Maurice Procter - Two men in twenty

He stood up and wiped his face with his handkerchief. A woman appeared, walking past the end of the block where the man had walked before. He knew that presently she would look along the street, so he also began to walk. A car passed also. The woman looked at him, and looked away. He walked to the corner, and saw her still moving away. He went back to the door.

It was a minute's work to unwrap the wire and disengage the ring, and pull the whole thing under the door. Then he gave his attention to the lock. He probed it with the instrument which he called his 'twirl', but could not move any part of it. He produced a tiny oilcan in a little home-made envelope of duster cloth, and dosed the lock liberally with the lubricant which engineers call 'penetrating oil', taking care not to spill oil on the outside of the keyhole.

When that was done he went away, to give the oil time to do its work. He lit a cigarette thankfully, and wondered if he would be able to find a place of non-alcoholic refreshment. Thinking of that, he realized that he was not a great distance away from the North Central Station. 'I'll get a cup of coffee in the buffet,' he decided.

Near the station he passed a small hotel. Almost without volition he entered. He said to the girl at the reception desk: 'A friend of mine is stayin' at one of the hotels around here, and I've forgotten which one. Her name is Battle. Mrs. Battle.'

The girl did not need to look at the register. She smiled and said: 'I'm sorry. There's no Mrs. Battle here.'

After that, the need for a cup of coffee was forgotten. France made the same inquiry at another hotel, and then at a third he found Dorrie. He did not need to ask for her. He saw her sitting in the farthest corner of the tiny lounge, idly turning the pages of a periodical. There was no one else in the room.

She brightened perceptibly when she saw him but, he reflected ruefully, that might only have been the reaction of any bored person on the arrival of company. He could hardly expect her to be in love with him so soon, though he hoped that propinquity and his own conscious efforts would eventually win her completely.

He sat down beside her. 'You all right?' he asked.

'Yes. My room is comfortable enough, and there's quite a nice little dining-room. I'm going to have a meal quite soon, and then I'll go to bed.'

He nodded. 'That's the idea. I shall come for you tomorrow morning at ten, in a car. Be ready, somewhere near the door.'

'I'll be ready,' she said. 'What did Howie say?'

He told her. 'I believe he thinks you've gone to London,' he concluded. Then he asked: 'Any regrets?'

'Lots of regrets.'

'You want to go back to him?'

'No. Never. Never.'

'Dorrie, I want to get one thing clear. I don't want you to be comin' to me just to spite Howie. I know you must be hatin' him just now.'

'You're wrong about that. I don't hate him. I'm just sick and tired of his whole carry-on. I knew he'd try it on with Flo one day. I could sort of sense it. And I knew that would be the finish for me. I never want to see him again, and I'm not sorry about it.'

'Why the regrets, then?'

'Wasted years. Years living on promises. I married Howie when I was eighteen. Now I'm nearly twenty-nine.'

'You're just a child, with a lifetime to live. I'm thirty-five.'

'I've done a good trade, then,' she said with a smile. 'Howie is thirty-eight.'

Then she saw the marks on his hands where wire had cut into them. 'Oh dear,' she said. 'You're on with the job already?'

'I've just been having a look at it.'

'I wish you weren't going to do it. I wish you'd finished now.'

'I'd like to. But if I break away now, Howie might guess I've gone with you. I don't want him to know that.'

Still she tried to dissuade him. She told him that the London police were seeking Cain. He listened doubtfully, wondering if this could be a typical feminine wile, intended for his own good. But when she told him Cain's story of being suspected of a post-office robbery he believed her. Cain's tale was plausible, and he was inclined to believe that too. After all, to make a suspect of a man with a record like Cain's the police only needed a witness to describe a person who was somewhat like him.

'I'll go through with it, for the last time,' he said. He was confident that he would escape, even if something went wrong. 'Then,' he added, 'we'll be together. And free as the birds.'

Her smile was nervous. 'I wonder how it'll be. You and me.'

'It'll be all right,' he reassured her. 'I won't rush you. I'll give you time to get used to us being together. I don't even know yet if you'll want me as-as a man.'

'Ah, but I do. Or at least I will, when the time comes. I've thought about it.' She coloured a little. 'For a while I've thought about it, before I said I'd leave Howie. I'm a bad woman.'

He laughed at that, and she asked: 'Where will we go?'

'Where do you want to go?'

'Anywhere, but not London. Not so long ago the only thing I wanted was to get back to my own house. Now, I don't want to see it again, ever.'

'From here we'll go to the seaside for a few days, and then we'll decide where we're going to settle.'

'Will we be on the crook?'

He shook his head. 'I've got some capital, something I never had before. We'll try it straight. Does that suit you?'

She breathed her relief. 'It's what I've always wanted.'

He looked upward through a window, at the sky. 'I'll have to go now,' he said. 'Be ready at ten in the morning. In the meantime, don't forget what I said about going out, even if you get bored to tears.'

'I'll be good,' she said. 'I'll have my meal now, and then go upstairs.'

He left her then, and returned to Haddon and Walker's. His reconnaissance was as thorough as it had been at the first approach. The district was quieter, and he saw no policemen. He set to work on the back-door lock. It still seemed to be immovable, but he persisted, probing gently and adjusting his 'twirl' again and again. He felt the wards of the lock move slightly, and knew then that he would be successful. He made another adjustment, and the lock clicked over. He opened the door, closed it again and locked it.

He returned to Churlham. Sitting in the bus he speculated on what he would do to make an honest living.

As he walked from the bus to 22 Naylor Street he was seen by the police officers in Otto Neubaur's place. 'Jimmy the Gent,' said one detective to another. 'He'll be twirling a lock when he drops dead. He's one of those.'

There was no doubt that Cain had been worried by France's long absence. 'Where the hell have you been?' he demanded. 'I thought you'd run into trouble.'

'I did,' said France. He showed his marked hands, and told the story of the obstinate lock and bolt.

'And you actually opened the door and locked it again? We can go straight in, then?'

'More or less.'

'Fine,' said Cain. 'We'll make a packet.' He looked at Flo. 'We'll go to the south of France after this.'

France assumed that he would console himself with his wife's sister as long as the attraction lasted. The fool. Anybody who had Dorrie was a fool to lose her, in his opinion.

Coggan said: 'We'd better go and get our transport,' and France replied: 'I'll have a cup of tea first.'

On her best behaviour, trying to show that Dorrie's absence was not important, Flo went into the kitchen and made tea. Through the window the beginning of night showed in the sky as he smoked and sipped his tea, and listened to talk of Cain and the others. They were all in good spirits, each one anticipating a holiday.

Then France and Coggan went out. They returned in darkness, in a smart little van bearing on its body the inscription: 'Williams the Florist'. They left it outside the back gate, and Cain went to look at it. The body was light yellow, and the lettering was red. He returned to the house grumbling about it. 'It's too conspicuous,' he said.