Maurice Procter - Two men in twenty

France did not state what he would do. After lunch, when the others had gone out, he was still in the house. He heard a discussion between Cain and Dorrie about shopping.

'We should have enough,' she said, 'if we're all going away from here tomorrow.'

'There's nothing been decided about that, yet,' her husband replied. 'The heat might be on, for all we know. We might have to lie low for a day or two. Better get something in, while you have the chance.'

'All right. You coming with me, Flo?'

'Coo, I've only just finished the washing up. I've never been off my feet since eleven o'clock.'

'Maybe the Gent'll go with you,' Cain suggested. France looked up from the paper-backed book he was reading. 'Sure, I don't mind,' he said. 'A breath of air won't hurt.'

It was a fine afternoon. Dorrie and France were duly observed by Policewoman Dale and Detective Constable Ducklin as they walked along Naylor Street towards Churlham Road. 'Here they come,' Dale commented. 'The same couple I saw shopping before. That's Edward James France, alias Jimmy the Gent.'

Ducklin was interested. It was his first sight of France. 'The door-and-window man,' he said. 'You've got to hand it to Martineau. He picked out two of that mob in his top twenty. It was good forecasting.'

'I wonder if she's Cain's wife, or the sister.'

'The sister, I should think. My word, she's a good-looking lass.'

Dale sniffed. 'Do you really think so?'

Ducklin grinned covertly. Dale in plain clothes was a smart girl, but nobody would look twice at her when that crooks' moll was in sight.

Down in the street, Dorrie was considering what she would buy. 'I'd better not get any fish,' she said. 'We may have to leave it behind. What do you think?'

'I was goin' to suggest some more of that fellow's ham,' France replied. 'But just look at the shop.'

The street was thronged with women doing their week-end shopping. Otto Neubaur's shop was packed to the door.

'I'm not waiting in that crowd,' Dorrie said. 'Let's go up this way.'

'Sure. Let's go further afield. I'm enjoying the walk.'

She smiled, sensing his pleasure in her company. She liked him more when she was alone with him, and she felt rather guilty about it. To her it seemed to be a sort of unfaithfulness, having so much liking for a man who was not her husband.

France was content, but he was also watchful. Dorrie became aware of this. She reflected that it would be a shame if they were picked up by the police when the gang's affairs were about to be wound up. She found a shop where she could buy a whole fillet of excellent beefsteak.

'That'll do, with what we've got,' she said. 'Let's get back.'

On the way back he asked: 'Where will you go when we split up? Back to the Smoke?'

She hesitated. Though she liked France, she owed all her loyalty to Cain. He had not told his accomplices that the London police were seeking him. Yesterday and the day before, their morale had been low enough without that.

'I don't know,' she said. 'It depends on Howie.'

He noticed the hesitation. He sensed that her answer had been an evasion.

'Look,' he said. 'Whatever happens, I'm on your side.'

There was gratitude in her smile. He was so obviously sincere.

When they entered No. 22 the place seemed to be deserted. Dorrie went and looked in the kitchen. She looked at France, opened her mouth to ask a question, then closed it again with a certain decisiveness. Her face was pale. France said nothing, though he was noticing everything.

Dorrie left her basket in the kitchen and went up the uncarpeted stairs. Listening, France heard the click of her heels on the boards of the landing. She tried a door, rattled it. Apparently it was locked. There was the click of her heels again as she went to look in the other bedroom. Flo's room, that would be, he guessed.

She came downstairs, white faced and breathing hard. She and France stared at each other.

'I'll run away with you if you want me,' she said. 'I won't stay in this house another night.'

France did not answer immediately. He seemed to be considering her, looking at her as if he would read her mind. While they stood in silence, there was noise upstairs: the sound of a key turned hurriedly, then the soft thud of shoeless feet as Flo ran to her own room. A door closed.

Then came Cain's voice, high with agitation. 'Dorrie! Come up here, will you?'

Dorrie ignored the request. She looked at France, waiting for his reply.

'All right,' he said. 'I do want you.'

'Dorrie!' Cain bawled. 'There's nothing wrong! Come up here and let me talk to you!'

France could imagine the man hurriedly dressing himself. Dorrie said: 'I'm going this minute. What shall I do?'

'How much money have you?'

'Nearly thirty pounds in my purse.'

'Good. Empty that stuff out and take your shoppin' basket. I'll say you've gone for some more bread, or something. Buy yourself a week-end case and some night things, and go to one of those little hotels near the North Central Station. Register as-as Mrs. Battle. Can you remember that?'

'Mrs. Battle,' Dorrie repeated.

'Stay in your room, or at any rate in the hotel. I'll find you there tomorrow. Right?'

She nodded her head submissively. He was her man now.

'I'll come for you,' he said. 'Nothing will stop me.'

He picked up the shopping basket and emptied its contents on to the kitchen table. He gave it to Dorrie, who took it in her left hand. She turned away. There were leisurely footsteps on the stairs, and she paused at the foot. Flo came down slowly. When she came into his view, France could see that her hair was not quite right and that her cheeks were redder than usual. But she had dabbed powder on her face, and she was fully dressed in a black sweater and slacks. She showed no embarrassment but seemed to have an air of restrained excitement, or triumph perhaps.

The sisters met at the foot of the stairs. Dorrie took a long look at Flo. The glance which met hers was insolent, or derisive. She said: 'You always did want what was mine. Well, you can have it.' Then her right hand came up with a slap which sent the other girl reeling. She did not follow up the blow, but turned away and walked to the front door, and out of the house. She closed the door with a force which made the windows rattle.

Cain came running down the stairs. His hair was awry, his face mottled, his forehead wrinkled with intense concern. He looked at Flo, standing with a hand to her cheek, and at France, who was calmly unwrapping the fillet of steak.

'Where's she gone?' he demanded.

'She went out again with her shoppin' basket,' France said without looking at him. 'Bread was mentioned.'

At first Cain was relieved. He had been given time, time to make up a tale, time for Dorrie to cool down. Everything might yet be all right.

But Flo's look was not reassuring, and he did not like France's air of studied indifference. 'What else did she say?' he asked.

'She smacked my face,' Flo said.

'Oh, oh,' Cain said. The utterance was almost a groan. 'But didn't she say anything ?'

'She said I'd always wanted what she had, and I could have it.'

Cain winced. He stood in thought. Then he said: 'I'll talk to her when she comes back.'

France nodded as if he thought that was a good idea. He went and sat down with his paper-backed book, and tried to read. Time went by. Dorrie did not return, though he had a nagging fear that she might change her mind and do so.

When Husker and Jolly came in, Cain was gloomily helping Flo to produce steak and chips. Bill Coggan came in, looked in the kitchen and said: 'Ah, prairie horse and French fried. Yum! Where's Dorrie?'

Cain did not look at him. 'We had a bit of a tiff,' he said. 'She went out in a huff, to do some more shopping. She isn't back yet.'