by John Creasey
Griceson’s lips were quivering, but he managed to speak, and when he finished Lois Dacre saw that Arnold Marency was smiling. Smiling!
‘I see. So Branner has gone, and most of the others. I cannot imagine we will have much trouble with them. I’m glad they’ve gone.’
Griceson’s expression was pitiful.
‘Then you’ll overlook the other?’
‘We’ll see,’ said Marency. He looked like a man playing with a toy he wanted to break; and then he smiled at Lois. ‘Well, my dear, our efforts seem about to be crowned with success. I understand this morning that Shovia is preparing to deliver an ultimatum. There has been a strange outbreak in the Shovian Press. Some remarkable story about Great Britain working to get control of Shovia in order to obtain the iron in the Tiberran Hills. Naturally, with that in the papers, the whole country is inflamed.’
‘It doesn’t ring true,’ Jeffs said suddenly. ‘Even Shovia must know we’ve iron and enough to spare here or in the Commonwealth.’
Marency shrugged his shoulders.
‘Fortunately, Jeffs, the Shovian mentality is not so cool and calculating as yours. Remember we have been carefully stirring anti-British feeling in Shovia for months. It’s been very nicely done, thanks to my friends over there. Oh, and while I remember. I very much regret the need for Crabtree’s death. It just could not be avoided; the poor fellow seemed to think he could report what he knew to the Government. I was foolish enough,’ added Mr. Marency, ‘to tell him a little about it. And so—but you weren’t attached to Julian, were you, Jeffs? He used you far too badly.’
‘Far too badly,’ agreed Jeffs. ‘I’m not interested in personalities, Mr. Marency. That kind, anyhow. I would like to know what you’re going to do when the—er—war starts.’
Marency laughed.
‘Excellent, Jeffs; typical of your curious mind. You haven’t discovered what the idea is, eh? I’m surprised; I must say I’m surprised. At all events, there is no reason at all why you should know yet. You’ll all know in good time—even you, Lois.’
‘You can carry secrecy too far,’ Jeffs said mildly, and Lois knew that only two of the men in that room counted: Jeffs and Marency. Griceson seemed to have dropped out altogether, and it was obvious that he was absolutely controlled by Marency’s will. A strange fact, but she thought no more of it. Would there be trouble between them? And would the Department be taking action soon?
Marency seemed unperturbed.
‘A matter of opinion, Jeffs,’ he said airily. ‘Purely of opinion. You are getting a pleasant little sum out of this—twenty thousand pounds, didn’t we mention? You have hardly earned it, but in many ways you’ve done well. Very well. I think you would have succeeded in getting Mueller’s body where this little fool failed.’
‘This little fool’ leaned back in his chair, staring wild-eyed at Marency. Then suddenly his lips opened, and the words came tumbling out. His eyes were blazing.
‘I’ve done my best I tell you, I’ve done my best! Jeffs helped, but I did all the arranging—all of it! I got Mueller to Thornton Lodge, and without that you would never have killed him, never! And you think you’re clever, think no one can hoodwink you. Well—what about her!’
Griceson’s right hand flung out, the finger quivering towards Lois Dacre. The words had come with such suddenness that Lois was taken absolutely by surprise. And as Griceson spoke, Jeffs’s right hand moved. It seemed to go to and from his pocket in a flash, and when it showed again there was a small automatic in it, pointing straight at Lois’s breast.
The girl sat dead-still. Marency’s eyes narrowed. His benevolence seemed to ooze away as he looked at her.
‘What’s this? What do you mean?’
‘She’s working for Craigie!’ Griceson almost sobbed the words. ‘She was at Kerr’s flat this morning. Allwing saw her, and he couldn’t make a mistake in that! She’s tricked us in every way; for all I know she’s given this address to Craigie’s men!’
Lois Dacre’s right hand was plucking at her blouse, near the neck. She was looking at Marency’s cold eyes, and she shivered at the expression in them. Marency spoke very slowly:
‘Is this true?’
She drew a deep breath, and suddenly she seemed to be more confident, more self-possessed.
