He was bruised and shaken but still conscious. Hubert and Judy had disappeared.
He scrambled to his feet and raced along the platform. In the time available there was only one exit they could have reached. He turned the corner. The staircase ahead was empty. He raced up it, taking the steps three at a time, turned the next corner and there they were near the top of the next flight.
Hubert heard the hurrying footsteps behind him and whirled round. When he saw Harry he thrust his free hand under the lapel of his jacket and drew out a revolver. But he did not aim it at Harry. He thrust the barrel against Judy’s chest. The threat of the gesture was unmistakable.
‘Keep back, Dawson. Well back. Come up one step and she gets it.’
He began to move away, watching Harry all the time. He must have tightened his grip on the arm, for Judy gasped out loud and her face contorted.
Paradoxically it was that small act of vicious cruelty which brought about Hubert’s downfall. The pain made Judy desperate and the sight of her agonised face steeled Harry to risk anything.
As Hubert glanced behind him to see whether all was clear round the next corner, she stamped her sharp heel on that vulnerable part of the human anatomy, his instep. In an instinctive movement of retaliation, he raised the gun to whip her across the face with its hard jaggedness.
Harry saw the momentary opening and flung himself at the man. His momentum threw him between Judy and Hubert. Hubert released his hold on Judy’s arm, but as the two men fell to the ground he still had a firm grip on the gun. He was slightly on top of Harry, whose head had struck one of the steps.
Hubert was trying to force the barrel round against Harry when a fury hit him from behind. Judy flung herself on the gun, seizing it with both hands to prevent Hubert aiming it at Harry. Then she dipped her head and sank her teeth into the back of his hand, felt them bite through flesh and blood to the bone beneath.
Hubert howled and relaxed his grip. The gun clattered on to the stone step. She picked it up and stood back, covering him. Hubert took one look at her expression and knew that she was capable in that moment of emptying the chamber into his body. He put his bleeding hand to his mouth, sucking at the wound.
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Don’t shoot.’
He knew what was going through Judy’s mind. Not just the pain he had inflicted on her, but Linda Wade’s ruined looks, Peter Newton’s callous murder, the sacrificial deaths of Tom Dawson and Arnold Conway.
‘For God’s sake, Dawson,’ he said as Harry got to his feet. ‘Get that gun from her.’
Harry moved round beside Judy.
‘I’ll take the gun, Judy. Don’t worry. If he gets up off his knees I’ll kill him.’
Twenty minutes later Judy and Harry stood on the pavement outside St. John’s Wood Station. They were silent as they watched Hubert Rogers, now handcuffed to a uniformed constable, being hustled quickly through the crowd and into the back of a police car. It drew away from the kerb and soon its flashing blue light disappeared among the thickening midday traffic.
The pavement was wet from a recent shower, but now the sun had come out again. Everything seemed very clear and gleaming.
Harry turned to Judy, whose injured arm was tucked under her coat, resting on the button for support.
‘Thank you, Judy. Without your help we’d never—’ He broke off. It was hard to find the right words. ‘What are you going to do now?’
‘I feel like a strong cup of coffee,’ Judy said. ‘Preferably with a tot of whisky in it.’
‘That’s not a bad idea. But I mean – after that?’
She stared up the street, not really seeing it. The wisp of hair had worked loose again and was playing over her brow.
‘I don’t know. I’ve been offered a job in Manchester, but I’m not sure whether to take it or not. I thought I might go away for a week or two. I feel I’ve earned a holiday.’
‘That’s a good idea. Why don’t you go to The Priory at Steeple Aston? It’s quiet, it’s a very nice hotel and as I told you, the manager and his wife are friends of mine.’
‘Yes. I might do that.’ She turned towards him, a slightly mischievous smile playing round her lips. ‘Steeple Aston. I suppose that would mean catching a train from Paddington?’
‘No,’ Harry said with mock seriousness. ‘Certainly not Paddington.’
‘Euston, then?’
‘No.’
‘King’s Cross?’
Harry shook his head again and they both laughed. He took her firmly by the arm, the good arm, and led her towards a coffee bar a hundred yards down the road.
‘You don’t take a train at all. Let’s go and have that coffee and I’ll tell you my plan for solving the problem.’
Bello:
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By Francis Durbridge
The Desperate People
The Tyler Mystery
The Other Man
East of Algiers
A Time of Day
The Scarf
The World of Tim Frazer
Portrait of Alison
My Friend Charles
Tim Frazer Again
Another Woman’s Shoes
A Game of Murder
Francis Durbridge
Francis Henry Durbridge was an English playwright and author born in Hull. In 1938, he created the character Paul Temple for the BBC radio serial Send for Paul Temple.
A crime novelist and detective, the gentlemanly Temple solved numerous crimes with the help of Steve Trent, a Fleet Street journalist who later became his wife. The character proved enormously popular and appeared in 16 radio serials and later spawned a 64-part big-budget television series (1969-71) and radio productions, as well as a number of comic strips, four feature films and various foreign radio productions.
Francis Durbridge also had a successful career as a writer for the stage and screen. His most successful play, Suddenly at Home, ran in London’s West End for over a year.
First published in 1975 by Hodder and Stoughton
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Copyright © Francis Durbridge, 1975
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