She moved on a little way, still looking in shop windows. While seeming to be interested in goods on display, she was able to count the customers as they emerged from the Co-op. One more customer, a stout, panting woman, bustled into the shop just on closing time. Dorrie crossed the street, seeking a vantage point from which she could unobtrusively count the staff as they emerged. For this purpose she hoped to find a window which would act as a mirror. For her to stand staring at the Co-op was obvious behaviour outside her code of conduct for these occasions.
Directly opposite the Co-op was a smart little women's gown shop with a deep glassed-in doorway. The doorway was arranged so that the shop had one fairly big window, and one window with much less display space behind it. The garments in the windows were few and select, and Dorrie forgot her mission for a moment while she looked at them with real interest. The back of the smaller window was mirror glass, no doubt put there so that prospective customers could see the rear aspects of the things on display.
The mirror did not reflect the Co-op across the street, it showed the shops beyond the Co-op, and beyond the point where Dorrie had crossed the road. And looking in this mirror Dorrie made an unnerving discovery. A little way beyond the point where she had crossed, a tall blonde girl in her early twenties was standing in a doorway. And the girl's gaze appeared to be fixed on Dorrie's doorway.
Dorrie moved further into the doorway. Now there were two oblique sheets of glass between herself and the girl, and she was further hidden by a tastefully attired waxen figure over whose slim shoulder she was looking. She could see the girl quite clearly.
With Dorrie out of sight, the girl seemed to fall into an error common in those circumstances. She assumed that she was out of Dorrie's view. That was evident from the way she stared at the dress shop. She did not take her eyes from it for a moment.
Dorrie was worried, but she was also angry with herself. 'You soppy twerp,' she told herself. 'Letting yourself get picked out by a kid as green as grass.'
She assumed that the girl, obviously a policewoman, would expect her to stay where she was until she had watched all the staff emerge from the Co-op. 'Not on your life, zombie,' she breathed.
She emerged from the doorway and strolled back to the square, where she could see a double-decked bus turning to make the journey back to Somerset Square. 'Buses every quarter of an hour, then,' she mentally noted for future reference. While she moved away from the Co-op and its staff, a glance behind her when she stopped at a shop window made it clear that she was not putting any distance between herself and the policewoman. That person had crossed the street and was following directly, but sauntering at Dorrie's pace and also showing an interest in the shops.
The bus was now waiting at its starting point, and no doubt it would be moving in a minute or two. Dorrie did not hurry to get on board because she had not yet made up her mind what to do. Her eyes took in all the details of the scene. It was pleasant enough: the bright new circle of shops, the big round traffic island with blossom trees and flower beds and seats for old people, and two bright new red telephone boxes. The women shoppers and the clean, healthy children had shed their winter garments, and they added colour to the picture. Momentarily, Dorrie felt a twinge of envy for these women. They lived in their own homes, and they seemed to have no cares. At least they would have no cares of the sort which harassed the wife and accomplice of a thief.
This, Dorrie decided, was no place to 'lose' the policewoman. The middle of the town would be better, in some big, busy store like Maxim's or Woolworth's. Then she remembered that it was early closing day, and she felt the first touch of real fear. A moment later she saw the taxi rank, with one cab on it. The sight cheered her. She quickened her pace, reached the taxi, and stepped into it.
'Town,' she said to the driver. 'Somerset Square.'
As the cab began to move she turned and looked out of the rear window. The tall girl was running. Even so, the cab was already drawing away from her. But she was near enough to read its number. Dorrie saw her stop and write it down, and then turn and dart off towards the traffic island, where the telephone boxes stood.
It was easy to see what would happen. The girl would get in contact with the local police station, and the sergeant there would put out the word. The taxi would be picked up by a police car before it reached the city centre. The men in the police car would talk on the radio and lay on another copper car which wouldn't carry a 'Police' sign. The fellows in this plain car would hope to follow Dorrie to wherever she was going, wherever she was living.
'Excuse me,' she said to the driver. 'Are any of the big stores open this afternoon?'
The question was natural enough, from a woman who did not speak with a local accent. 'Grandage's is,' the man replied. 'It closes Saturday instead of Wednesday.'
'That's an expensive shop, isn't it?'
'They say so. My wife says so.'
'Thank you,' said Dorrie. She was disappointed. Those classy stores were no good for shaking a tail. They were never crowded enough. What she wanted was a popular store crammed with women.
A big hotel was not the answer to the problem, either. Hotels were all right for the dodging game if you knew your way around them. Dorrie did not know the Granchester hotels.
She noticed that the taxi was retracing the route which she had come out to Sedgeworth on the bus. That bus! It would be coming along behind, along this same road. But a moment's thought made her see that the bus would be no good, either. The coppers would have it taped long before it reached the city. They would see the empty taxi and talk to the driver, and make the right guess.
