by Jack Higgins
"I'd give a lot to have a gun in my hand right now," Brady said softly.
The girl clicked on the light. The room was crowded with old costumes and scenery, even furniture, the accumulation of the years.
She moved across to a cupboard, opened it, and turned with a .38 calibre revolver in her hand. "Will this do? It's only a stage prop, I'm afraid. We used it in the play. There's a box of blanks here, though."
Brady broke open the chamber and examined it, sudden, nervous excitement stirring inside him. "I might be able to scare the bastard off, if nothing else."
She opened the box of cartridges and he quickly loaded the weapon, then crossed to the door and pulled back the bolt.
She moved to his shoulder as he turned off the light and he was aware of the warmth, of the fragrance of her, so near to him in the darkness.
"You keep well back," he ordered. "This is my affair. I don't want you to get hurt."
He opened the door gently and looked out. Haras was standing in the centre of the stage, staring out into the auditorium.
"It's no use running, Brady," he called. "You can't get away."
"Haras!" Brady said softly.
As the Hungarian turned, Brady raised the revolver and fired and the report seemed deafening. Haras disappeared with surprising speed into the shadows opposite.
Brady crouched down and Anne Dunning moved beside him. "Where's the switch that operates the stage light?" he asked softly.
"Right behind us. Shall I turn it off?"
He nodded and a moment later, the theatre was plunged into darkness.
"I'm coming to get you, Haras!" Brady shouted.
A tongue of flame answered him from the darkness. He fired twice in reply and moved across the stage, crouching. Haras went down the stairs ahead of him and ran along the corridor. As Brady turned the corner, the stage door banged.
It was quiet and somehow peaceful out in the alley with the rain hissing down. Brady stood at the end of the footpath and listened to the echo of the Hungarian's running feet. Faintly from the distance, a car door closed hollowly. A moment later an engine started up.
"That old gun did the trick with a vengeance," Anne Dunning said from behind and her voice was breathless and excited.
As he turned to answer her, a strange, unearthly wailing sounded far away in the darkness, echoing through the night in a dying fall.
He shivered, standing there with the rain falling on him, and a wave of greyness ran through him. The girl looked up, a strange expression on her face. "What is it?"
"The general alarm at Manningham Gaol," he said simply. "It means that from now on, they'll be looking for me."
(6)
THEY went back into the theatre and she turned on the lights and sat on a wooden chair, chin cupped in one hand, while Brady told her everything.
When he had finished, she sighed and shook her head in bewilderment. "The whole affair sounds like some horrible nightmare, except for one thing."
"Haras?" Brady said.
She nodded soberly. "Yes, he makes it all so frighteningly real. The thing is, what do you do now?"
"Try to get to London. It's all I can do. After all, this Professor Soames character is my only lead."
"Won't that be difficult now they know you're out?"
He nodded grimly. "You can say that again. I was hoping they wouldn't miss me till breakfast, but something must have gone wrong. I could have been in London with a breathing space to do my checking while they still looked for me in Manningham."
"The question is, how will you get there?"
"The sixty-four-thousand dollar question with a vengeance," he told her.
She appeared to be thinking hard. After a while, she said, "Did you know my father was a prisoner in Germany during the last war?"
Brady nodded. "He did mention something about it once."
"He got out three times," she said. "Finally, he made it right through Germany and France and over the Pyrenees into Spain. He said the important things to remember were to keep off the roads and to get where you wanted to be in the fastest possible way."
"It's a nice theory," Brady said. "In practice it might be a little more difficult. There's the night express to London, but I've about as much chance of getting on that now as I'd have of breaking into Fort Knox."
"I'm going to London tonight myself," she said. "I've booked a sleeper. The others went this morning, but I wanted to see some friends before I left. They live about twelve miles out of town. I've spent the day with them."
"The show folded then?"
"I'm afraid it fell flat on its face." She frowned suddenly. "Wait a minute. I've just had an idea. That's a single sleeper I've booked. I hate sharing with a stranger, so I paid the extra. If we could get you on board somehow, you could travel to London in comfort with me."
"It wouldn't be possible," he said. "The station will be crawling with police. They're bound to watch the trains. I'd never get through the barrier."
"My father once walked out through the main gates of a German prison camp. He looked so familiar, they didn't even question him."
He frowned. "I don't understand."
"He was wearing a German uniform."
"And how does that help me?"
"But it's so simple," she explained. "Who on earth would think twice about a porter carrying a lady's luggage to the train? He takes it to her compartment and stays there. It's as simple as that."
"There's the small matter of a uniform to start with," he said.
She laughed gaily and got to her feet. "You're forgetting you're in a theatre."
He followed her into the wings and she opened the door of the props room, switched on the light and started to rummage in a large, wicker basket.
After a moment or two, she turned triumphantly and tossed a peaked cap across to him. "That'll do for a start."
