His bedroom was over the street, and about midnight he heard a car drive up and stop, and presently through the open window he heard Bill's cautious call; not much more than a throaty whisper. "Mr. Blair! Hey, Mr. Blair!"
He was at the window almost before the second utterance of his name.
"Thank goodness," whispered Bill. "I was afraid the light might be Miss Bennet's."
"No, she sleeps at the back. What is it?"
"There's trouble at The Franchise. I've got to go for the police because the wire is cut. But I thought you'd want to be called, so I—"
"What kind of trouble?"
"Hooligans. I'll come in for you on my way back. In about four minutes."
"Is Stanley with them?" Robert asked, as Bill's great bulk merged with the car again.
"Yes, Stan's having his head bound up. Back in a minute." And the car fled away up the dark silent High Street.
Before Robert had got his clothes on he heard a soft «ssshush» go past his window, and realised that the police were already on their way. No screaming sirens in the night, no roaring exhausts; with no more sound than a summer wind makes among the leaves the Law was going about its business. As he opened the front door, cautiously so as not to wake Aunt Lin (nothing but the last trump was likely to wake Christina) Bill brought his car to a standstill at the pavement.