Dorrie felt cornered. If only she knew her way about this damned town!
Well, she had an English tongue in her head. She could always ask.
'I've changed my mind,' she said to the driver. 'I'll get off here. If the shops are going to be closed, I might as well call and see my sister-in-law.'
'I'll take you there,' he said. 'What's the address?'
'No, I'll get off here, please. I'm a bit early and I need a little walk.'
When she paid her fare she gave the man a generous tip, so that his feelings about her would not be hostile. You never know, she thought, what he might say when the coppers talk to him. He might say I went this way when I went that way.
As the cab turned to go back to Sedgeworth, Dorrie turned and walked along the first side street. She did not much care for walking, but now she was afraid that she was going to have to walk a long way. And before she had gone very far she knew that her ignorance of the locality was going to increase this distance. She had entered an estate of new houses. The side street ended, or rather divided, and became the circular road which served the estate. She turned back to the main road. The cab was out of sight. She walked briskly towards the city, hoping to find some way of getting off this dangerous road.
In her mind's eye she saw what would happen as soon as the police found the taxi. They would question the driver. They would arrange for the bus to be picked up and followed into town, so that it could be watched at every stop in case the woman they wanted should alight before it reached the terminus. And they would put that blonde zombie into a car with two men, and it would race round this neighbourhood in search of little Dorrie Cain. When they found her they would tie a can to her tail. They had ways. They worked in relays, sometimes even walking ahead of the person they were after. They would let her think she had shaken them off, when actually they had her in sight all the time. They would follow her home.
Or if she made it clear to them that she wasn't going to lead them home, they would stop her and ask questions, and take her to a police station for questioning. The zombie would say she had been loitering with intent, or acting in a suspicious manner. They would search her, to try and find something which would lead them to her associates. Well, she didn't have anything. Or did she? She began to wonder. Laundry marks, for instance. Was she wearing anything with a laundry mark? A London laundry mark would be en
ough for them, never mind a Granchester mark.
She came to a crossroads. It was a crossing made by a long, straight avenue of new houses. Young trees grew along the kerbs. It had a pleasant air, but not for Dorrie. At this time, going on one o'clock when everybody was indoors for lunch, it was almost deserted. Still, she had to get off the main road. With only a hazy idea of the direction she ought to take, she turned left, hoping that Grange Gardens lay somewhere in that direction. She walked fast, looking back frequently, keeping close to the young trees in the hope that they might help to conceal her should that blonde policewoman's keen glance rake the long emptiness of the avenue.
When she had hastened a breathtaking half mile she found that the avenue was not quite straight. There was a bend which would have been unnoticeable but for an important new view it gave. There in the distance, far away it seemed, a big lorry with a high load appeared and vanished, crossing her line of flight. As she drew nearer to that point she saw more traffic. There was a lot of it; cars, lorries, vans, buses. It was obviously another main road leading into the city. She hurried on, and when she reached it unhindered she thanked her lucky stars. At the corner she looked back for the last time. In the distance along the avenue a car had appeared. In her state of wrought-up trepidation she assumed that it was a police car, but she also realized that against a background of moving vehicles she could hardly be seen from so far away.
She also realized that the car would be right there with her in less than a minute. She looked around, at the traffic, at the shops. There wasn't a taxi in sight, and the only bus she could see was too far away. All the shops were closed. This damned early closing day! But right there on the corner, just where she stood, there was a public house.
The pub door was almost at her elbow. She took one final quick look around, to see if any wayfarer seemed to be interested in her, then she entered. Inside the doorway, in a tiny lobby, she had the choice of three rooms, each door having a pane of frosted glass bearing its designation. There was the Public Bar, the Saloon Bar, and the Ladies Only.
Dorrie went into the Ladies Only, and when she saw that she would be its only occupant she closed the door very quietly. It was a tiny place, with one square table and upholstered seating for about five people around the walls. There was a window through which passing traffic could be seen, and opposite to the window was an open serving hatch with the bar beyond. Obviously the place had been designed so that one or two persons behind the bar could serve the Ladies Only, the Saloon Bar, and probably a little snug for Gents Only on the other side, while the Public Bar would be served by a waiter.
There was nobody in sight beyond the serving hatch and no sound of movement. But voices could be heard. There were at least two quiet-spoken men and one incisive dogmatist. This one Dorrie could hear clearly. He was saying that 'they' couldn't see no further nor Surrey. She had listened to enough man-talk recently, and she knew that cricket was under discussion, and that this was advance criticism of the selectors of England's eleven against the West Indians. Well, she thought, if it kept them happy.
The lower part of the window was semi-opaque, for privacy. By standing on the seat which was opposite the door and sharp left of the serving hatch Dorrie was as far from the window as the room would allow, and able to see both traffic and passers-by. Pressed back into the corner, she waited. The police car—she was sure it was a police car—was about due, and looking through the window at an angle she could see most of the crossing.
