My one hope was for delay, and I thought that if only I could keep her in conversation, we might perhaps be missed and discovered by the others. Little Allport was to have arrived at four, and he would be sure to inquire for Janet.
“Yes, of course it’s only a joke, Margaret. Now do stop joking and tell me what it’s all about!”
“You poor silly fool,” she jeered. “They’ll think it was you; that’s the joke. I’ve arranged it all beautifully. What a joy it will be when I see you being handcuffed and taken away. Now it’s time we stopped this pleasant chatter. Janet wouldn’t like you being alone in the dark with me like this, you know. So here goes. One to be ready. Two to be ste——”
I could bear no more. Whether I did the right thing or not I have never been able to decide, but I had a heavy bunch of keys in my pocket, and before she could pour, I hurled them as hard as I could at her face.
And I missed my aim, may God forgive me, and how like me it was, but I missed her by an inch.
She gave a little chuckle, tipped the vitriol—a full quart of it or more there must have been—over Janet’s face and breasts, and was out of the room almost before I had time to stir.
I gave one agonized cry, and dashed round the end of the chest of drawers, only to collide full tilt with one of the beams in the roof. It caught me straight across the forehead and I fell like a log with a crash to the floor.
How long I lay there I don’t know—perhaps for only a matter of seconds—but when I did come round I was dazed and confused. Neither door nor bed could I find. I crawled dazed and helpless about the floor, colliding first with the sloping tiles and then with a pile of boxes. Almost as though it were some other person in distress I could hear myself whimpering and muttering a mixture of imprecation and prayer. How damnably dark it was. Christ, if I could but see!
After what seemed like an eternity of futile searching, I found the door at last, and it was locked. I banged on it weakly and tried to shout, but my head was singing so that I could hardly stand or raise my voice above a whisper. Then I crawled to the broken bed on which my poor tortured darling lay. With hands that shook I found the sheet and mopped her poor disfigured face and body. She was covered with a kind of filthy slime. Death and decay. Death—and decay.
I believe that I must have fainted. There was a crash and the room seemed to fill with a crowd of angry men. The Tundish, angry and fierce, was shaking me to and fro.