“You’ll believe there’s Keeban? Think, Steve! If you don’t, you’ll believe I did that!”
“No! I know you couldn’t.”
“And you’ll keep on knowing? You’ll always know?”
“Jerry!” I cried.
“Your word, Steve?”
“Of course.”
“Go back, now, to her.”
I left him to be dragged, limp, down the corridor between the big, uniformed men.
In the grimy room, Dorothy Crewe had lost consciousness again; she was quiet; there was nothing I could do for her.
A pair of shots sounded; a couple more, almost together; and yells.