It was almost time now for him to leave for the bank. He put on his hat, picked up the two parcels, locked the front door, and left the key under the mat for Carrie to find.

As he walked down the path to the gate, a car drew up outside the bungalow with a squeal of brakes.

Ken felt his heart turn a somersault, and for one ghastly moment he had to fight against a mad impulse to turn around and bolt back indoors. But he kept hold of himself with an effort, and stared at the car, his heart thudding.

Parker, red-faced and cheerful, waved to him from the car.

"h.e.l.lo, sport," he said. "Thought I'd pick you up. One good turn deserves another. Come on - hop in."

Ken opened the gate and crossed the sidewalk to the car, aware that his knees felt weak and the muscles in his legs were fluttering. He opened the car door and got in.

"Thanks," he muttered. "I didn't know you were driving up this morning."

"I didn't know myself until I got home," Parker said gloomily. He took out his cigarette case and offered it to Ken. "My ma-in-law's coming to spend a few days with us. Why the old cow can't take a taxi instead of expecting me to meet her beats me. It's not as if she's hard up, although the way she acts you'd think she was on relief. I told Maisie not to invite her, but she never does what I want."

Ken took the cigarette and accepted a light from Parker.

"h.e.l.lo," Parker said, lifting his eyebrows, "so the lawn didn't get cut after all."

Ken had forgotten about the lawn.

"No; it was too hot," he said hurriedly.

Parker engaged gear and pulled away from the kerb.

"I thought you'd have better sense than to waste your time cutting a lawn." He gave Ken a dig in the ribs with his elbow. "How did you get on, you dirty dog?"

"I got on very well," Ken said, trying to sound casual. "I spent the evening weeding and went to bed early."

Parker gave a hoot of laughter.

"Tell that to your grandma," he said with a leer. "Have you seen your face this morning? Boy! Do you look washed out! Did you visit my little friend?"

"What little friend?" Ken asked, staring fixedly through the windshield at the line of traffic ahead.

"Come on, Holland, don't be cagey with me. You know you can trust me to keep my mouth shut. How did you like her?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ken said curtly.

"Well d.a.m.n it! I gave you her telephone number. You called her, didn't you?"

"I've told you already; I stayed at home last night and weeded the rose bed."

Parker lifted his eyebrows.

"Well, okay, if that's your story, I guess you're stuck with it, but you don't kid me. But since I gave you the introduction you might at least admit she's a d.a.m.n fine girl."

"I wish you'd shut up!" Ken snapped. "I stayed home last night. Can't you get that bit of information into your thick skull and stop all this nonsense?"

"I was only pulling your leg," Parker said, a little startled by the anger in Ken's voice. "I was doing you a good turn. If you're such a mug not to take advantage of my introduction, that's your funeral. Fay's sensational. When Hemingway put me on to her, he saved my life. I admit I took a chance, but I'm d.a.m.ned glad now."

"I wish you would get off this subject," Ken said. "Can't you talk about something else?"

"What else is there to talk about?' Parker said, and sn.i.g.g.e.red. "Well, okay, if that's the way you feel: tell me, what have you got in those two parcels?"

Ken had been expecting Parker to ask that question, and he was ready for it.

"Just some things Ann asked me to take to the cleaners."

"I don't know why it is but wives always find some errands for us guys to run. Maisie has given me a shopping list as long as my arm. I guess I'll have to get one of the girls in the office to handle it for me." Parker drove a couple of blocks without speaking: his plump red face thoughtful. "You know, I think I'll drive over to Fay's place in my lunch hour. It doesn't look as if I'll see much of her while my ma-in-law's with us. She's a regular old ferret, and if I stayed out late, she'd start putting a flea in Maisie's ear."

Ken felt a chill crawl up his spine.

"This afternoon? Is she likely to see you so early?"

"That's not early," Parker returned and laughed. "I once called on her at eight o'clock in the morning."

The thought of Parker going to that top-floor apartment and walking into the police turned Ken cold.

"You'll telephone her first?"

"Oh, sure. She might have someone there. But lunchtime is usually a good time to catch her in."

Ken began to breathe again.

"I should have thought it was d.a.m.ned risky to go to a place like that in daylight."

"Nothing to worry about at all. There's a parking lot not far from the house, and the street is screened by trees," Parker said airily. "You should try it one day, if you haven't tried it already, you sly dog."

"Keep your mind on your driving," Ken said, his voice sharp. "You nearly hit that truck."

II.

Soon after half-past ten, when the first rush of business over, Parker closed his till, and giving Ken a wink, said he was going to call Fay.

"Shan't be five minutes. Keep an eye on things for me."