‘It is, and I’m proud of it! You’re here, but you’ll never get away. Do you understand?’
Marency took a step forward, and his clenched right hand struck at her. Lois moved a little, taking the blow on the forehead. It sent her flying from the chair, and Marency stepped forward again, as though he would kick her where she lay on the floor. But Jeffs’s unhurried voice seemed to break through his rage.
‘We didn’t know until it was too late to warn you,’ he said calmly, ‘and we were both here. I haven’t a doubt that the Z men are watching the house, and I really can’t see much chance of our getting away—unless she helps.’
Marency drew a harsh, biting breath.
‘Speak plainly, blast you!’
‘She might be useful as a hostage,’ Jeffs said.
The blood rushed to Arnold Marency’s face as he replied:
‘Craigie will sacrifice anyone—anyone!—to get me. She’s no use to us. Put a bullet through the little vixen.’
Jeffs’s eyes held the older man’s. Lois Dacre could hear every word as she was huddled on the floor, and she knew what they meant. Jeffs turned his gun towards her, almost casually.
‘I don’t think you’re wise, Mr. Marency, but if you insist——’
‘Don’t talk like a fool, get it over!’ Marency was in a towering rage. Griceson was sitting back, as though this development had meant a reprieve for him. There was not even a prayer in Lois’s heart that Kerr would come, for she did not believe he was near enough.
Jeffs touched the trigger of his gun.
The flame stabbed out; there was a soft zutt!—for the automatic had a silencer—and there was a smell of cordite in the air as one bullet followed another. Lois Dacre drew a deep breath and waited. Seconds seemed like minutes, the agony was dreadful. Then she felt a red-hot pain in her shoulder, and another stab in her arm. She was absolutely stiff and cold for a moment; her body was rigid on the floor.
Still she waited for the finishing shot. Her back was towards the others and she could see nothing.
And then Jeffs said:
‘There you are, Mr. Marency. Now how are you going to get away?’
Lois Dacre’s head dropped to the floor, and she lay there inert, motionless. She knew, although she could not credit it as true, that Jeffs had bluffed Marency; Jeffs had shot her but not killed her; Jeffs believed that the urgency of the situation would prevent Marency or Griceson from seeing where the blood was coming from. It was spreading, ugly and red, over her white silk blouse, over her left breast, sticky and warm. She felt like fainting, but she would not let herself, Jeffs had saved her!
Marency seemed easier now, and his fury was not so obvious in his voice.
‘We’ll get over the roofs, of course. I prepared for such a contingency.’
‘The roof!’ exclaimed Jeffs. ‘That’s something new. Griceson doesn’t give much away, I assure you.’
‘It wouldn’t do.’ Marency was breathing hard now, as though he were more keenly aware of the danger. ‘Well, let’s get up there. We’ll be able to see what happens, Jeffs; it should be very interesting indeed.’
‘See what happens?’ asked Jeffs, without altering the even tone of his voice, and Marency chuckled.
‘Never mind, never mind; I assure you it will be interesting. And it’s the weapon Shovia proposes to use against Great Britain, Jeffs. I’ll give England a month, no more. But come and see for yourself.’
19: The Weapon
Lois Dacre heard the words as clearly as if they had been spoken directly to her. She did not move, and her face was close to the floor.
The meaning of it flooded through her mind. In those words Marency had answered the question that ha
d been in Kerr’s mind and Craigie’s, in the minds of the members of the Cabinet who had been discussing the affair on the previous night. Shovia was not depending on someone’s help for the coming fight. She had a weapon, if Marency was telling the truth, which she believed would turn the scale in her favour.
Lois Dacre had heard no talk of a secret weapon; no one suspected for a moment that there was one.
But Marency, that soft-voiced, gentle old man who had appeared so fond of his daughter and Julian Crabtree, was speaking with easy confidence as he went towards the door. He stepped over Lois’s outstretched legs, and his foot crashed on her. She had to grit her teeth to stop herself from crying out at the agony, but she managed it, letting her leg move sluggishly, as though nerveless.
