“That’s my business,” Joe said, backing away. “Who are you?”

“I should be careful how you talk to me,” Rollo said, still smiling, but his little eyes gleamed viciously. “Why did your master ask where you’ve been? Have you been out, Joe?”

Joe shook his head.

“Are you quite sure?”

“I’m sure,” Joe said, clenching his fists. “You’d better get out. You and the nigger. You’re not wanted here.”

Rollo glanced down at his great hands. “Your master asked me to come,” he said gently. “He’s in need of friends.”

Gilroy came back. “He’s resting,” he said to Rollo. “Have you found out anything?”

“Not yet, but I will,” Rollo said, watching Joe thoughtfully. “I think he did it, but I’m not quite sure.” He pointed at Joe. “You took Cornelius away, didn’t you?”

Joe sneered. “Why should I do a thing like that?” he said. “He’s dead. Who’d want a corpse?”

“Don’t be a young fool,” Rollo said, with a smile. “I can handle this better than you. Sit down. Let’s talk it over.”

Joe didn’t move.

“Sit down, Joe,” Rollo repeated, pointing to a chair on the other side of the table.

Joe drew in a sharp breath, hesitated and then walked stiffly to the chair and sat down.

“That’s better,” Rollo went on. “Now we can talk. You’re young. You can’t handle this yourself. Weidmann’ll pay big money to get his brother back. Let’s save time. You know where the body is. I can get the money out of Weidmann. Suppose you and I become partners? You can have a third of what I get out of Weidmann. How’s that?”

“If I knew where his brother was, I might think about it; but I don’t,” Joe said.

“Perhaps that wasn’t your girlfriend after all,” Rollo went on. “Perhaps it was the person you’ve taken Cornelius to?”

Joe didn’t say anything.

There was a long pause, then Rollo said softly, “I could persuade you to talk, Joe, but I don’t want to be dramatic. It would be so much better if you collaborated.”

“If I knew where he was I’d tell you,” Joe said, flinching inside.

The door pushed open and Butch wandered in. A cigarette hung from his lips and he looked at Joe with a thin smile.

Rollo said, “You’ve timed your entrance brilliantly.” He waved his hand across the table. “That’s Joe.”

“Yeah,” Butch said, leaning against the wall. “We’ve met before.”

Joe shivered. Why had he thought he could get away with this? Now that the man in the black shirt was here, his courage, his hopes and his determination melted away.

“Well, Joe, are you going to tell me, or do you want me to leave you alone with Butch for a little while?” Rollo asked.

Again Joe shivered. He knew if Butch tortured him he would not be able to keep silent. He knew his own limitations.

He had no stamina for pain. He had no courage to face Butch alone. He would talk all right. Then they would kill him.

He was sure of that. When they had killed him they would go to Susan’s place and they would find the trunk. Maybe they’d kill Susan, too, and the fat old geyser. And then they would bleed Kester white. All because he hadn’t the guts to keep his mouth shut.

He ran his tongue over his dry lips. “All right,” he said, “I’ll talk.”

Rollo nodded. “He seems afraid of you, Butch,” he said, and smiled.

Butch said, “Maybe I’d better soften him now.”

“We’ll hear what he has to say first. Well, Joe?”

“He’s here—in this house,” Joe said, not looking at any of them. “I knew what your game was, but there’s not much use going on, is there?”

Rollo leaned forward. “In this house?” he repeated. “So you didn’t go out?”

“Why should I?” Joe said. “How could I get a body away from here? No, I hid it upstairs.”

“He’s lying,” Butch said.

“It won’t help him,” Rollo returned. “It may gain him a few minutes but that’s all.”

“I’ll show you,” Joe said, getting to his feet. His heart thumped dully against his side and his mouth was dry. “He’s upstairs.”

“Where?” Rollo asked.

“He’s in the box-room at the top of the house.”

“Go and see,” Rollo said to Butch. “We’ll wait here.”

“You’ll never find it,” Joe said, with a satisfied smile. “But go if you want to.”

The three men stared at him. Rollo leaned forward. “You’ll be sorry if you trick us,” he said.

Joe looked at him. “He’s up there. You can all come. I’ll take you to him.”

“We’ll wait here,” Rollo said, after a moment’s thought. “Go with him, Butch, and be careful. I think he’s got something up his sleeve.”

Butch jerked his head to the door. “Come on,” he said, “and watch your step. If you try anything funny, I’ll tear your ears off.”

Joe walked past him into the hall. Together they began to mount the stairs.

“I told you to pull out while you could,” Butch said, as they came to the first landing. “Now, see what a jam you’ve got yourself into.”

Halfway up the stairs; Joe decided that now was the time to start something.

His knees went suddenly weak and his heart beat so violently that he felt breathless and dizzy. If he made a mistake now, nothing could save him. If he waited a second longer, the opportunity would pass.

They were exactly halfway up the broad stairs and there would be no more stairs after these. He gulped in a deep breath, swung round and putting both hands on Butch’s chest, pushed savagely. Butch gave a sharp cry, tried to recover his balance, clutched at Joe and then took a blind step back.

Joe struck at him as he fell. Butch heeled over, his fingers sliding off Joe’s arm and away he went down the stairs.

Joe didn’t look back. He flew up the stairs, his head down and his shoulders hunched. He reached the landing as Butch crashed against the banisters, clutching wildly at anything to save himself, but failing to get a grip strong enough to stop the momentum of his falling body. He thudded on the landing below and lay there, stunned.

Joe ran down the long corridor to a small window that overlooked the roof.

He could hear someone—it was probably

Rollo—shouting up the stairs. He put his trembling hands to the window frame and heaved, but the window wouldn’t move. He heaved again feeling a sick, terrifying panic enveloping him. The window was immovable.

Below, he heard Butch cursing as he dragged himself to his feet. He would be up in a moment and then all escape would be cut off.

Joe rattled the window frame, trying to loosen it, but it had not been opened for a long time and paint and dirt had fixed it solid.

He glanced over his shoulder, his breath sobbing in his throat. He could hear Butch stumbling up the stairs. He could also hear Rollo’s great booming voice coming closer. Turning once more back to the window, he crouched and then drove his shoulder through the pane of glass. He stood away and kicked out the remaining splinters as Butch came reeling into sight. Then he ducked through the broken window on to the roof.

“Stop!” Butch shouted, coming to a halt.

Joe paid no attention. He scrambled up the tiles until he reached the top of the gable. He sat astride the gable, his back to the garden, facing the window through which he had come.

The night was hot, and a big moon hung in the sky. Far below, he could see the vast garden and the wood stretching out like a child’s plaything.

Butch peered through the window, his face a blend of savage fury and alarm.

He saw Joe perched on the roof not more than twenty feet from him; he glared at him.

“You’d better come in,” he said, “or I’ll come and get you.”

Joe showed his teeth. He was feeling a little dizzy, but he knew that Butch couldn’t hurt him now.

Rollo came panting down the corridor and shouldered Butch out of the way.

He peered through the window at Joe, sucked in his breath, then he looked at Butch in vicious, snarling rage.