He stiffened his shoulders and increased his pace. In a minute or so he reached the parking lot.
Then a thought struck him that again stopped him dead in his tracks and filled him with sick panic.
Had the car attendants kept a book in which they entered the registration number of every car parked in the lot.
He was sunk if the attendant had taken his number. The police would be
certain to question the attendant. They would give him Ken’s description, and he must remember him. All he had to do then would be to turn up his book and give the police Ken’s number. They would be at his house in half an hour.
Shaken by this thought, Ken stepped into a dark alley while he tried to think what to do. From where he stood he could see the entrance to the parking lot. He had a clear view of the little hut by the gates. A light burned inside the hut, and he could just make out the bent figure of the attendant as he sat by the window, reading a newspaper.
Ken had to know if there was a registration book in the hut. He daren’t drive away without making certain the attendant hadn’t his number. If the book existed he would have to destroy it.
He leaned against the wall of the alley and watched the hut. Perhaps someone would come for his car and the attendant would leave the hut, giving Ken a chance to slip in and see if the book was there. But it was now quarter-past two. The chances of anyone collecting his car at this hour was remote. Time was running out. He couldn’t afford to wait.
He braced himself and, leaving the alley, he crossed the road and walked into the parking lot.
The door of the hut stood open, and he walked in.