by John Creasey
He hardly recognised his own voice.
“Get back against the wall—all one side. Move quickly!”
He lifted his gun, and he saw that they were scared out of their wits. They crowded backwards like a lot of sheep, and Mannering was breathing heavily, not knowing the deadliness of his voice.
“Drop your sticks—fast!”
The heavy walking sticks and two-knobbed pokers clattered to the floor.
“Now move an inch, and I’ll drill the lot of you.”
The Baron spoke as he began to move forward, slowly at first, and wishing he was not burdened with Kulper’s body, although he knew it was as essential to get the man away as it was to escape himself. The front door, heavily barred and bolted, was nearest to him. The drawing-room window was open and he could get through it in a few seconds; fumbling for unfamiliar chains and bolts he might lose precious seconds. Already there were other voices crying out from upstairs and as he moved for the drawing-room he caught a glimpse of a tall, lean, bearded man at the top, with a blunderbus in his hand.
Eldred himself.
The Baron leapt forward.
He reached the door and flung it open, as the roar of a shot came from behind him. Pellets hit against the wall and the door, but he was in the drawing-room and he crashed the door shut. A chair was standing nearby and he swung it towards the door, pushing it under the handle. As it went a crash thudded on the other side.
Eldred’s voice was raised clear and incisive: “Get into the grounds—watch the gates!”
Footsteps thudded as the Baron tore across the room to the window. He swung Kulper out first, feet foremost, and then joined him, hoisting him up again. The faint glow of the moon through light clouds made the grounds of River House look weird and distant, while from the front he saw the white light as the main door was flung open and the hall light shone into the grounds.
With Kulper, he stood no chance of getting to the gates before the men, who would all be armed. Eldred would lend them the courage they had lacked by themselves. The Baron might have reached the gates had he been free to run, but he had to take Kulper, for if Kulper were caught those photographs would be shown, and the Baron’s career would be over.
Mannering swung right, towards the river.
As he turned the moon broke from the clouds, and he could see the silvery surface of the water. On the far side were two or three bungalows with gardens leading down to the water. Kulper had a boat about here, but Kulper might not have told the truth, and for once the Baron prayed that he had not.
The moon was a blessing now, for he could see the path clearly; there was no danger of tripping over unseen obstacles. There was no hue and cry behind him, although he could hear excited voices, and footsteps echoed on the gravel drive.
Running hard, with Kulper slung fireman-fashion over his shoulder, he reached the lawn that sloped down to the river. In the translucent light of the moon he could see a small landing stage, and a launch and two small boats tied up.
As he saw them he heard a bellow from the house, and a clear voice echoed shrilly: “He’s there—the river!”
Other voices took up the cry, and in a second the thudding footsteps seemed dangerously close. He went onwards, breathing hard, sweating as he had never sweated in his life before.
As he reached the landing stage he almost stumbled, and a precious second was lost as he recovered his balance. A glance behind showed him five figures streaming towards him, the nearest man less than fifty yards away.
Not more than ten seconds were available in which to work.
Mannering threw Kulper into the nearest boat, a cockleshell that swayed perilously on the high tide. He forced himself to move steadily, took a chisel from his tool-kit, and bent over the tie-ropes of the launch and the other dinghy. It would have been madness to try to use the launch, for he had no knowledge of the engine and he would lose vital time in getting it going.
The chisel cut through the rope quickly, but the pursuers were less than thirty yards away. He could see one of them with the blunderbuss, but the man was at the end of the string; and the Baron knew he had a few seconds left to work.
He slashed at the second dinghy’s rope, without completely severing it, and then stepped into the first dinghy. Again the chisel slashed two or three times, and the rope parted. The first man was almost within reach, and he flung a walking stick towards the Baron. It sailed over Mannering’s head as the dinghy swung round in the tide, and began to move away. Mannering pushed with his right foot against the landing stage, almost over-balanced but managed to keep the boat upright.
