He did not allow himself to think until he had paid off the taxi and was walking towards Knightsbridge. He had no horror at what he had done. It was as if he had stepped on a beetle, no more, no less.
What would Cora do? Would she tell the police? If she did that it would be the end of him; but he somehow didn’t care. He was tired of this business, sick and tired of it. He wanted a little peace. Better keep away from the flat tonight, he thought. He wanted one more night of freedom. He’d go back the next morning. If the police were waiting for him, then he’d let them take him. But not tonight. He’d walk and walk, because he wanted to think He wanted to make plans.
He woke the next morning in a Salvation Army hostel off the Cromwell Road. He remembered walking until he could walk no more, and had crawled into this place at three o’clock in the morning. Now it was just after seven o’clock, and he decided to return to his flat immediately.
On his way back he tried to think about Little Ernie, but what had happened the previous night had a dream quality about it, and he could not get his mind to believe that it had happened.
Even when climbing the stairs to the flat high above Holles Street, he could not believe that the police might be waiting for him He was so tired, anyway, that he couldn’t care one way or the other.
He pushed open the door, and for a moment hesitated, listening. There was no sound in the flat. He went into the sittingroom. There was no one there, but there was a distinct smell of sandalwood in the room. He stood very still, trying to remember whether the scent had been there before Eva came to see him. He couldn’t remember. Anyway, Cora wasn’t likely to have returned. But the thought disturbed him, and he went quickly to his bedroom. Then he paused and looked blankly round the room. His cupboard and chest of drawers were open and empty. His clothes were scattered all over the room. One look at them was enough. They had been systematically ripped to pieces. His flannel trousers were in shreds. His tweed coat was armless and ripped down the back. His shirts were a mass of holes. Even his shoes were cut with a knife. Everything he owned was torn to pieces, as if it had been set upon by a wild animal.
Cora! Of course! She had cone back to revenge Little Ernie. Then he remembered Leo, and he felt so sick and faint that he had to sit on the bed. As he did so, he became aware of something in the corner, half hidden by the dressing- table. He saw red streaks on the wall. He peered forward fearfully. In the shadowy light he could make out fur, blood, and then a squashed paw, and he closed his eyes. He sat there shivering. After a while, he began to cry.
19
Light rain began to fall, and islands of sullen grey clouds knitted together to form a depressing curtain of mist that blotted out the watery moon.
George stood in a shop doorway, his collar turned up and his hat well down on his cars. He carried Leo, wrapped in a bath-towel; the bundle felt hard, a wood carving, against his side. He remained in the shelter of the doorway for some time, a lonely motionless figure, merged into the darkness, unseen.