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night-life.
    â€˜The truth is,’ said Charles to himself, ‘I don’t know what I do want.’
    By then he was walking along King’s Road, mildly irritated because there was not a taxi in sight. He was an ass, he should have kept his taxi waiting. Buses bored him. They stopped too often, and conductresses were always pert and conductors usually insolent.
    There were people walking behind him, but he did not really notice them until he came to a corner and found a man on either side of him. They jostled him, and he drew back.
    â€˜Excuse me,’ said one of them, ‘could you oblige me with a light?’
    That was a time-honoured danger-signal, but it was a new one on Charles. In his experience, when people asked for a light they usually wanted something else. Sometimes it was an opening to tell a plaintive begging story. He was prepared to give them a light, but nothing more, and put his hand in his pocket. As he did so he was seized by both arms and something was thrown over his head, a thick cloth, which almost suffocated him. He tried to struggle, but was lifted clean off his feet. He felt frightened and foolish. Something struck his head and darkness engulfed him …
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    The cord which tied the bag was loosened, and the bag withdrawn from his head.
    At first the light was so bright that it hurt his eyes. He closed them involuntarily, and kept them closed until they felt easier. Then he opened them and looked about him – and jumped in alarm!
    The three men wore black masks.
    The masks were hideous. They covered the faces, leaving gaps only for the eyes and the mouth. They were hard-looking and shiny, and would have filled most people with alarm, for in their hideousness there was something both sinister and menacing.
    The man facing him sat at a small desk. The others were on either side of him, standing a foot in front, obviously to make sure that he saw all three masks. These men were much of a height, about the same height as he was, but the man at the desk seemed taller and thinner.
    â€˜Mr. Lumsden,’ said the man at the desk, I am going to ask you several questions, and on your answers will depend your life. Make no mistake about that.’
    Charles stared at him without speaking.
    He was feeling really angry now, more angry than frightened, although the last words had a chilling effect on him. He wished he could see what the man really looked like. He was dark-haired, the light reflected from the black, shining top of his head, but Charles could see nothing of his face. He was well dressed, and he had not attempted to cover his hands.
    â€˜Do you understand?’ he demanded.
    After a pause, Charles said: ‘Yes.’
    â€˜That is better,’ said the man at the desk. ‘Now, Lumsden, don’t waste time, answer me at once. Why did you go to see Palfrey?’
    â€˜I had an appointment with him.’
    â€˜What about?’
    â€˜I didn’t know until I saw him.’
    â€˜Who made the appointment?’
    â€˜My father made it for me.’
    â€˜You are a dutiful son,’ sneered the man at the desk, and Charles flushed. ‘Is your father financing Palfrey in some wild scheme?’
    Charles looked genuinely startled. ‘Not so far as I know.’
    â€˜You have been warned to tell the truth,’ said his questioner.
    â€˜You don’t want me to guess the answers, do you?’ snapped Charles.
    â€˜No, Lumsden, we want the truth. Think carefully. Has Palfrey persuaded your father to finance a project?’
    â€˜Not so far as I know,’ repeated Charles, and licked his lips. ‘The Old Man doesn’t finance wild-cat schemes, he’s too careful with his money.’ He said that with great feeling.
    â€˜I see,’ said the man at the desk. ‘What did Palfrey say to you?’
    â€˜Not much,’ said Charles.
    He saw the other’s hands clench.
    â€˜I warned you, Lumsden. You were with Palfrey