There were five yards between him and the water’s edge.
Another racing figure slowed down, but the man slipped in his haste, crashing into the first-comer. The Baron saw him falling, and heard the splash as they hit the water. It showered up, over the Baron and over the men behind, but the fellow with the blunderbuss was busy; a flare of yellow light and the roar of a shot came almost simultaneously. Pellets splashed into the sides of the boat and the water, but the shot had been too low for serious damage.
Mannering was treading on Kulper’s body as he sat down and unshipped the oars. He forced himself to make every movement deliberate, spending precious seconds rather than losing an oar in his haste. Another roar, and the pellets whistled over his head.
He was ten yards from the bank.
To the right was a dark shadow over the water, cast by a row of tall trees growing close to the river’s edge. It was fifty yards away, and the tide was flowing towards it. The Baron bent his back, pushing the oars well in and taking his first, long-considered stroke.
The dinghy, helped by a fast tide, seemed to leap through the water, and the third shot was well behind him. Another stroke – a third, a fourth.
He was in the shadows.
He kept pulling steadily, glancing over his shoulder all the time. By the edge two men were standing upright, others were bending down to drag the unfortunates from the river. The launch was a long way downstream, and the second dinghy had gone out of sight, after breaking its moorings. Eldred’s men could not give chase, and the Baron had twenty yards or more to spare. But he bent quickly to the oars, pulling steadily, sweeping downstream.
There was a yelling and shouting behind him, and three times in quick succession came the noise of a blunderbuss: there were two or three in use, Mannering fancied. The shots were not directed towards the river but in the air, calculated to raise an alarm.
On the opposite side of the river lights were springing up in the bungalows, casting a dozen yellow glares over the waters. The moon slipped again behind a cloud, and darkness seemed to grow more intense, emphasised by the window lights. For the first time Mannering was able to pause and reckon his direction.
He had turned right from Eldred’s garden, which meant he was going towards Staines and London. There were a dozen landing places farther down the river, and probably a car he could beg, borrow or steal within reach. Despite this, the odds still seemed too heavy; for the first time the Baron had no prepared way of escape. His own car – an Austin registered in an assumed name and from an accommodation address – was parked near Eldred’s house, where he could never reach it.
He had to trust to luck and his wits, yet the escape from the house and Kulper’s double-cross gave him hope. There was a taut smile on his face as he pulled hard, manoeuvring for mid-stream.
Then, very suddenly, a light flashed out near him. For the first time he heard the muffled chug of the engine of a motor-launch. He saw it suddenly, a vague dark shape coming towards him slowly.
No ordinary craft would be abroad at that time of night. Was it Kulper’s boat?
Then, very softly, a word came across the waters, and the Baron stopped rowing, startled and incredulous.
“Mannering!” The voice came again, in a whisper that he could hardly hear. “Mannering—is that you?”
Chapter Twenty
The Cat Again
Someo
ne was there who knew the Baron as Mannering. Was it a friend, or was it a ruse to get him to forget his caution? He could not be sure, but he knew he would have to take a chance. As he shipped his oars he tried to pierce the darkness. For once he confounded the moon, although it had helped him to get away when escape otherwise would have been impossible.
“Who’s there?”
His own voice was ghostly over the water, hardly audible above the chug-chug of the engine. He waited tensely, and then the other man spoke more clearly, and he recognised the voice.
“Leverson. Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Mannering did not try to ask questions, but as the launch slowed down, he pulled towards it. Flick Leverson was standing by the engine, and there was someone else in the stern; a woman.
“Lorna!” The name broke from Mannering’s lips, but a moment afterwards he knew that he was wrong. It was not Lorna: it was Kate Loffatt.
Her voice held a mocking note as the Baron’s dinghy came alongside, and she dropped a rope over the bows.
“Nossir, wrong this time. Who’s that lady?”
