“I’ll come with you all the same.” Brant’s thin lips tightened. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
They looked at each other. George felt himself wilt under the baleful look that had jumped into Brant’s eyes.
“Okay,” he muttered uneasily. “You can come along if you want to.”
There was a long pause and then he said, “Well, we’d better do some work. You ready?”
Brant nodded. “Yes.” He pushed himself away from the counter. “Tonight’ll be interesting,” he added, and followed George out of the bar.
3
George Fraser had little to say while he and Brant travelled by underground to Wembley. Talking was difficult in the swaying, roaring train, and he wanted time to think over what Brant had told him.
If what Brant had said were true, then Robinson had cheated him out of at least twenty pounds. George considered what he could have done with all that money. Twenty pounds! Why, he could have bought a second-hand car, he thought dismally. He had always wanted a car. He had no idea what he was going to say to Robinson when he saw him that night. If it hadn’t been for Brant, he probably wouldn’t have had the nerve to raise the matter at all; but now he had to make a show before this unpleasant, disturbing intruder. He would have to make a shot at persuading Robinson to fork up the twenty pounds. He hadn’t much hope, as Robinson never seemed to have any money, but it might be worth trying. Of course, Robinson might turn nasty. He might even demand the return of all George’s specimen copies of the Child’s Self-Educator and then tell George to go to blazes. Then what would he do? It’d mean he’d be out of work again, and that thought appalled George.
Well, it was no good worrying, he decided gloomily. After all, Robinson was cheating him, and he couldn’t expect to get away with it. He’d tackle him politely and firmly, and hope for the best. It wouldn’t do for Brant to think he couldn’t handle the situation. Brant seemed now to be regarding him with a little more respect since George had mentioned Frank Kelly. George pulled a face. He hoped Brant wouldn’t say anything about that to anyone. He shot a furtive look at the blank, hard face. All he could see was the disagreeable, raw-looking scar and one vacant, glittering eye. Nasty young customer, he thought uneasily. Proper dead-end kid. He wondered if Brant believed him. You couldn’t tell where you were with a fellow with such an expressionless face. Anyway Brant hadn’t asked any questions, and he seemed to have accepted Kelly after a momentary glimmer of surprise.
The train pulled into Wembley station, and with a sigh of relief George got to his feet. He was glad to have something to do. He didn’t want to think about Brant nor what he was going to say to Robinson that night. He forced this disagreeable prospect to the back of his mind and shambled along beside his companion.