For a
while Mick was absorbed in his smoke, and then I saw him slowly turn
his head to the door. It was a languid movement. His dark eyes were
half veiled as he watched for the entrance of someone who fumbled at
the latch. Then, in an instant, as the face of the newcomer thrust
forward, Black Mick's whole personality seemed to change. His eyelids
lifted, showing great, glowing eyes staring from a cold set face. His
back squared, and the table, clamped to the floor, creaked protestingly
as his sprawled legs were drawn up and the knees pressed against the
under part. A second only he stared, then slung himself full forward.
The newcomer was a live man, quicker than Mick. The recognition between
the two was apparently mutual; for as Mick vaulted the table the other
rushed forward, grabbed the poker from the grate, and got home on
Mick's head with it. Before I could get near enough to grip, the door
again banged and our visitor had disappeared.
"There was a girl in it," said Mick to me when we took the road
together a fortnight later, and that was as far as he got in
explanation.
Pages:
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318