To her dismay the car with its police sign slid into view at the kerb beside the inn. It stopped. She could see its occupants, two uniformed policemen in the front seats and the blonde policewoman leaning forward with her head between theirs. They were staring around, talking.
Dorrie stayed where she was. She had been told often enough that the first principle of concealment was immobility, and the second to be of the colour of the background, and the third to be above normal eye level. So she was still, hardly breathing, knowing that a slight flicker of movement would attract the roving glance of the policeman nearest to her, the one beside the driver. She was glad that her neat suit was dark grey, and she was certainly above eye level, but she was terribly afraid that the man in the car would look up and see her white face.
Presently the man did look at her window, but he gave no sign of having seen her. Apparently he had other measures in mind. He turned his head and said something to his companions, and started to get out of the car. Dorrie stepped down quickly, but carefully as if afraid that any noise she made would be heard by him. There was the sound of a car door closing, and then the soft thump of a rubber-heeled tread in the lobby. By that time Dorrie was under the table, making herself as small as possible on the side furthest from the door.
She saw the door open. It opened wide, and she saw a shiny black boot and part of a blue trouser leg as the policeman leaned into the room to look right round the door. The door closed. Another door was opened and closed, and then there was the voice of the man with opinions. 'No,' he said definitely. 'There hasn't been a woman in here since we opened.'
Again a door opened and closed, and the soft tread passed through the lobby. Dorrie did not move. The clear, carrying voice said thoughtfully: 'I wonder if there's anybody in the old women's department.' She moved then, like a flash, because she guessed that her feet would be seen from the hatch. By the time the man came and looked casually through the opening she was standing on the seat again, pressed back into the corner. He went away, and resumed his conversation with a remark about Yorkshire, and of that county's cricket he seemed to be a very reluctant admirer.
As she turned after stepping up on to the seat for the second time, Dorrie had seen the police car moving away. She remained standing up there, and saw the car come back on the other side of the road. It stopped, and its driver waited until he could turn and go back along the avenue. When the car was out of sight, Dorrie waited for about a minute. Then she stepped down and let herself out of the room and out of the inn.
From the inn doorway she looked around carefully. The traffic rolled by. In the distance there was a bus. She stepped out of the doorway and moved to the corner, to look carefully along the avenue. It was again deserted.
She crossed the street and walked along to a bus stop. The bus arrived and its destination was 'City Centre'. She climbed to the upper deck, to be above eye level. Only three more passengers were up there. She sat down with a grateful sigh.
The conductor came. She was waiting with her purse in her hand. 'How much to go right into town?' she asked.
The conductor, a young man, said: 'Sevenpence to you, love,' and she realized that she was still a long way from Somerset Square. She paid for a ticket. When the young man had gone whistling down the stairs she lit a cigarette with fingers which trembled slightly. She needed that cigarette.
Ten minutes later she saw a row of shops which seemed familiar to her, and then to her great relief the bus actually passed the end of Grange Gardens. She alighted at the next stop. Nobody else alighted. No car seemed to be following the bus. She walked back to Grange Gardens, and home.
* * * * *
At home, Coggan, Jolly, and Husker were watching a horse race on television. Cain and France were in the kitchen with Flo. The three of them listened intently to Dorrie's account of her adventure. 'You did right well,' Cain said when all had been told. He turned and grinned at France. 'I told you she was good. She earned her money today, all right. Saved us from walking into a trap. They must be watching all the Co-ops on early closing days.'
'What about me walking into a trap?' Dorrie flared. 'You don't care about me. I was in a state, I can tell you. And I had to walk miles.'
'The exercise 'ud do you good,' said her husband kindly. 'You're a clever girl. Worth your weight in pound notes, you are.'
'We'd better get out of this town,' Dorrie said.
'And why, may I ask? The bogies still don't know a thing about us. All they've seen is a young woman who might
have been acting suspicious. And you've got no form. You're not in the books and they've got no picture of you. Everything's fine. While they're watching Co-ops, we can go in for another sort of business. They can't watch every place there is in a town like this.'
'I think we ought to go back to the Smoke,' said Dorrie stubbornly.
Cain was soothing. 'All in good time, my dear, all in good time. The lights of London for me, too, when we're ready. Just a few more good jobs and then we can retire, maybe for good.'
'I think we should go now,' Dorrie said.
'There, there. There, there. You're all upset.'
France said nothing. He looked at Dorrie and reflected that he also would like to leave Granchester. He didn't feel right there. Somehow, it had an alien atmosphere and this, together with his purpose in being there, led to recurring periods of vague uneasiness. But if he quietly packed his bags and left, he would also be leaving Dorrie, and he did not want to do that.
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