Hell Is Too Crowded - Jack Higgins [24]
"But you'll only end up getting hurt," he protested.
"Let's put it this way," she said patiently. "I'm going to help you whether you damned well like it or not."
He looked at her with something like wonder in his eyes and shook his head. "You're more of your father's daughter than I thought."
She smiled, conscious that she had won. "Let's get out of here. My digs are just around the corner. We can stay there till train time."
"What about your landlady?"
"No trouble there. She's spending the night with her sister. Told me to leave the key under the mat when I left."
She found a piece of brown paper in which to wrap the uniform and they left, locking the stage door behind them. It was still raining heavily and they went along the alley and turned boldly into the main street.
She took his arm and they walked at a steady unhurried pace, past the lighted windows of the shops, turning into a side street as a police car rounded the corner, skidding slightly on the wet road.
It roared away into the night, bell ringing shrilly and Brady grinned tightly. "They'll turn this town upside down before they're through."
"You'll be on your way to London before they get properly started," she said calmly.
The street was lined with old, brownstone Victorian terrace houses, each with a narrow strip of garden running down to the road. She opened the gate to one of them, and as he followed her along the path, Brady shook his head in bewilderment. There was something elusive about her, a quality he couldn't quite pin down, that made her different from any other woman he'd ever known. Nothing seemed to disturb her composure.
She opened the front door, led the way along the hall, and moved into a large, comfortable living-room. She switched on a large electric fire and turned with a smile. "I'll see to my packing first, then I'll make some coffee. You take it easy and have a smoke. You look as if you could sleep for a day at least."
After she had gone, he lit a cigarette and sat in front of the electric fire and tried to relax. He found it quite impossible. The rain tapped insistently against the window as if trying to get in, and his stomach was suddenly hollow with nervous excitement. For the moment, he was safe and warm, but once outside the door, he was a hunted man with every hand raised against him.
He shivered slightly, feeling suddenly afraid. As he stood up, he noticed an old upright piano against the far wall. He opened the lid and played a few chords. The keys were yellow with age, but it was in tune and he sat down and slipped into an old Rodgers and Hart number. Nostalgic and wistful, a hint of a summer which was gone and memories only now.
He passed from one number easily into another, concentrating on his playing so that the fear left him, and after a while, he glanced up and saw that Anne Dunning was standing at his side.
"You play very well, Mr Brady," she said.
"One of my few accomplishments." He grinned. "And the name's Matt."
She smiled, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. "I'll make that coffee now--Matt. You can change into your uniform while you're waiting. I've laid it out for you on the bed. First room on your right at the top of the stairs."
The room was as old-fashioned as the rest of the house with a great brass-railed bed and heavy Victorian furniture. Two suitcases stood on the floor by the door, another lay on the bed beside the uniform, open and empty. She had obviously rearranged her packing to make room for his tweed suit and trench-coat.
He changed quickly and stood in front of the long mirror of the wardrobe and examined himself. A stranger stared out at him. The uniform itself was a size too small and tight under the armpits, but the cap pulled well down over his eyes, the peak shading his face, made all the difference. He folded his suit and trench-coat neatly, packed them in the empty suitcase and carried it downstairs with the others.
Anne was still in the kitchen and he went and leaned in the doorway. After a moment, she turned