The white metal badge said British Railways and Brady tried the cap on and examined himself in the mirror. It was a couple of sizes too large, which was an advantage, and she came and stood behind him, a dark serge suit with shiny official buttons on it, hanging over her arm.
"The problem's solved," she said, her face gay and animated. For a moment, she looked like a young child involved in some new and exciting game.
Brady turned, his face serious. "It's no good," he told her. "It means involving you up to your pretty neck and I can't have that. They're pretty rough on people who help escaped convicts on the run. You catch that train as you planned. I'll find some other way of getting to London."
"I'm involved in this business whether you like it or not," she said forcefully. "My father thought a lot of you. When I visited you the other day, I could see why, because beneath the anger and the bitterness and the frustration, there was still something of the real Matthew Brady."
"But you'll only end up getting hurt," he protested.
"Let's put it this way," she said patiently. "I'm going to help you whether you damned well like it or not."
He looked at her with something like wonder in his eyes and shook his head. "You're more of your father's daughter than I thought."
She smiled, conscious that she had won. "Let's get out of here. My digs are just around the corner. We can stay there till train time."
"What about your landlady?"
"No trouble there. She's spending the night with her sister. Told me to leave the key under the mat when I left."
She found a piece of brown paper in which to wrap the uniform and they left, locking the stage door behind them. It was still raining heavily and they went along the alley and turned boldly into the main street.
She took his arm and they walked at a steady unhurried pace, past the lighted windows of the shops, turning into a side street as a police car rounded the corner, skidding slightly on the wet road.
It roared away into the night, bell ringing shrilly and Brady grinned tightly. "They'll turn this town upside down before they're through."
"You'll be on your
way to London before they get properly started," she said calmly.
The street was lined with old, brownstone Victorian terrace houses, each with a narrow strip of garden running down to the road. She opened the gate to one of them, and as he followed her along the path, Brady shook his head in bewilderment. There was something elusive about her, a quality he couldn't quite pin down, that made her different from any other woman he'd ever known. Nothing seemed to disturb her composure.
She opened the front door, led the way along the hall, and moved into a large, comfortable living-room. She switched on a large electric fire and turned with a smile. "I'll see to my packing first, then I'll make some coffee. You take it easy and have a smoke. You look as if you could sleep for a day at least."
After she had gone, he lit a cigarette and sat in front of the electric fire and tried to relax. He found it quite impossible. The rain tapped insistently against the window as if trying to get in, and his stomach was suddenly hollow with nervous excitement. For the moment, he was safe and warm, but once outside the door, he was a hunted man with every hand raised against him.
He shivered slightly, feeling suddenly afraid. As he stood up, he noticed an old upright piano against the far wall. He opened the lid and played a few chords. The keys were yellow with age, but it was in tune and he sat down and slipped into an old Rodgers and Hart number. Nostalgic and wistful, a hint of a summer which was gone and memories only now.
He passed from one number easily into another, concentrating on his playing so that the fear left him, and after a while, he glanced up and saw that Anne Dunning was standing at his side.
"You play very well, Mr Brady," she said.
"One of my few accomplishments." He grinned. "And the name's Matt."
She smiled, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. "I'll make that coffee now--Matt. You can change into your uniform while you're waiting. I've laid it out for you on the bed. First room on your right at the top of the stairs."
The room was as old-fashioned as the rest of the house with a great brass-railed bed and heavy Victorian furniture. Two suitcases stood on the floor by the door, another lay on the bed beside the uniform, open and empty. She had obviously rearranged her packing to make room for his tweed suit and trench-coat.
He changed quickly and stood in front of the long mirror of the wardrobe and examined himself. A stranger stared out at him. The uniform itself was a size too small and tight under the armpits, but the cap pulled well down over his eyes, the peak shading his face, made all the difference. He folded his suit and trench-coat neatly, packed them in the empty suitcase and carried it downstairs with the others.
Anne was still in the kitchen and he went and leaned in the doorway. After a moment, she turned to reach for something and saw him. She gave an involuntary gasp and stepped back and then she burst into laughter. "But that's wonderful, Matt. It just isn't you any longer."
He pushed the cap to the back of his head and grinned. "Well, that's taken a load off my mind. When do we start?"
She carried a loaded tray into the living-room and he followed her. "The train leaves just after midnight. We can board any time after eleven. I think it would be as well to make it as close to midnight as possible."
He nodded in agreement as she handed him a cup of coffee. "That makes sense. How long will it take us to get to the station?
She shrugged. "About ten minutes, a little longer if we keep to the back streets. We come out at the side of a large hotel and the station's on the opposite side of a square."
"That sounds good," he said. "Anyone seeing us crossing the square will assume I'm bringing your bags across from the hotel."
She nodded. "That's what I thought."
They had another cup of coffee each and after a while, she took the tray back to the kitchen. Brady lit another cigarette, lay back in the chair and tried to relax.
Ten minutes later, she came in wearing her raincoat and a dark beret. He got to his feet and grinned. "Ready to roll?"
She nodded. "How do you feel?"
