He went on ahead. Cora followed, seemingly able to see in the dark. She steered George through a gateway and tip an overgrown path. Then suddenly they came on a small bungalow. One window was open, and light streamed from it into the garden.
The three of them stopped abruptly. Thunder crashed not far away, startling George, so that he clutched Cora’s arm. Her muscles felt hard under his hand, as if she were keyed up, her nerves at breaking point.
They edged forward so that they could look into the room. Crispin, in a blue and white flowered dressing-gown, was sitting at a table. A cigarette dangled from his lips; he was writing on a pad of notepaper. A lawyer’s briefcase lay half open at his elbow. It appeared to be bulging with pound notes.
George shivered. The sight of all that money frightened him even more than the thought of bursting in and assaulting this strange-looking man. He glanced at Sydney. He could just make out his features in the light from the window. He was hissing between his teeth, a frightening look of pent-up hatred in his eyes.
A spear thrust of blue-white lightning split the sky, was followed in a few seconds by a tremendous clap of thunder. George ducked instinctively. A drop of ice-cold water fell on his hot face. It began to rain.
Cora jerked at his arm. Sydney was already creeping towards the front door. In a kind of dream, George followed him. As before, when they had burst into Robinson’s room, he suddenly felt extraordinarily at ease. This was, of course, just another of his fantasies. George Fraser, millionaire gangster, was again on the job. It couldn’t really be happening to poor old George, the lonely, catloving hook tout. Not this: this was too fantastic. It would be all right. In a few minutes Leo would come in and jump up on his bed. Ella would come in with his tea. There was no need to get alarmed, or for his heart to pound like this. He might just as well enjoy this fantasy. What the devil was this little runt of a Sydney doing, leading the way? George Fraser always led the way. It was too late now. Sydney had opened the front door. They were all in the room now, looking at Crispin.
This was exciting! Crispin was behaving just as George imagined he would behave. He had turned green with terror.
George flexed his great muscles and scowled at him.
“Hello, Crispin,” Sydney said.
Crispin put a hand on the leather briefcase. He didn’t move his body and he didn’t say anything.