put it on the bed and opened it and looked at the few remnants of
Mark’s life. I hoped that when I went I’d leave more than a few books,
a few clothes and a doubtful reputation. The clothing was of no
particular interest but, as I lifted up a jacket, a small leather-bound
notebook fell out of the breast pocket.
I picked it up and examined it. It had obviously been used as a diary
but most of the entries were in shorthand, once Pitman’s, but adapted
in an idiosyncratic way so that they_ were incomprehensible to anyone
but the writer – Mark.
Occasionally there were lines of chemical and mathematical notation and
every now and then there was a doodled drawing. I remembered that Mark
had been a doodler even at school and had been ticked off often because
of the state of his exercise books. There wasn’t much sense to be made
of any of it.
I put the diary on my dressing table and turned to the larger
notebooks. They were much more interesting although scarcely more
comprehensible. Apparently, Mark was working on a theory of nodule
formation that, to say the least of it, was harebrained – certainly
from the point of view of orthodox physical chemistry. The time scale
he was using was fantastic, and even at a casual glance his qualitative
analysis seemed out of line.
Presently I heard Geordie come in. He popped his head round the door
of the bedroom and said triumphantly, “I’ve got the tickets.
Let’s have a slap-up dinner first and then go on to the theatre.”
“That’s a damned good idea,” I said. I threw the notebooks and the
clothing back into the case and retied the lid down.
Geordie nodded at it. “Find anything interesting?” I grinned.
“Nothing, except that Mark was going round the bend. He’d got hold of
some damn fool idea about nodules and was going overboard about it.” I
shoved the case under the bed and began to get dressed for dinner.
It was a good dinner and a better show and we drove home replete with
fine food and excellent entertainment. Geordie was in high spirits and
sang in a cracked and tuneless voice one of the numbers from the
show.
We were both in a cheerful mood.
I parked the car outside the block of flats and got out. There was
still a thin drizzle of rain but I thought that by morning it would
have cleared. That was good; I wanted fine weather for my leave. As I
looked up at the sky I stiffened.
“Geordie, there’s someone in my flat.” He looked up at the third floor
and saw what I had seen – a furtive, hunting light moving at one of the
windows.
“That’s a torch.” His teeth flashed as he grinned in the darkness.
“It’s a long time since I’ve had a proper scrap.” I said, “Come on,”
and ran up into the foyer.
Geordie caught my arm as I pressed for the lift. “Hold on, let’s do
this properly,” he said. “Wait one minute and then go up in the
lift.
I’ll take the stairs – we should arrive on your floor at the same
time.
Covers both exits.” I grinned and saluted. “Yes, sergeant.” You
can’t keep an old soldier down; Geordie was making a military operation
out of catching a sneak thief – but I followed orders.
I went up in the lift and stepped out into the lighted corridor.
Geordie had made good time up the stairs and was breathing as easily as
though he’d been strolling on the level.
He motioned me to keep the lift door open and reached inside to press
the button for the top floor. I closed the door and the lift went
up.
He grinned in his turn – “Anyone leaving in a hurry must use the stairs
now. Got your key?” I passed it to him and we walked to the door of
my flat, treading softly. Through the uncurtained kitchen window I
could see the flash of a torch. Geordie cautiously inserted the key
into the lock. “We’ll go in sharpish,” he whispered, gave the key a
twist, threw open the door and plunged into the flat like an angry
bull.
As I followed on his heel I heard a shout -“Ojo!” – and the next thing
I knew was a blinding flash in my eyes and I was grappling with someone
at the kitchen door. Whoever it was hit me on the side of the head, it
must have been with the torch because the light went out. I felt dizzy
for a moment but held on, thrusting forward and bringing my knee up
sharply.
I heard a gasp of pain and above it the roar of Geordie’s voice from
further in the flat – possibly the bedroom.
I let go my grip and struck out with my fist, and yelled in pain as my
knuckles hit the kitchen door. My opponent squirmed out from where I
had him pinned and was gone through the open door of the flat.
Things were happening too fast for me. I could hear Geordie swearing
at the top of his voice and the crash of furniture. A light tenor
voice called, “Huid! Huid! No dispar6is! Emplead cuchillos!” Then
suddenly someone else banged into me in the darkness and I struck out
again.
I knew now that this assailant would certainly have a knife and
possibly a gun and I think I went berserk – it’s wonderful what the
adrenal glands will do for a man in an emergency. In the light from
the corridor I caught a glimpse of an upraised knife and I chopped
viciously at the wrist. There was a howl of pain and the knife
clattered to the floor. I aimed a punch at where I thought a stomach
was – and missed.
Something was swung at the side of my head again and I went down as a
black figure jumped over me. If he hadn’t stopped to kick at my head
he would have got clean away, but I squirmed to avoid his boot and
caught his leg, and he went sprawling into the corridor.
I dived after him and got between him and the stairs, and he stood in a
crouch looking at me, his eyes darting about, looking for escape.
Then I saw what he must have swung at my head in the flat – it was
Mark’s suitcase.
Suddenly he turned and ran, towards the blank end of the corridor.
“I’ve got him now,” I thought exultantly, and well after him at a dead
run. But he had remembered what I’d forgotten the fire escape.
He might have got away then but once again I tackled him rugby-fashion
so that I floored him just short of the fire escape. The fall knocked
the breath out of me and he improved the shining hour by kicking me in
the face. Then, as I was shaking my head in dizziness, he tossed
Mark’s case into the darkness.
By the time I regained my feet I was between him and the metal
staircase and he was facing me with his right hand, now unencumbered,
darting to his pocket. I saw the gun as he drew it and knew the
meaning of real fear. I jumped for him and he side-stepped frantically
trying to clear the gun from his pocket – but the foresight must have
caught on the lining.
Then I hit him hard on the jaw and he teetered on the top step of the
fire escape. I hit him again and slammed him against the railing and,
to my horror, he jackknifed over. He didn’t make a sound as he fell
the three floors into the alley and it seemed a long time before I
heard the dull thump as he hit the ground.
I looked down into the darkness and saw nothing. I was conscious of
the trembling of my hands as.they gripped the steel rail. There was a
scurry of footsteps and I turned to see Geordie darting down the
stairs. “Leave them,” I shouted.
“They’re armed!” But he didn’t stop and all I heard was the thud of
his feet as he raced down the staircase.
The tall thin man who lived in the next flat came out in a dressing
gown. “Now, what’s all this?” he asked querulously.
“A chap can’t listen to the radio with all this racket going on.”
I said, “Phone the police. There’s -been an attempted murder.” His
face went white and he looked at my arm. I looked down and saw blood
staining the edges of a slit in the sleeve of my jacket. I couldn’t
remember being knifed and I felt nothing.
I looked back up at him. “Well, hurry,” I yelled at him.
A gunshot echoed up the stairwell and we both started.
“Christ!” I clattered down the stairs at top speed, all three flights,