Throwing my cigarette away, I walked across the courtyard to the sagging door. I wasn’t any calmer than a hen chased by a motor car, and my heart was banging against my ribs but I went ahead because I’m a sucker for discipline, and I feel, every now and then, it is good for one’s morale to do things like this.
I gum-shoed up the stone steps and peered into a long, dark passage. Facing me was a flight of stairs, several of them crushed flat as if some heavy foot had been too much for the wormrotten timber. There were no banisters, and the stains looked unpleasantly suicidal. I decided to leave them alone, and investigate the passage.
The floor creaked and groaned under my feet as I walked slowly and cautiously into the stalesmelling darkness. Ahead of me I heard a sudden rustle and a scamper of rats. The sound brought me to a standstill, and the hair at the back of my neck stiffened. To be on the safe side, and probably to bolster up my courage, I eased out my gun.
There was an open door at the end of the passage. I paused before it and peered in. There wasn’t much to see except dark- ness. I was in no hurry to go in, and after a few seconds I made out tiny chinks of light coming in through the boarded walls. Even at that, it was much, much too dark in there.
I took a couple of very cautious steps forward, and paused just inside the doorway. There seemed no point in going far- ther, and no point in staying longer. If someone was hiding in there, I couldn’t see him, and I doubted if he could see me, but in this I was wrong.
A board creaked suddenly close to me. The swish of a descending sap churned the air. I threw myself forward and sideways.
Something very hard and that hurt hit my shoulder, driving the gun out of my hand: a blow aimed at my head, and which would have sent me to sleep for a long, long time if it had landed.
I fell on my hands and knees. Legs brushed against my side, fingers groped up my arm, touched my face and shifted to my throat: lean, strong fingers, damp against my skin, and cold.
I shoved my chin into my collar so he couldn’t get a prom grip, straightened, groped in my turn for a hold. My hand touched a coat, went up a powerful bicep. That gave me an idea where his face was. I slammed in a short, hard punch that connected with what felt like an ear.
There was a grunt, then a weight that could have been around fourteen stone dropped on top of me, driving me flat on to the floor. The fingers dug into my neck; hot, hurried breathing fanned my face.