He was out of bed in a second and into the sitting-room. Carver was nowhere to be seen and he felt by the draught that the door of the flat was wide open. He put his hand on the light switch and a voice from the darkness said:
“Don’t touch that light!”
It came from outside the door and it was Carver who was speaking.
Below came the thud of the street-door closing.
Carver came hurriedly into the room, passed him, ran to the window and looked out.
“You can put it on now,” said Carver. A red welt was slashed across his face and it was bleeding slightly.
He put up his hand and looked at it.
“That was a narrow squeak,” he said. “Yes, he’s gone. I could have taken a chance and run downstairs after the door slammed, but even that might have been a fake to lure me into the open.”
The whole building was awake now. Tab heard the sound of unlocking doors and voices speaking from above and below.
“It was the cigar that gave me away,” said Carver ruefully. “I was a fool to smoke. He must have seen the red end in the darkness, and on the whole I think he shot pretty accurately.”