‘Poor girl,’ Marency said, in that deceptive coo of his. ‘If only she had been wise, and worked with me without trying to be clever, eh, Jeffs?’
‘Yes,’ Jeffs grunted. ‘Shall we leave her here?’
‘Oh yes, she’ll be all right; quite all right. No need to fear the police coming and finding a dead body. Finger-prints and what not won’t help them here, Jeffs, I promise you that. Let’s get up. Let’s get up.’
Lois heard the door open; Griceson kicked against her foot and muttered under his breath. She could hear them going up the next flight of stairs, and she guessed that there was a way up to the roof.
She climbed to her knees very slowly, her head reeling. The pain in her shoulder and arm almost sent her down again, and she shuddered when she saw the pool of blood that had come from her wounds. When she tried her left leg the pain that went through her calf was excruciating. Marency’s whole weight had fallen on it, deliberately, but the bone wasn’t broken.
She had to get downstairs; she had to warn Craigie who it was; had to tell Kerr or the others that Marency was going to try the weapon out. The weapon! She almost sobbed as she dragged herself to her feet and staggered to the door. What had Marency meant when he had said there was nothing to fear about finger-prints?
The easy confidence with which the man had talked convinced her that he was really sure of himself. It was something dreadful, something too horrible for words. What could it be?
Her head was whirling, and she wondered whether she would be able to get down the stairs. She went a foot at a time, dragging her left leg, trying to hold her left shoulder, where the blood was coming fast.
Every step was a torment. She went down, her left leg dragging, terrified lest she made any sound that would reach the others upstairs. She reached the bottom step and clung to the banister-post for a moment, her head reeling, her stomach sick.
And then very softly came a voice, one she had hardly expected to hear again, something that gave her a hope that she had believed was gone.
Kerr’s voice!
When she opened her eyes she saw Kerr, only two yards away from her. She could not see the expression on his face, but she felt the tremendous comfort as his arm went about her shoulders and he whispered, thinking even then of the danger:
‘Softly, Lois. Where are they?’
• • • • •
To Robert McMillan Kerr that moment was the greatest and yet the worst that he had ever known.
He had arranged with Craigie to get in at the back of the house in Trite Street. Burke was there, with Carruthers and Wally Davidson, while a strong body of police and Department men were in near-by houses, in case of need. All four men in the house saw the girl, but Kerr could hardly believe it was her. Her blouse was soaking in blood, her pallor was dreadful, and she seemed to be dragging herself along as though the next moment would be her last.
But at least she was alive!
He reached her quickly, his right arm going about her. His left hand was raised in a warning to the others to keep silent.
‘Softly, Lois. Where are they?’
He felt her body quivering as she answered.
‘Up—stairs. I’m all—right. Bob—they’ve got a gas—or something. Mar—Marency’s going to try it, from the roof.’
‘Marency!’
The word forced itself from his lips, for that was the last name he had dreamed of hearing.
‘All right, dear. What kind of weapon?’
‘I—don’t—know.’
She gasped the words, and then Kerr felt her body go limp. She drooped heavily against him, and his hand and clothes were smeared with blood as he supported her.
‘Wally.’ The word was a whisper. ‘Get her to a couch, see if you can stop the bleeding. Burke—Carry …’
He did not need to say more, for the others followed him up the stairs quickly. Wally Davidson took Lois in his arms and carried her into the drawing-room of 28 Trite Street, while the trio went to find Marency and Griceson and Jeffs, to stop the weapon being used.
Well, they were on the trail now with a vengeance. Marency! Old, plaintive, soft-voiced, good-hearted Arnold Marency! Friend of Crabtree, fond father of Lydia; known everywhere for his gifts to charity and his general benevolence.
‘Let’s get up,’ Burke said.
Carruthers was bringing up the rear. They followed Kerr up the stairs, going as softly as they could without losing much speed. And as they reached the top of the second flight they saw the door in the ceiling, with a loft-ladder stretching to it. Each man’s gun was in his hand, ready for the slightest emergency.
Kerr went first. It was impossible to be really silent now, and he gritted his teeth as his head reached the top of the ladder. If someone was watching, he would be finished.
