Trusted Like The Fox by James Hadley Chase

him. She ran the house, did the shopping and eked out his meagre savings with careful economy.
    At the end of the seven days, Clark would not hear of her returning to her Station. A request for an extension of leave was refused. Nursing orderlies were at a premium and Clark was not considered to be in any immediate danger. But he could not bear to be left on his own, and forced Grace to desert. He hid her in the house so cunningly that when the Service police called they failed to find her.
    This situation terrified Grace, and when she tried to persuade Clark to let her give herself up, he forgot his illness and resorted to the razor strop again.
    Unable to go out, or even show herself at the windows, Grace spent three anxious weeks with Clark, who made her do everything for him, not lifting a hand to help himself. His fear of death turned to soured bitterness, and he again vented his hatred of his wife on Grace.
    Then one night, during an air raid, a bomb scored a direct hit on the house, killing Clark and blowing Grace across the street. She recovered in hospital, her ear-drums broken, and the unfriendly world in which she had lived for nineteen years shrouded in an impenetrable silence.
    There had been a number of casualties in the street, and realising her position, Grace pretended she had lost her memory and did not know who she was.
    She was sent to a home where she learned to lip read, while the authorities endeavoured to find out her name and her background. As soon as she was well enough and had mastered lip-reading sufficiently well, Grace ran away from the home, frightened that they would find out she was a deserter.
    Hunger drove her to steal. She was arrested, tried as a first offender, put on probation while inquiries were made about her. Again she ran away, and again hunger drove her to steal. Arrested once more, she came up before a tired and irritable magistrate who promptly sent her to prison.
    Released after serving her sentence, she had registered with the Deaf and Dumb Friendship League but had received no help from them, and had it not been for Ellis she would now be in prison again.
    She did not allow herself to think of the future. Ellis was helpless; scarcely conscious. Her responsibility was heavy. She had to find somewhere for them to hide, a place not likely to be discovered by the police when they came to look for them.
    She bent over Ellis, touched his face. His skin was dry and hot, and he muttered uneasily, moved his head away.
    Carefully she went through his pockets, hoping to find out who he was. His identity card told her that his name was David Ellis and that he lived in Russell Court Mews. Apart from the identity card he had no other papers on him, and only nine shillings and sixpence in his trousers pocket.
    As she handled his clothes she found they were wet; even his soiled shirt felt damp when she touched it. She stood up, frowned across the fairway while she thought. She’d have to get him out of those wet things, otherwise he’d get pneumonia. She became aware that her own skirt and coat were damp and the thought of getting ill herself alarmed her.
    She would have to return to the clubhouse and get a change of clothes for them both. With difficulty she dragged the stretcher further into the wood and tied her handkerchief to a nearby tree marking the place where she left him in case there was an emergency and she had to find him again quickly.
    She touched his arm. “I’m going to the clubhouse. I shan’t be long;” but he didn’t appear to understand what she said.
    “I’d rather die than be caught,” he mumbled. “You’re not to send for a doctor.”
    “You won’t die,” she repeated again, wishing she was as confident as she tried to sound.
    She took his watch out of his wallet, saw it was a quarter to eight. She’d have to hurry, although she was pretty sure that no one would appear on the course until after nine.
    Golf is a rich man’s game, she reasoned, and rich