“Quiet, for heaven’s sake,” snapped Leverson, and Mannering could see his shadowy form. “Get in quickly, Mannering, the police will have been warned by now, and we passed a river patrol further up.”
“Hold it,” said Mannering. “Kate, take his collar—”
He hoisted Kulper up, gripping him about the thighs, and the Cat hesitated for a second, her face showing her astonishment even in the shadows. Leverson exclaimed: “What the devil’s that?” Mannering chuckled a little hoarsely.
“Friend Kulper, sleeping well.”
The woman acted quickly. She gripped Kulper’s collar and hauled him on board the launch, without any apparent effort. The Baron steadied the dinghy, gripped the rope and climbed up. As soon as he was on board Leverson swung the launch round in a sharp half-circle, so that it headed for Staines and London.
“Good man, Flick—”
“No wonder,” said the Cat in a voice holding nothing but admiration, “they reckoned you were clever, Baron boy. Kulper over your shoulder—oh, my God! Can I smoke, Flick?”
“You can’t!”
“Well, we’ll have a drink on it,” said the Cat.
She took a flask from the top of her stocking, and handed it to the Baron, snapping at him when he started to say: “You first.” Mannering pulled his scarf down from his chin so that it hung loosely about his neck, and took a liberal swig at the whisky. The fiery spirit warmed and cheered him, and he watched the Cat toss her head back and swallow.
“Flick—”
“No, thanks, and for God’s sake keep quiet!”
For the first time in the Baron’s experience Flick Leverson was on edge, and Mannering knew that there must be a good reason for it. Leverson was afraid that they would meet trouble, and he sobered up considerably. The effect of his escape and then his rescue had been exhilarating, but it would have been madness to have made a careless move now.
“Touchy, isn’t he?” asked the Cat. “There’s a seat here, take it.”
The Baron sat down at the side of the boat. She sat opposite him, with Kulper in between, and Leverson stood by the tiller, trying to search the darkness as the launch sped along, spewing a long wake behind it and making a stuttering noise that must have been heard and cursed by hundreds as it swung under Staines Bridge. The Cat seemed tense, even in the shadows. She was staring over her shoulder, and Mannering guessed that they had passed the police patrol boat near here.
Leverson’s voice came, snowing deep relief.
“It’s tied up.”
“Good God, can you see it?” exclaimed Mannering.
“It’s by that lamp over there.”
The Baron could see a single lamp, just below the bridge, and the cutter that was tied up to a landing stage near it. The Cat laughed very softly.
“He can see better than a cat, Baron boy. What about putting a scarf round the Big Shot? He might wake up.”
Mannering looked down at Kulper. The man’s lips were gaping open, but his eyes were still closed. It was an idea worth following, and he tied the scarf about the little crook’s neck, then used Kulper’s tie to fasten his hands behind him. Kulper moved sluggishly as Mannering worked, and the Cat’s laugh came, eerie and unexpected, as the launch made twenty knots down river. Leverson was peering tensely for any craft that might be in front of them.
Mannering wondered whether the river police had been advised of the escape. Once they had, and the patrol cutters took to the water, it would be almost impossible to get through. He was suddenly afraid again of what might happen, but the Cat’s laugh jerked him out of his fears. He stared up at her, his eyes appreciative. Now he could just make out the brightly-coloured mackintosh she was wearing, and the beret over her thick, yellow hair.
“Something funny?”
“You put them out for a long time,” said the Cat, and he was not sure whether she was amused or whether she was mocking him. Still there was no sound of pursuit, no suggestion that there was any other craft on the river. His mind was flooded with a hundred questions, and he stopped himself from pouring them out in a sharp succession. It was Leverson who spoke next, his tension easing a little.
“We’re past Chertsey and there’s a car at Walton. We’ll make it with a little luck.”
“A little?” inquired the Cat, her eyes on Mannering. The moon came out suddenly, shining fully on her, and the light softened her harshness. It made her look lovely, wraith-like. “You’re not a man for questions, Baron boy.”
