“What is it?” Cedric asked, staring at the trunk uneasily. “Who are you and what do you want to bring that in here for?”

Joe reached out and pulled Cedric towards him. His face was pale and frightening. “Listen, fat,” he said, speaking through set teeth, “where’s her room? I don’t want a lot of talk from you. Show the way and shut up!”

The driver chuckled. He was a fat, elderly man with a flaming red nose and watery eyes.

“Ain’t he a caution?” he said to Cedric. “Been swearin’ and cursin’ like billy-o all the time.” Come on, don’t keep ‘is lordship waiting.”

Speechless with anger and fright, Cedric went upstairs. Joe and the driver, carrying the trunk between them, followed him. They banged the trunk against the wall and they had difficulty in getting it round the narrow curve of the stairs as they reached the first landing. “My stars!” the driver gasped, letting his end down with a thud, “give us a rest, guv’nor. Blimey! I ain’t as young as I was.”

Joe leaned against the wall. His face was livid and his breath came in gasps.

The trunk was obviously too much for him, but he seemed to be making a desperate, frightening effort.

Cedric eyed them uneasily.

“Well, come along,” he snapped, seeing how exhausted they were and gaining some courage. “I want to go to bed even if you don’t.”

Joe snarled at him. “Shut up!” he said, but he seized hold of his end of the trunk and heaved it off the floor.

“Proper young slavedriver you are”,” the driver said with a good-humoured grin. “Well, ups a daisy,” and taking up his end, they went staggering up to the second floor.

Cedric went ahead with as much dignity as he could muster. He threw open Susan’s door and turned on the light.

“I hope she’s expecting this,” he said coldly as they staggered into the little room. “I don’t know if I ought to take it in. I really don’t know, I’m sure.”

“Well, it’s in, old top,” the taxi driver said, letting the trunk down with a thud that shook the house. “If you don’t like it you can blooming well carry it down yourself.”

“He’ll keep his nose out of this,” Joe said viciously.

“Well, come along,” Cedric said, holding open the door. “You can’t stay here. This is a lady’s room.”

They went downstairs and the driver got into his cab. Joe turned on Cedric.

“Tell her she’s not to touch that trunk until I’ve spoken to her,” and without giving Cedric a chance to reply, he went down the steps and got into the cab.

He would really have to talk to Susan, Cedric decided. He liked the girl, but the past two days had been very disturbing.

He again thought of the trunk. What was that odd smell? Where had he smelt it before? What on earth could be in the trunk?

He sat for a long time nursing his fears and his grievance. It was half-past twelve when he heard the front door open and he got up immediately and went into the hall.

Susan looked at him in surprise and confusion. “Good evening, Mr. Smythe,” she said. “I—I thought you’d be in bed.”

“I wanted to speak to you,” Cedric said, looking at her severely. “Really, Miss Hedder, things have come to a pretty pass. I know it’s not my business, but really— I mean, I do think you owe me an explanation.”

Susan coloured. “Why, Mr. Smythe, I—I don’t know what you mean . . .” she began, but Cedric with a dignified gesture stopped her.

“I hope you will spare me a few moments,” he said. “Will you please step into my sitting room?”

“Very well,” Susan said, wondering uneasily what he had discovered.

She followed him into the sitting room and pulling off her pert little hat, she nervously fluffed out her hair.

“Miss Hedder,” Cedric began, taking up his position before the fireplace, “who is this odd person who leaves notes and trunks for you?”

Susan stared at him. “Trunks?” she repeated blankly.

“Well, a trunk. He came here not an hour ago and was most rude. I’ve never been spoken to like that in all my life. If he hadn’t said you were a friend of his, I’d have sent for the police.”

“But I don’t understand,” Susan said, bewildered. “What trunk?”

“This person brought it for you tonight,” Cedric explained. “Surely you were expecting it?”

“You mean—Mr. Crawford?”

Cedric sniffed. “He didn’t mention his name. He was young, quite a hooligan. And he used a dreadful expression. Of course, in the Army . . .” He waved his hand expressively. “But one doesn’t expect to hear that sort of thing in one’s own house.”

“Perhaps I’d better go up and see,” Susan said, seeing the opportunity to get out of the room.” I don’t know anything about a trunk.”

Joe had said he was sending her a steel box. Could this trunk be it, she wondered, on her way up. There was so much she wanted to ask him. Why had Kester Weidmann turned up at the club when Joe had said he would keep him away from Rollo?

As she turned the handle of her door, the telephone began to ring. The telephone was the only luxury in her room. It had been installed by one of Cedric’s late boarders and as it had a few months still to run before the subscription was renewed, Cedric had left it in the room.

As she crossed over to answer it, she became aware of a faint, acrid smell that vaguely reminded her of funeral flowers.

She saw the trunk, black, large and stark, standing against the wall. She felt a cold shiver run down her back as she lifted the receiver.

“This is Joe.” The soft, timbreless voice sounded urgent.

“What happened?” she asked. “And what is this trunk doing here?”

“Don’t talk, listen,” Joe said. “Mr. Weidmann tricked me. I found he had his brother’s body in his room. The body has been embalmed. He wants to bring it to life. Rollo’s pretending he can bring it to life and he’ll make money out of it. Well, they can’t do it now. I’ve hidden the body. It was the only thing to do. Do you understand? Whatever happens they must not find the body.”

Susan sat rigid, the telephone clamped to her ear, her mind only half grasping what he was saying.

“I don’t understand,” she said, looking fearfully over her shoulder at the trunk. Her heart contracted and she began to tremble. “Body? What do you mean?”

“Don’t be soft,” Joe said fiercely. “The body’s embalmed. It doesn’t look very nice, but that can’t be helped. You needn’t look in the trunk.”

The room spun before Susan’s eyes. “No!” she cried. “Oh Joe . . . please . . .”

“I can’t talk anymore. Someone’s coming . . .” his voice broke off. There was a moment’s silence, then he said, “They’re here! He’s sent for them . . .” and the line went dead.

Joe put the telephone down on the table and looked at Rollo and Gilroy with sullen, expressionless eyes.

Kester Weidmann, his face working loosely, his eyes blank with grief, looked like a pygmy beside Rollo. He fluttered his hands at Rollo and then pointed to Joe.

“That’s Joe,” he said. “Joe’s a good boy. He’ll help. Where have you been, Joe? Cornelius has gone. Someone has taken him away.”

Joe felt Rollo’s eyes were watching him suspiciously.

“What do you mean—gone?” he said, through dry lips. “He was dead, wasn’t he?”

Weidmann wrung his hands. “Someone has taken him away,” he repeated.

Rollo put his hand on Weidmann’s arm. “I’ll get him back,” he said soothingly. “I want to talk to Joe. Suppose you go and lie down, Mr. Weidmann? You’re tired. Gilroy, see he goes to bed.” All the time he was talking he did not take his eyes off Joe.

“No! I couldn’t rest. I must find Cornelius,” Weidmann protested feebly, but Gilroy led him away and Rollo and Joe were left together.

“So you’re Joe,” Rollo said, coming further into the room. “Who were you telephoning to just now?”

“My girl,” Joe said, trying to keep calm. “I can phone my girl, can’t I?”

Rollo smiled. “Of course,” he returned, pulling a chair to the table and sitting down. He glanced round the room, ghostly and cold with its furniture hidden by dust sheets. “Tell me about her, Joe. Who is she?”