Ellis wanted a job. He had to get a job. His money was running out, and he was afraid to open his mouth in public. A job for the deaf and dumb would have suited him. And now he had to start all over again.
As he crossed the hall he saw the girl in the grey skirt walking slowly ahead of him. She pushed open the glass door and moved into the street.
Still interested in her, he followed her. The Strand was crowded; the air stale and oppressive. He walked slowly, thinking, wondering what he was to do. Twelve shillings and ten- pence! That was all he had. Somehow he had got to get money. He thought of Scragger. Scragger would help him if he could find him, but where to look for him?
He saw the girl in the grey skirt turn down Villiers Street, and because he had nothing better to do and six; was an individual in a crowd of strangers, he followed, his mind pre- occupied, but his eyes on her legs. You didn’t often see such pretty legs, he thought. Most women’s legs were ugly. He wondered who the girl was. A deaf jailbird, the old twister had called her, and yet he hadn’t shouted at her. Perhaps she could lip-read. It dawned on him that he could talk to her and she wouldn’t know him by the sound of his voice. She would read the words as they formed on his lips and not, of course, hear his voice. He found that idea vaguely pleasing. A man couldn’t go through life entirely alone. A woman was useful. This girl hadn’t any money, nor had he. She was a jailbird; he was a fugitive. They might make a pair. He frowned. Why was he wasting time thinking of such rubbish? There were more important things to think about, but his eyes never left the girl as she moved through the crowds, alone, despairing.
A band was playing in the gardens by Charing Cross Underground. The music sounded gay, and a large crowd was sitting round the bandstand.
The girl walked through the iron gateway into the gardens, moved slowly along the concrete path. Ellis followed her. He thought she was going to sit down, but she kept on, past the bandstand, her shoulders bowed, her atrocious little hat a joke in the bright sunlight.
Eventually she did sit down after they had left the bandstand in the distance. She selected one of the free seats opposite the Savoy Hotel. She sat there, her hands in her lap, her eyes on the waiters who stood at the Savoy windows waiting for the first diners.
Ellis drew near, sat down a seat away from the girl. He studied her, felt a stab of disappointment. She was plain. Her pinched white face was ordinary; her brown hair limp and unwashed. Her eyes were deep-set and dark-ringed. She was, he guessed, about twenty years of age. Now he could see her properly he wondered angrily how she could have ever stirred him. Apart from her figure, she was nothing: just an ordinary shop girl, a clerk, any menial worker you see in the London streets without even being smart.
He looked away from her, soured and disappointed. “Anyway,” he thought, “I don’t have to bother my head about women. I’m through with women.” Yet at the back of his mind he still hankered after a girl. The few days he had spent in London had been lonely. If this girl had been something to look at, he would have spoken to her, told her what he’d done to the old twister, perhaps made a friend of her. But as she was, he couldn’t bring himself to bother with her.
The girl sat there for some time. She scarcely moved. Her eyes followed the early diners as they took their seats before the windows of the Savoy. She leaned forward, an intent expression on her face as she watched food being served.
Ellis forgot about her. He sat smoking and brooding, wondering what he was going to do, how he could find Scragger. He too sat in the sunshine for a long time, then decided to go back to his lodgings. As he half rose, he looked across at the girl, paused.
A well-dressed, elderly woman had sat down beside the girl and was reading an evening paper. By her side on the seat near the girl she had placed her handbag. As Ellis glanced across at the girl he saw she was opening the handbag. Her movements were gentle and sly. He saw her dip her hand into the bag, draw out several pound notes.
Ellis felt no reaction at all as he watched the girl lift the money out of the bag. He sat there limply, his eyes on the girl’s hands, absorbed in what was going on, yet unmoved.
Suddenly the woman dropped her newspaper and grabbed the girl’s wrist.
“You little thief!” she exclaimed, staring at the girl who shrank back, tried to pull away.
Ellis grunted, his heart began to beat unevenly. He knew then that his destiny was to be linked with this girl’s; he knew that he would help her, and in return he would have a hold on her; a debt to be settled at his convenience. He got up, went over to the two, tapped the woman’s arm.
