by J F Straker
‘We were a nice bunch, weren’t we?’ Alan said. ‘And look at us now. Desmond and Bruce dead, Michael under arrest.’ He turned to the girl. ‘You and I are the only ones left with life and liberty. Two out of five. Not many, is it?’
‘No,’ Elizabeth said.
She smiled faintly at his earnestness, the first smile she had managed for many hours. Then the smile faded, to be replaced by a blush that spread up her neck and flamed in her cheeks. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes.
Inspector Pitt nodded to the Sergeant, coughed, and stood up.
‘I wouldn’t know about your lives,’ he said, usurping Jim Watkins’ role of humorist. ‘But if I’m any judge of human nature neither of you is going to be at liberty for long.’
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