He expected a bullet as he poked his head through the hole in the ceiling, but nothing happened. It was lighter than it would normally have been, and as he clambered up, finding a precarious footing on the rafters, he saw yet another door in the sloping roof. It was bigger than the loft door, and the sunlight was streaming through. There was the shadow of a man, or men, making an odd shape against the walls of the roof of 28 Trite Street, Chelsea. Three men!
Kerr saw a wider plank than most leading to the doorway, and he took it. Burke was only a couple of yards behind, showing an agility astonishing in a large man, and Carruthers was still bringing up the rear. In all their minds was the thought that if they had only known what Marency had, the suspense would not have been so bad.
Kerr reached the door.
He stopped, his left hand raised to warn the others. He saw Griceson, deathly pale as always, staring; Jeffs, his brown eyes very narrow, staring; and Mr. Arnold Marency standing against a chimney and looking down into Trite Street.
Marency was talking.
‘And at this minute, my dear Jeffs, probably a dozen of Craigie’s men are in houses near by, watching us. They’ll get a shock, a bad shock.’
‘Supposing any of them are in this house?’ Jeffs demanded.
‘Oh, nonsense!’ Marency was testy now, and Kerr’s eyes gleamed as he realised that their presence was not suspected. ‘They’ll wait until we leave naturally, and close in on us then. At least, that’ll be their plan. They can’t get in the house, anyhow. The place is wired up everywhere, and we would have been warned the moment anyone tried to force an entry. I’m not careless, Jeffs.’
Kerr grimaced. There had been no alarm, which meant that the lauded system had not worked. But he did not act immediately. He was trying to see what Marency was going to use, before he was spotted.
The man had nothing in his hands but a cigar. A cigar! Jeffs was watching him lynx-eyed. Griceson was crouching against a chimney-stack, too frightened to move. Kerr took a short step forward on the sloping roof and his lips actually opened in challenge.
And then Marency drew his right arm back, hurling the cigar across the street. Kerr heard him shouting, and sensed the madness in the man’s words.
‘Take that, you fools, take that, and now see what happens!’
• • • • •
The moment of suspense was dreadful.
The sight of the cigar, small and dark as it moved across the street,
fascinated Kerr. It seemed impossible that anything of any importance could be contained in it, but there was something in Marency’s words that told him the worst would happen, that Marency was sure of the thing’s power.
Kerr could just see it as it fell in the small garden of a house on the opposite side of the road. He watched, sick at heart and yet unable to understand what was coming. Then suddenly it happened, and he knew the whole truth.
There was a roar like the exploding of a high-powered shell, a rush of air that almost made him lose his balance, and a sheet of fire that seemed to leap right across the road. Kerr was moving forward, his gun showing, Burke on his heels. Then, as he saw what was happening, he stood back, aghast.
For the opposite side of the street, for ten yards in each direction, seemed to be a mass of fire. It was aflame! And the flames were running fast, faster than the wind, it seemed, stretching yards in every second.
A fire like that, a fire leaping and ravaging Trite Street, from a single, simple-looking cigar! Was it possible?
But there was no time now for thinking, no time for anything but the tackling of Marency, Jeffs and Griceson. For all of them had swung round, away from the fire which seemed to be roaring at their faces. And all three men saw Kerr, Burke and Carruthers, with their guns pointing ominously, and with expressions in their eyes that had to be seen to be believed.
Even Marency was taken aback.
Griceson uttered one high-pitched cry and seemed to fall forward. Jeffs didn’t move. Marency’s face altered and a stream of oaths came from his lips like nothing the cooing-voiced Mr. Marency should have known, let alone used.
‘Craigie’s men!’
‘Craigie’s men,’ Kerr said tensely. All the time the heat from the fire on the opposite side of the street was biting at his throat, and his eyes were watering so that he could hardly see. The smoke was coming now, voluminous black clouds rising towards the sky. The daylight was gone, gloom was over the roof-tops, only relieved by the red, angry glow of the flames. Kerr went on, speaking almost casually, yet his heart was like lead.