“Let her go,” he said.
The woman stared at his thin, scarred face, looked into his bleak eyes and abruptly let go of the girl. Then she put her hand to her face and began to scream.
Ellis grabbed hold of the girl’s arm, dragged her to her feet. “Come on,” he snarled.
They began to run towards the Embankment.
CHAPTER THREE
She sat on the edge of his bed, weeping; the disreputable little hat still on her head. Her face was white and puffy, and her red-rimmed eyes glassy with tears.
Ellis stood by the window, looking through the dirty muslin curtains into the street below. There was a dryness in his mouth that irritated him, and his heart thudded unevenly. Now and then he glanced at the girl, but almost immediately his eyes shifted back to the street. He was waiting for a police car to pull up before the little grey house and for policemen to come tumbling out — after him.
“Shut up,” he said to the girl. “Can’t you stop snivelling?” But he wasn’t looking at her, and she had no means of knowing that he was speaking to her. In her tomb of silence no sound reached her. Later, he learned to touch her before speaking so she could read the words as he formed them with his lips.
She continued to weep, her hands limply in her lap, her shabby little shoes turned in, her knees apart. From where he stood he could see the V of her naked thighs under the skirt, but he was unmoved. Her puffy white face under the awful hat revolted him, and he was regretting the mad impulse that had landed him with her.
“Can’t you shut up?” he snarled. “Someone will hear you.” Then furiously: “I was a fool to have brought you here!”
The words beat uselessly against her dead ear-drums. She neither stirred nor looked up. He suddenly remembered she couldn’t hear his voice and he made a movement of exasperation. It was bad enough to have her here, to be witness of her hopeless misery, but to know she was shut away from all sound made her even more useless and repulsive to him.
He turned back to the window. While he waited for something to happen he reviewed the past hour and was appalled at the risks he had taken. Why had he done it? Why had he given way to this mad impulse? He had been lonely, had wanted a companion, so he had helped her, and now he was landed with a snivelling little bitch with less guts than a louse. If she had stolen the money and run off with him, not caring a damn, he could have forgiven her her plainness, but this blubbering killed any desire he might have had for her company.
They had nearly been caught too. That copper had been quick. He had pounced on them as they were running like two frightened children along the Embankment. Ellis had gripped the policeman’s sleeve, dropped on one knee and had the big man over on his back in a moment. The fall had been a heavy one, and the girl and Ellis had gained a fifty yard start. Cars had stopped. People had shouted at them. It would have been all up with them if Ellis hadn’t pushed the girl on to a tram as it entered the tunnel leading to Kingsway. The conductor had been upstairs at the time and the lower deck of the tram empty. Although the policeman had shouted, the conductor hadn’t heard him. The tram made a tremendous noise as it rattled and banged through the tunnel.
They got off the tram at Southampton Row, and had walked quickly through Russell Square into the back streets where Ellis had lodgings.
Neither of them spoke to each other. Both of them were too preoccupied by the fear of pursuit to separate. The girl walked like an automaton; she seemed on the point of collapse. People looked curiously at them, but Ellis kept on, feverishly anxious to get to his room, away from the staring eyes. His landlady, Mrs Wheeler, was in the basement when they arrived and Ellis succeeded in getting the girl upstairs without anyone hearing or seeing them.
The girl had slumped down on the bed and had begun to weep. It seemed that she was never going to stop weeping.
In the street below a policeman sauntered past, paused to have a word with the postman collecting letters from the pillar- box opposite the little grey house. Ellis eyed the policeman, aware of a tight feeling in his chest. Would Whitcombe and the woman with the handbag go to the police? He thought they were certain to. Before long, probably already, his description would be in the hands of every flatfoot in London. He clenched his fists. If they caught him it wouldn’t take them long to discover who he really was; then instead of a month’s imprisonment they’d hang him.
The girl said suddenly in her toneless voice: “I’m hungry. Have you anything I could eat?”
Ellis reluctantly left the window and stood over her.
