The Blind Side Read Online Free PDF Page B

and Drakes in the sort of state he was in. A complete toss-up as to whether he would give Ross a black eye or weep on Mavis’s shoulder. Either proceeding was bound to create a scandal.
    â€œLook here, Bobby,” he said, “it’s simply foul in there—Black Hole of Calcutta isn’t in it—temperature about ninety-six and still going up. What you want is nice fresh air. You come along with me. If you feel you’ve got to, you can tell me all about it.”
    Bobby took no notice.
    â€œI’ll knock his head off!” he said in alarmingly loud tones. “Knock it right off and kick it into the gutter!” His voice rose to a bellow. “Shooting’s too good for him—that’s what I say! The dirty swab! Ouch!” He sprang back with extraordinary agility, managed to retain his balance, and demanded with indignation, “What’d you do that for?”
    â€œIt’s nothing to what I’ll do if you don’t stop making such a row.”
    Mr. Robert Foster nursed his left arm, made several attempts to pronounce the word jujitsu, and fell back upon “Damned dirty trick!”
    â€œApologize or I won’t go another step. Do you get that? Apologize!”
    The fact that he could pronounce these four syllables without a tremor appeared to please him so much that he went on doing it.
    â€œYou know, if I were you I should go home,” said Peter.
    â€œWould you?”
    â€œYes—and I’d go to bed.”
    Bobby stared at him with round, blank eyes.
    â€œYou’d go home?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd go to bed?”
    â€œYes, I would.”
    Mr. Robert Foster became suddenly overcome with emotion.
    â€œAh, but then you haven’t lost the only girl you ever loved. And I have. And I’ve not only lost her, I’ve had her stolen from me. And by a dirty swab with pots of money. Pots, and pots, and pots of money. And what I say is, shooting’s too good for him.” He dropped suddenly back into the common-place. “And now I’ll go home.”
    â€œYes, I should,” said Peter with relief.
    Having got Bobby into a taxi before he could change his mind, he continued on his way.
    It was a little short of twelve o’clock when he got back to Craddock House. Mary Craddock’s Dresden china clock was striking the hour as he came into the flat and shut the outside door with a bang.

CHAPTER VI
    It was more than an hour later that he waked with great suddenness. Waked, or was awakened? For the moment he wasn’t sure, but the more he thought about it the more it came to him that something had waked him up. He put on the light and looked about him. The clock made it half past one.
    He got up and looked into the sitting-room. There were some heavy portraits there. One of them might have fallen. That was the impression that he had brought with him out of his sleep—a crash—something heavy falling. But old David Craddock in neckcloth and whiskers still gloomed between the windows; his wife, Elizabeth, stood stiff in puce brocade; whilst over the mantelpiece his daughters, Mary and Elinor, in white muslin and blue ribbons, played with an artificial woolly lamb.
    He went back to the bedroom and listened. He could hear nothing, but that impression of having heard some loud and unfamiliar sound was very strong. The bed stood with its head against the wall which separated this flat from the next. Ross Craddock’s sitting-room lay on the other side of it. If something had crashed in that room it might very easily have waked him from his sleep.
    A crash—yes, that was what it had been. The impression was getting stronger all the time. He hesitated for a moment, and then went to the outer door and opened it. A light burned on the landing all night long. Rather a dingy light, but sufficient to show him the empty lift-shaft, two flights of stairs, one up, one down, and the perfectly bare landing with Lucy