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was fresh-coloured, and a nose inclined to be pug-shaped was faintly tinged with red. The very fair eyebrows were raised, and the fair lashes seemed to emphasise the blueness of his eyes.
    â€œGood evening,” said the Toff.
    â€œGood evening,” said the newcomer urbanely. “Myra, my dear, you were getting too excited, which was hardly polite to your friend. Do I understand you are a Mr. Rollison?”
    â€œYou do,” said the Toff, and as he appraised the man who approached him he knew that he was looking into the eyes of one who would fight ruthlessly. The Toff distrusted him even at a glance.
    â€œMy name is Lorne,” said the fair-haired man.
    â€œDelighted,” said the Toff.
    â€œMy wife,” went on Lorne earnestly, “is a somewhat highly strung woman who has peculiar ideas, Mr. Rollison. I’m sure that you hardly expected to find me here when you came, but I trust you will agree with me that the wise thing to do, and thus avoid a most awkward situation, would be for you to go. I assure you that I shall bear no malice.”
    â€œNice of you,” said the Toff amiably, “but I’m not sure that I want to go yet, Mr. Lorne. “I—” he paused when Lorne’s brows contracted, and the fleshy, red lips tightened. “But please don’t get annoyed. You doubtless heard me mention a man named Draycott?”
    â€œDraycott?—Draycott?—I don’t remember.”
    The Toff was silent for a moment, and when he smiled there was a grimness in his eyes. He stood up, then sat in the chair instead of on it, took cigarettes from his pocket and lit one with exaggerated sang-froid. He closed his case and put out his cigarette-lighter.
    â€œAn interesting bluff, but I don’t think we need carry it too far. You know quite well that your wife brought me here because both of you were wondering who had been to Draycott’s flat. Probably she hoped to get the story out of me, when she had me drunk, but I’ll give her the credit by saying that she didn’t act her part as if she lived it.”
    â€œDon’t talk nonsense that I don’t understand,” said Lorne. “I have apologised for my wife. Now be good enough to go.”
    The Toff stared at him, smoked for some seconds in silence, and then stood up. He looked at Myra Lorne – if Lorne was her name – and raised one brow above the other.
    â€œYou should be very careful,” he warned. “You’re too highly strung to be safe, and when the police ask questions they won’t consider your nerves. Good night, Delilah, and thanks for breaking up my boredom.”
    He looked from her towards Lorne, and there was mockery in his smile. And then he turned towards the door, as if he had no anxiety and no thought other than going out. But as he turned he saw the stealthy movement that Lorne made towards his right-hand pocket.
    The Toff reached the door, stretched out a hand for the knob, and then jumped to one side. He heard a sharp zutt! and a split-second later saw a bullet bury itself in the wood of the door. He did not stop moving, but picked up one of the tubular-steel tables and flung it at Lorne; and the man ducked, so that his second shot went wide.
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Chapter Six
Night Train
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    Things happened so quickly that there seemed no measurable gap between the moment of starting and the moment of ending. Lorne’s quick movement to avoid the table failed, and he was struck on the shoulder. He staggered, and the silenced automatic in his hand fell to the carpet. A third shot, released by the concussion, cut across the carpet and sent small pieces of fluff flying upwards, but it was well away from the Toff.
    He went forward very quickly and picked up the gun.
    He backed towards the door, covering the man and the woman, and pushing a hand through his hair as he went. He was smiling, but not amused. He saw Lorne rubbing at his shoulder, and saw the glitter in