Ken watched him cross the hall of the bank to a pay booth installed for the customers' convenience.

Ken's heart beat violently as he watched Parker shut himself in the booth. He waited while minutes dragged by, then the booth door opened and Parker came out.

Parker had lost his c.o.c.ky, leering expression. He looked white and fl.u.s.tered, and he hurried across the hall as if anxious to gain sanctuary behind the grill protecting his till.

Ken pretended he hadn't noticed Parker's agitation. He was entering a pile of cheques into a ledger, and having difficulty, as his band was unsteady. He said as casually as he could: "Did you get fixed up?"

"My G.o.d!" Parker gasped, wiping his face with his handkerchief. "The cops are in her place."

Ken stiffened and dropped his pen.

"The cops?"

"Yes. Must be a raid. Suppose I had gone around there without calling her first?"

"How do you know it was the police?" Ken asked, groping on the floor for his pen.

"The guy who answered the phone said he was Lieutenant Adams of the City Police. He wanted to know who I was."

"You didn't tell him?"

"Of course not! I hung up on him while he was talking. Phew! What the h.e.l.l does it mean? I've never known the police raid a call girl's place before. They might have arrived when I was there."

"Lucky you called first."

"I'll say." Parker continued to mop his face. "You don't think they'll trace my call, do you?"

"Why should they?" Ken asked, and he suddenly saw the danger he was in. The police were likely to trace the call. If they came here with a description of him from Sweeting, they would catch him red-handed with the bloodstained suit still in his possession!

"Maybe she's been robbed or a.s.saulted," Parker said nervously. "Maybe that's why they are there. Maybe someone's murdered her."

Ken felt a trickle of cold sweat run down the side of his face. He didn't trust his voice to say anything.

"These girls run a h.e.l.l of a risk," Parker went on. "They don't know who they are taking on. She could have been murdered."

Before he could develop his theme a depositor came in, and then another followed. For some minutes both Ken and Parker were kept busy.

Ken was thinking of the bloodstained suit in his locker downstairs.

d.a.m.n Parker! If the police traced that call and came down here...! He looked anxiously at his wrist.w.a.tch. He had another hour before he went to lunch. The police might be on their way over now. But before he could make up his mind what to do, a steady flow of customers began, and for the next half-hour he was too rushed to think of himself. Then there was a pause again.

Parker said sharply, "There's a guy just come in who looks like a cop."

Ken's heart stopped, then raced.

"Where?"

He looked around the big hall. Standing, half-concealed by one of the pillars, was a tall, heavily built man in a brown suit and a brown slouch hat.

He did look like a cop. His big fleshy face was brick-red and his small, green eyes had a still, intent quality about them that alarmed Ken.

"He must be a cop," Parker said, lowering his voice.

Ken didn't say anything. He watched the big man cross the hall to the pay booth.

"Do you think anyone saw me use the telephone?" Parker muttered.

"I don't know. It's out of sight of the door."

"If he asks me I'll tell him I called my wife, but I couldn't get an answer."

"He may not ask you."

"I hope to h.e.l.l he doesn't."

They watched the big man come out of the pay booth and go over to speak to the messenger at the door.

The messenger looked startled as Ken saw the big man show him something he carried in his hand. They talked for some minutes, then the big man turned and stared directly at Ken.

Ken felt himself turn hot, then cold. He forced himself to continue to write in his ledger.

"He's coming over," Parker said softly.

The big man came up to the counter and his hard eyes went from Parker to Ken and back to Parker again.

"City Police. Sergeant Donovan," he said, his voice a harsh growl. "I'm making enquiries about a guy who used that pay booth about a half-hour ago. Did either of you see him?"

Ken looked at the hard, brick-red face. Donovan wore a close-clipped ginger moustache. A row of freckles ran across the bridge of his thick, short nose.

"No, I didn't see anyone," Ken said.

"I used the telephone a little while ago, sergeant," Parker said smoothly. "I was calling my wife. You don't mean me, do you?"

Donovan stared at Parker.

"Not if you called your wife. Did you see anyone else use the booth?"

"Well, there was a girl and an elderly man," Parker lied glibly. "But that would be about an hour ago, I guess. We've been busy, and I didn't notice anyone recently."

"Not too busy to call your wife," Donovan said, his hard little eyes boring into Parker.

"Never too busy to call my wife," Parker returned, and gave the sergeant a bright, false smile.

Donovan took a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, stuck it on his thin, brutal lower lip and set fire to it with a bra.s.s lighter.

"Did you see anyone use the phone?" he asked Ken.

"I've just told you: I didn't."

The green eyes forced Ken to look away.

"You might have changed your mind."