“There hasn’t been much time,” said the Baron. “But how—”
Leverson broke in as the woman laughed softly.
“You can thank the Cat, Mannering. Greene told her how they proposed to work tonight, and she took a liking to you the other day. She saw Rummell, knowing he’d sent you to her, and Rummell put her in touch with me. We’ve worked together before. We didn’t discover what had happened until ten o’clock, and you’d left your flat. Kulper had two or three men outside the River House, to make sure that you didn’t escape that way, but he apparently ignored the river—”
“More likely the crowd scared them. I didn’t come away unattended.”
“We heard your friends,” murmured the Cat. “You look after the ship, Skipper.” She was smiling at Mannering, and she looked devilish attractive, with her big teeth parted a little, and her head thrown back. “Flick got busy, had the launch sent up from Aldgate, and we travelled here by car. He hasn’t had much rest, brother.”
“No—o.” Mannering tried to say thanks, but found the words sticking in his throat. “I fancy it’s lucky I called on you on Friday.”
“Maybe. Greene wouldn’t have realised your little game if you hadn’t; he was watching the house and saw you come in, that’s what spilled it.”
“What did he ask you?”
“What you wanted to know. I told him I refused to talk, and was going to call him up.” She swore. “I didn’t come because of your eyes, Baron boy, but I promised you I wouldn’t talk, and in a way I reckon I had to come. So I went after Rummell. Lucky you’ve got friends like Flick.”
“Damned lucky,” admitted the Baron. He looked about him, over the deserted river. The trees by the water’s edge showed up very clearly in the bright light of the moon, and here and there they passed a field where cattle were standing, still and statuesque. Silence seemed to be all about them excepting in the engine of the launch.
The Baron felt elated, even light-hearted.
He would not have escaped without Leverson and the Cat: or the chances of success would have been negligible. Now they were with him, a fast car was waiting within a couple of miles of the point where the launch cut through the Thames, and the odds were in his favour.
Leverson was slowing down a little.
“Watch the right bank,” he said. “There are two cars, both with rear-lights on, and close together. I’m not using the search-light.”
Mannering turned. The Cat stepped across the boat, and knelt on the seat next to him. He could feel the pressure of her warm arm and legs, deliberately close, but he ignored it. The moonlight over the fields and the river bank was gentle, but there were no cars in sight.
The launch turned a bend gently, and then the Baron felt his knee gripped by fingers with a surprising strength.
“See ’em, Baron?”
His heart leapt when he caught sight of the two small points of red, on the opposite bank. Up and down the river there was not a sign of another craft, excepting a small houseboat anchored close to the bank. Leverson pushed the tiller over and the launch moved cleanly round, its nose towards the bank.
“We’ll use your dinghy, John.” Leverson seemed more settled now, and Mannering leaned over the side, pulling the dinghy close. The Cat nodded towards Kulper, and Mannering lifted him into the cockle-shell. At the same moment he heard a splash of oars from the right.
Alarm flooded through him, but Leverson spoke quickly and settled the fears.
“It’s all right—my man’s coming out to take the launch. He’ll bring me over, while you get to land.”
“Room for me?” asked the Cat.
Mannering felt a little uncomfortable, after her previous invitation and the fact that he virtually owed her his freedom. It was something unusual for him to feel awkward with a woman, and he covered it with a quick smile.
“Plenty—up in the bows, if you will.”
The dinghy swayed as the Cat climbed down and stepped over Kulper’s body. Mannering joined her, unshipping the oars, and pushed off against the side of the launch, which was turning slowly, some twenty yards out. He pulled easily towards the shore, with his back to the Cat as her low rich contralto came:
“Easy, we’re there.”
He lifted his oars as the keel grounded against the mud. Another figure waded knee deep through the water, and offered the Cat a hand. She shook her head.
“Take Kulper.”