"Completely numb," he said. "But I'll survive."
They left by the back door, moving out through a small, dark yard into a narrow alley at the rear. The rain had slackened a little and she crossed from one street into another as if she knew exactly where she was going.
They met no one and in little more than fifteen minutes from leaving the house, moved along the narrow street which entered into the main square.
Brady was conscious of the weight of the three suitcases. He paused by the side entrance of the hotel to get a firmer grip on them, and then started across the cobbled square after Anne.
She walked ahead, calm and unhurried, completely sure of herself. There were three police cars parked outside the main entrance to the station. She glanced at them casually and went straight up the steps and into the hall without hesitating.
It was cold and cheerless, the kiosks all closed for the night, but the station restaurant was still open and there were a surprising number of people scattered round the great arched hall waiting for trains.
Two uniformed police constables stood by the ticket barrier, scrutinizing carefully everyone who passed through. Anne had her ticket ready. There was the briefest of pauses while the ticket collector inspected it, and then she was through, Brady trailing at her heels with the suitcases.
The train stood waiting at the platform, a wisp of steam drifting gently up between the wheels of the engine. The sleepers were at the far end and Brady's hands were moist with sweat, his mouth dry.
The young policeman who stood by the entrance to the coach was tired. His mouth opened in a yawn and he raised one hand to stifle it as Anne moved past him.
She handed her ticket to the attendant who stood waiting in his tiny cubicle and he checked it quickly with his register. "The first compartment in the next coach, Miss Dunning. Number twelve. Would you like tea in the morning?
She shook her head. "I'll breakfast later, somewhere in town."
He returned her ticket and smiled. "We get into King's Cross at seven, but you don't need to leave the train until eight."
As another passenger came through the entrance, Anne moved away along the corridor and Brady followed her. They passed through into the next coach. It was quiet and deserted and she quickly opened the door of the compartment and led the way in.
Brady dropped the suitcases, removed his cap and leaned against the door. His forehead was damp with sweat and he whistled softly.
"I wouldn't like to have to go through that lot again."
Her eyes were shining with excitement and she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him. "I told you it would work."
He held her close for a moment, conscious of her warm body, young and vital and alive and after a moment, she gently disengaged herself. "We'd better start making plans," she said lightly and took off her raincoat.
The compartment was narrow and cramped, with a single bunk against one wall and a washbasin in the corner by the window. Brady sat on the edge of the bunk and lit a cigarette. "What do I do if anyone knocks on the door?"
She glanced round the compartment and smiled. "Get under the bunk, I suppose. There doesn't seem to be much choice."
"And what happens when we reach King's Cross?"
She shrugged. "Once through the barrier, straight down into the Underground. I've got a flat in Kensington. We can be there in twenty minutes. Actually I share it with another girl, but she's doing a show in Glasgow this week."
"What about my uniform?"
"That's simple," she said. "As we go through the barrier, I'll carry my coat over my arm with yours hidden underneath. You can slip it on when we get down into the Underground. It's always crowded with people at that time in the morning. You could stand on your head and nobody would notice."
Brady grinned. "You've got it all organized, haven't you?"
"Somebody's got to think of these things."
As she talked, she unzipped her dress and p
ulled it over her head. She stood there in her slip with a complete lack of self-consciousness and opened one of the suitcases. She took out a red silk brocade housecoat and put it on.
As she fastened it at the waist, she smiled. "That'll have to do me for tonight." Brady nodded and suddenly his head seemed too heavy for his body. He took a deep breath and made an effort to sit up straight and she knelt down and started to untie his shoes. "You need some sleep, and badly," she said.
Brady unfastened his collar at the neck and took off the jacket. She pulled off his shoes and pushed him back down on to the bunk.
"What about you?" he protested.
"There's room for both of us," she said and lay down on the bunk beside him and spread a blanket over them.
Brady was too tired to argue. He turned and looked at her dark head lying there on the pillow beside him and grinned. "You're a funny girl," he said softly.
She smiled and it was as if a light had turned on inside her and a radiance glowed out of the dark eyes. No woman had ever smiled at him quite like that before, drawing him in, enveloping him.
He leaned forward and kissed her once, very gently upon her parted mouth and she turned her face into his shoulder and after a while, they slept.
It was the knock on the door which awakened him, bringing him back to life from a deep, dreamless sleep. Anne was pulling her dress over her head and she turned quickly and nodded reassuringly. "Only the attendant knocking people up," she said.
"Are we there?" Brady said in surprise.
She nodded and he swung his legs to the floor and pulled on his shoes. He felt completely refreshed and relaxed, but his stomach was hollow and empty and he realized, with a sense of shock, that he hadn't eaten since leaving the gaol.
They dressed quickly and when they were ready, she opened the door and peered cautiously out into the corridor. She turned and nodded and Brady picked up the cases and moved past her.
As he went along the corridor, a door opened and a man emerged from a compartment carrying a small overnight bag. Brady paused to let him go first and then followed close behind.
