poison. She broke up my dancing act." She got up. "Come on then; let's dance."

IV.

Ken's wrist.w.a.tch showed twenty minutes past midnight as Fay and he walked into the bar.

"One quickie and then home," Fay said.

Ken ordered two highb.a.l.l.s.

"I've had a wonderful evening," he said. "I've really enjoyed myself."

She gave him a saucy little look from under her eyelashes.

"You're not going to leave me now, are you?"

Ken didn't even hesitate. The damage was done. He had no intention of going back to the lonely, empty bungalow.

"You said I could change my mind. I've changed it," he said.

She leaned against him.

"Tell me, Buster, is this the very first time you have gone off the rails?"

He looked as startled as he felt.

"What do you mean ?"

"I bet you are married, and I bet your wife's away. That's right isn't it?"

"Am I so d.a.m.ned obvious?" Ken asked, annoyed she could read him so easily.

She patted his arm.

"Let's go home. I shouldn't have said that. But you interest me, Buster. I've had such a nice evening with you. You're such a refreshing change. I just wanted to make certain you belong to someone. If you don't, I'll try and capture you for myself."

Ken reddened.

"I belong to someone all right," he said.

Fay lifted her shoulders, smiling.

"All the nice ones do." She slid her arm through his. "Let's go."

Sam Darcy was in the lobby as Ken collected his hat.

"Going early, honey?" he said softly to Fay.

"It's late enough for me, Sam. See you tomorrow."

"That's right."

Joe the doorman opened the door and stood aside.

"Good night, Miss Carson."

"So long, Joe."

They stepped into the still, hot night.

"It's like an oven isn't it?" Fay said, linking her arm through Ken's.

They walked down the alley to the main street and paused to look for a taxi.

"One will be along in a moment," Fay said, opened her bag and took out a pack of cigarettes. She offered one to Ken, and they both lit up.

Ken glanced across the road as he noticed a man come out of an opposite alley. He had a brief glimpse of him before the man stopped abruptly, moved quickly out of the rays of a street light into the shadows: a tall, thin, blond man not wearing a hat, young and from what Ken saw of him, good looking.

Ken thought nothing of this at the time, but later he was to remember this man.

A taxi came around the corner and Fay waved.

They sat side by side in the darkness of the cab. Fay leaned against him, holding his hand, her head against his shoulder.

It was an extraordinary thing, he found himself thinking, but I feel I've known this girl for years.

He was completely at ease in her company now, and he knew he would have to make a very strong effort to resist the temptation of seeing her again.

"How long have you been on this racket?" he asked.

"About a year." She glanced up at him. "And Buster, darling, please don't start trying to reform me. It's such an old, old gag, and I get so tired of guys telling me I should be a good girl."

"I guess you would get tired of a line like that. It's not my business, but I should have thought you could have made a success of anything you took up. You dance so well. Isn't there anything in that for you now?"

"Maybe, but I just don't want to go back to dancing. Without the right partner it's no fun. What do you do for a living, Buster?"

He saw the danger of telling her that. There were only three banks in the city. It wouldn't be hard to find him again. He had read enough accounts of professional men getting themselves blackmailed to take the chance of telling her what he did.

"I work in an office," he said cautiously.

She looked at him and laughed, patting his hand.

"Don't look so scared. I've told you before: I'm perfectly harmless." She moved away so she could face him. "You took an awful risk tonight, Buster.

Do you realize that?"

He laughed*awkwardly.

"Oh, I don't know ..."

"But you did. You are happily married and you have a position to keep up. Suddenly out of the blue, you call up a girl you don't know anything about and have never seen and make a blind date with her. You might have picked one of the floosies who live in my block. Any of those harpies would have battened on to you and you would have had a h.e.l.l of a struggle to shake them off."

"It wasn't as bad as that. You were recommended to me by a friend."

"He wasn't much of a friend, Buster," she said seriously. "My old man had a saying that applies to you. Whenever I wanted to do something risky, he would tell me to watch my step. 'Be careful," he would say, 'you might be catching a tiger by its tail.' I've never forgotten that saying. Don't you forget it either, Buster. You're going to forget all about me after tonight. If you get the wayward feeling again, don't call me up. I won't see you." She took his hand and squeezed it. "I wouldn't like you to get into trouble because of me."

Ken was touched.

"You're a funny girl: too good for this racket."

She shook her head.

"I wish I was. It just happens, Buster, there's something about you that's made me soft tonight." She laughed. "We'll be letting our hair down in a moment and sobbing over each other. Well, here we are."

Ken paid off the taxi, and together they walked up the steps and opened the front door.

They began the long climb to the top floor.

It was probably because she had underlined the risk he was running; something he knew for himself, but something he had dismissed because it had suited him to dismiss it, that, as he climbed the stairs, he was suddenly apprehensive. He should have dropped her at her apartment block and taken the taxi back to his own home, he told himself. He had had a swell evening. There was no point in continuing this escapade any further.

A tiger by the tail, she had said. Suppose now the tiger suddenly awoke?

But in spite of his uneasiness, he continued to climb the stairs after her, until they reached the fourth landing.

Facing them as they mounted the last few stairs, stood the fawn Pekinese. Its bulging bloodshot eyes surveyed them stonily, and it gave a sudden shrill yap that made Ken's heart skip a beat.

As if waiting for the signal, the fourth-floor front door opened quickly, and Raphael Sweeting appeared.

He wore a threadbare silk dressing gown over a pair of black lounging pyjamas. Pasted to his moist thick underlip was an unlighted cigarette.

"Leo!" he said severely, "I'm really ashamed of you." He gave Ken that sly, knowing smile Ken had seen before. "The poor little fellow imagines he is a watch dog," he went on. "So ambitious for such a mite, don't you think?"