“Something to eat?” he said. “This is no time to talk about food.”
She rolled over on her side, burying her head in her arms. “I’m so hungry,” she wailed. “You don’t know how hungry I am . . .”
“Pull yourself together,” Ellis said furiously. “You’ve got to get out of here. I can’t have you in this room.” Then seeing she was lost in her own misery, he caught hold of her and jerked her up. His fingers circled her arm. “Come on. Pull yourself together,” he repeated when he was sure she was looking at him.
She twisted away from him and folding her arms across her stomach she rocked herself to and fro while she sobbed hysterically. “I’m so hungry,” she burst out. “I haven’t had anything to eat for days.”
He drew back exasperated.
“I don’t care,” he said, wanting to shout at her but controlling his voice with an effort. “You’ve got to get out of here.”
She continued to sob hysterically. “I wouldn’t have taken the money if I hadn’t been so hungry,” she moaned. “Please give me something to eat . . . anything. I can’t go on. I can’t stand it any longer.”
He caught hold of her, dragging her to her feet.
“I haven’t anything to eat here, you fool,” he said savagely. Now get out. You’ve got money. Get yourself something to eat, but don’t bother me.”
She looked wildly into his mean, hard eyes, then her face stiffened and she went limp. Ellis made no attempt to help her. He stood back and watched her fall heavily on to the threadbare carpet. Her hat fell off and her arms and legs sprawled like those of a sawdust doll that has been tossed into a corner.
He stood hesitating. He had been too close to hunger himself not to know that she wasn’t faking. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything with her until she had eaten, and cursing her under his breath he went to a cupboard, took from it a pair of grey flannel trousers and a worn sports coat. If he had to go it would be safer to put on something different to the suit he was now wearing. The police were quick. They might have his description on the streets by now.
He changed, looked at her in disgust once more and then left the room. For a moment he paused at the head of the stairs, then ran quickly down to the front door.
He walked stiffly along the street, his eyes watchful, the whole of his body screwed up for instant flight. The policeman was still sauntering along fifty yards or so ahead of him. Ellis crossed the street, walked into a café. The girl who served him with three meat pies, rolls and a jam tart seemed interested in his scar. He felt her eyes on his face, and he scowled at her, snatching the two paper bags from her and slamming down the money. She muttered something under her breath as she went to the till, and in her turn slammed down the change in front of him.
He turned away, hating her and stepped into the street again. The policeman was standing at the corner, looking in his direction. Ellis hesitated for a moment, then walked back to the little grey house, his shoulders hunched, his eyes on the still figure in blue.
As he opened the front door, he looked back over his shoulder. The girl who had served him in the café had come to the shop door and was watching him. He made an obscene gesture in her direction, opened the door and entered the house.
He could hear Mrs Wheeler singing somewhere in the basement. Her reedy voice grated on his nerves. She was singing a hymn:
Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.
His mouth twisted bitterly as he mounted the stairs. Let me hide myself in Thee. He’d have to do something better than that if he was going to save his neck, he thought, pushing open the bedroom door and entering the room.
The girl still lay on her side, her head thrown back and her arms and legs sprawled out.
He stood over her, scowling. He could have ditched her so easily in the tram, he thought, but he had to behave like a lunatic and bring her here; now he was landed with her. He knew at the back of his mind that he had brought her here for a purpose. Maybe she was plain, but she was a woman, could be useful if handled the right way, and the fact that she was deaf made things safer for him. It hurt his pride to admit that he intended to keep her with him, but that was what he was going to do.
He drew back his foot and began to kick her. She moaned, tried to move away. The sharp nagging kicks jarred her, and finally she sat up, pushed his foot away with her hand.
When he was sure she wasn’t going to flop again, he opened one of the paper bags and emptied the pies over her. They fell in her lap, on her head and one of them rolled near his foot. Out of sheer spiteful devilry, he stamped on the pie, hooked the mess off his instep and dropped it into her lap.
“Go on, eat it,” he said, “if you’re so hungry.”
He turned away in disgust as she crammed the ruined pie into her mouth.