the room lit up he would have had the greatest compunction in hitting a blind man: it would have offended his sense of fair play. But now in the darkness things were different. The advantage was quite definitely on the side of his adversary. Superior strength was a legitimate weapon to use provided the other conditions were on an equality. He would lay the little swine out, gather what further information he could, and then clear out. And even as he arrived at this conclusion he heard the gentle click of a drawer shutting: the blind man was by the desk.
He took a step forward, and promptly blundered into a chair. Where the devil was he: he didn't remember any chair in that part of the room at all. He had lost his bearings completely: he did not even know in which direction the door lay. Or the switch. And with the thought of the switch he gave a sudden, short laugh. Assuredly the flesh pots of London had atrophied his brain. He had actually forgotten that in his pocket was a box of perfectly good matches. He fumbled in his coat, and it was then that, too late, he realised the folly of having laughed. It all happened with incredible swiftness. He had hardly felt that hands were touching him behind before they were on his shoulders. Then came a heave, and the legs of the blind man were gripping him by the waist, whilst two arms were flung round his neck. And in the pitch blackness the fight began.
From the beginning it was a foregone conclusion, but the only feeling he was conscious of was one of rage at having been such a fool. Immensely powerful though he was, he knew at once that as far as strength in the arms was concerned the blind man was his match. Moreover he was fighting under the most disadvantageous conditions possible. To dislodge even a comparative weakling from such a position is no easy matter: to get rid of an abnormal monstrosity was an impossibility. And he knew it.
With every ounce of strength he possessed put forward he tried to release the iron grip round his neck: then he went for the legs. And for the third time the chuckle was repeated. He blundered round the room till he bumped into a wall: then with his back towards it he crashed his burden against it time after time. If only he could wind the little brute there would still be a chance. But beyond a grunt of rage at each bump it was useless: the grip merely tightened round his throat.
He was weakening, and the knowledge drove him wild. He began staggering haphazard about the room, whilst the roaring in his ears increased. Once he hit the desk and nearly fell, only recovering himself with a vast effort. But it was his last kick: there was a limit to what even he could stand. His lungs were bursting: the veins on his forehead were standing out like whipcord. Hazily he realised that the room had suddenly been flooded with light, and that two men were standing by the door. Then with a crash he pitched forward on his face and knew no more....
He awoke to find himself in a small, bare room. The walls were whitewashed: the furniture non-existent save for the very hard apology for a bed on which he was lying. The door had a singularly solid look: the window was barred. And for a while he stared round trying to pull himself together.
Gradually recollection returned. The blind dwarf: the dead man: the gambling den. And now where the devil was he? He sat up: his shoes had been removed. And into his still bemused brain came a sudden light. He was in the cell of a police station.
In his mouth was a foul taste, the significance of which he realised only too well. Once, in his extreme youth, he had been shanghaied out east, and the after-taste of a drug can never be mistaken for anything else. After he had been throttled into insensibility, dope of sorts had been forced down his throat: so much was obvious.
He glanced at the window: the sun was streaming in. Then he looked for his watch only to find it had been taken away.
"Awake, are you? What we might describe as some blind—what?"
The man's tone was good-humoured and Jim staggered to his feet.
"Then the description would be wrong, sergeant," he said shortly. "Doped, my boy: drugged. At my age, too, by the Lord Harry! For the love of Pete, give me some water. I've got a mouth like a volcano in eruption."
The sergeant shouted an order, and then looked at Jim curiously.
"Drugged, were you? Are you sure?"
"Am I sure? Of course I'm sure."
He took a long gulp of water from the glass that a constable had brought.
"If you'd got a head like hell with the lid off, and a mouth like a refuse heap, you'd be sure."
"I'm not denying," said the sergeant, "that I had some suspicions of it myself. At the same time nothing seemed to have been taken from you. We have"—he consulted a piece of paper he took out of his pocket—"a gold watch, a gold and platinum cigarette-case, and twenty-six pounds, five shillings, and four pence in cash. Now, sir, you say you were drugged. Who by, and where?"
"I can't tell you the name of the gentleman," said Jim grimly, "though I propose to find it out at the earliest possible moment. Nor can I tell you the exact locality. The nearest I can get to that is that it was somewhere in Hampstead."
"Hampstead!" ejaculated the sergeant. "Hampstead!"
"Why not?" said Jim irritably.
"Well, you know where you are now, don't you?"
"Not an earthly. How the devil should I?"
"You are in Streatham, sir. You were found on Streatham Common by the policeman on duty at seven o'clock this morning."
"What is the time now?" demanded Jim.
"Just after half-past three. You've been insensible for nearly eight hours."
For a time Jim stared at the officer without replying. His brain was beginning to work again normally and it was evident that he must do some pretty quick thinking. What had happened was, up to a point, clear. Having drugged him, they had put him in a car and dropped him as far as possible from the house where the thing had taken place. The two men he had seen just before he finally lost consciousness must have done it. But the immediate point to be decided was the important one. Should he tell the sergeant the whole story or should he not?
Reduced to the baldest terms the story sounded a bit thin. In a house—name unknown, situated in a road—name also unknown, somewhere in Hampstead he had found a dead man. He had then been attacked by a blind dwarf and doped. If he told it and stuck to it the police would be forced to investigate it which would mean publicity. And he did not want publicity. He was very angry, and his definite intention was to deal with the matter himself. At the same time he realised that he was now in England, and that if he said nothing about the murder he was—if the facts came out—bringing himself quite definitely within the scope of the law as being an accessory to the crime. What, then, was to be done? The sergeant was beginning to look suspicious at his silence, and something had to be said. He decided to compromise.
"Do you people know of a private gambling den in Hampstead?" he asked.
"We certainly shouldn't know it here, sir, and I can't tell you what information they have up there. Whereabouts in Hampstead?"
"I don't know," said Jim. "I could probably identify the road, but with regard to the house I'm not so sure."
"Then it was the first time you'd been there?"
"It was."
"But if you don't know the house or the road how did you get in?"
"I was taken there by a man I met," said Jim. "He was a stranger to me, but he seemed a decent sort of fellow."
"Surely you know his name, sir?"
"Sorry, sergeant: I'm afraid I don't. I like a gamble, and he assured me this place was run on the straight. It wasn't: and that's all there is to it. I started throwing my weight about, and got my liquor doped for my pains."
"You'd know this man again if you saw him?"
"If I saw him—certainly," agreed Jim. "And you can take it from me I propose to look for him."
The sergeant shook his head disapprovingly.
"Well, sir, all I can say is that it serves you right. A gentleman of your age ought to know better than to run your head