He ran up the stairs, taking three at a stride. Abel followed, panting. The door of Alleyn’s room was open. Fox sat on the bed with the wash-hand basin at his feet. His face was curiously strained and anxious. When he saw Alleyn he tried to speak, but something had gone wrong with his mouth. He kept shutting his jaw with a sharp involuntary movement and his voice was thick. He jerked his hand at the bowl.

‘Thank God,’ said Alleyn. ‘Can you do yet another heave, old thing?’

Fox jerked his head sideways and suddenly pitched forward. Alleyn caught him. ‘Move that basin,’ he ordered. ‘I want to get him on the floor.’

Abel moved the basin and together he and Alleyn lowered Fox. Alleyn had wrenched open Fox’s collar and tie. He now loosened his clothes. Somewhere in the background of his conscious thoughts was an impression that it was strange to be doing these things to Fox whom he knew so well. He began the movements of resuscitation, working hard and rhythmically. Abel quietly cleared an area round Fox.

‘When you’m tiring, sir,’ said Abel, ‘I’ll take a turn.’

But Alleyn scarcely knew he had a body of his own. His body and breath, precariously and dubiously, belonged to Fox. His thoughts were visited by hurrying pictures. He saw a figure that shoved and sweated and set the wheels of a great vehicle in motion. A figure turned and turned again at a crank handle. He was aware, at moments most vividly, of his own glass of untouched sherry on the dressing-table. Fox’s arms were heavy and stiff. Presently his eyes opened. The pupils had widened almost to the rim of the iris, the eyes had no expression. Alleyn’s own eyes were half-blinded with sweat. Suddenly the body on the floor heaved.

‘That’s better,’ said Abel, stooping to the basin, ‘he’m going to vomit again.’

Alleyn turned Fox on his side. Fox neatly and prolifically made use of the basin.

‘Brandy,’ said Alleyn. ‘In a bag in the wardrobe.’

He watched Abel fetch the flask. Alleyn unscrewed the top, smelt at the contents, and took a mouthful. He squatted on his haunches with the brandy in his mouth. The brandy was all right. He swallowed it, poured some into the cap of the flask, and gave it to Fox.

Downstairs the telephone was pealing.

‘Go and answer it,’ said Alleyn.

Abel went out.

‘Fox,’ said Alleyn. ‘Fox, my dear old thing.’

Fox’s lips moved. Alleyn took his handkerchief and wiped that large

face carefully.

‘Very inconvenient,’ said a voice inside Fox. ‘Sorry.’

‘You b—old b—,’ said Alleyn softly.

CHAPTER 18
Mr Legge Commits a Misdemeanour

‘I’m better,’ said Fox presently. ‘I’d like to sit up.’

Alleyn propped him against the bed.

A car pulled outside and in a moment Alleyn heard a clatter of steps and the sound of voices. Abel came in.