The sight of Karen's clothes on the bunk made a fresh helplessness twist his inside in half, and he gathered the garments together, and put them carefully in a small bag in readiness.
In the saloon he found a small bottle of whisky, and poured himself a full glass, the harsh liquid burning his dry throat like fire, and helping to steady his nerves.
As he put down the glass, a paper-knife on the bookcase caught his eye. It had been given to him at a mess party in Germany, just after the Armistice, by the Guards Armoured Division. He picked it up, testing it in his hand. It was about ten inches long, with an extremely sharp point, more of a weapon than an ornament. Might come in useful, he thought, and after several experiments, he secreted it down the inside of his sock, having first wrapped the point in a scrap of paper, to protect his ankle. In that manner, he found he was able to walk quite naturally and freely.
He glanced at his watch. Felix should be here soon. It would be better to go and meet him. Anything was better than just standing still, alone with his fears.
As he mounted the ladder, and stood braced between the guard-rails at the top, he shivered briefly in the cold air, and was thankful for the whisky's warm glow within him.
For a while he stood looking down at the yacht, and at the flapping shape of the white towel, which he had hung on the forward rail. It looked like an admission of defeat, a flag of surrender. As he watched it, his shoulders heavy with both mental and physical exhaustion, it seemed for all the world like a crude challenge, and he felt a faint stir of desperate anger rising in answer.
He noticed too that the outlines of the boat were hardening, and what before had been only indistinct, blurred shapes, began to assume their normal proportions.
So the night was all but finished, and the lightening sky, which crept slowly over the horizon in thin, grey fingers, was the visible introduction to what might prove to be his most testing day, or his last.
He shook his tired shoulders, and started to walk wearily towards the harbour entrance. A disturbed gull flapped angrily away from the masthead of a moored yacht, squawking loudly, its hard eyes watching the lone figure pass by, and in a sleeping street beyond the dance hall, a milk van rattled cheerfully on the cobbles. He paused in his stride, listening, his ears picking out the high whine of a fastmoving car.
The long Bentley swerved around the corner of the harbour road, the tyres skidding on the uneven surface, and even in the grey half-light, Vivian could see the thick coating of dust and dirt on its elegant bonnet.
A door slammed, and Lang, his thick form muffled in a belted, camel-hair overcoat, strode purposefully across to him.
`Thanks for coming,' nodded Vivian, thinking how tired and grim the other man looked. Once again, the `old boy'-mask had dropped into the background, unfitting for the new personality.
Lang smiled briefly, stretching his arms, his eyes flitting quickly around the harbour.
`Right, let's talk. I'll walk with you to the boat.' He gestured with his head towards the car. `I've got Janice in there. She's out to the wide!' He laughed nervously. `Poor kid's full of dope. After you 'phoned, I shot round to her place, although I still don't know what I expected to find, and she was just about going up the wall! Mason shot off in the morning. Didn't say where he was going, or how long he was going for.' He paused, fumbling for a cigarette. `She knew something was wrong, but she still doesn't realize what he was up to!'
`You going to leave her here?'
`Well, I gave her some stuff to make her sleep, and brought her along with me. After all this is over, I'm keeping her with me, for good.'
They started to walk, Lang puffing heavily on his cigarette, not speaking, while Vivian began to relate, fully, the whole story of what, in the harsh light of dawn, could only sound like a hideous dream.
He checked himself, as Lang touched his arm.
`Have you hung out this bloody signal yet, Philip?'
Vivian pointed across the harbour wall. `Yes, I put it up as soon as I got here.'
`We've got to be very careful about this. Mason's proper bastard, make no mistake about that!'
He stopped suddenly, apparently having arrived at a decision.
`Look, you'll have to wait until they get in touch with you. Then, just do what they tell you. No doubt they'll want you to rendezvous somewhere.'
`But, look here....'
Lang gestured impatiently. `Wait a minute, before you blow up! They're not a bit worried about you. They know they've got you cold! You can't go to the police, or tell anyone about it. One false move from you, and you know what'll happen!'
Vivian blanched, and Lang seized his arm.
`We've got to play it their way! Damn the plates! We've got your girl to worry about now, right?'
Vivian forced a smile. `Sorry, Felix, I'm about all in at the moment.'
`I'm not surprised!' He flicked the cigarette in a neat arc on to the oily water below them. `Better try to get some sleep. Until they make the first move, we're bitched!'
`I don't think Mason'll keep his word.' Vivian spoke quietly, glad to be free of the fear which had lurked in the back of his mind.
`He doesn't count on me!' Lang's voice was hard. `If he doesn't come across, he'll have me to reckon with!' He silenced Vivian's outburst. `I'll be right on your tail, wherever you are.' He glanced back towards the town. `Right now, I think I'll get Janice parked up in a hotel I know. She can sleep it off there.' He turned to go. `Soon as I've done that, I'll be right back. We sit this out together!'
`Thanks, Felix, you've made me feel a whole lot better.'
`Nuts, old boy, don't forget that I got you into all this in the first place!'
Lang sauntered away, his crepe-soled shoes kicking up the loose sand of the stone flags. Vivian watched his broad back until it vanished around the harbourmaster's office, and then lowered himself aboard Seafox.
He shaved, and changed into clean clothes, and then threw himself on to his bunk, to await events. He tried to smoke his pipe, but somehow he couldn't concentrate, and he put it down wretchedly. His head was drooping, and his
breathing had become slow and laboured, when the sound of Lang's heavy arrival jerked him into a state of strained alertness.
He saw that Lang had discarded his rumpled coat, and was wearing a well-cut blazer and flannels. On his feet he was wearing rubber deck-shoes, and his pink cheeks glowed smoothly, with newly shaved spruceness.
`Forgive the rig, old boy,' he grinned. `Didn't want to cut your nice decks up with my big beetle-crushers, and I think a nautical appearance is called for!'
Around their quiet haven of seclusion, the port was now fully awake, and the air was full of the clank and rattle of a windlass, as a small timber-ship resumed the work of unloading. The walls of the harbour echoed to the stamp of feet, and the sliding grind of fish boxes, as they were trundled along the fish quay for the waiting boats.
Vivian left the saloon, and mounted the steps to the wheelhouse. He picked up the glasses from their rack, and trained them on the busy figures of the seamen and sweating dock labourers. As the faces sprang up in the powerful lenses, he studied them carefully, and then discarded them. Eventually, he turned his eyes to the hotels and seafront boarding-houses, watching the flapping beach towels hanging from the window sills, and the bathing suits drying from yesterday's swimming. God, somewhere out there, they've got her! He could picture her so clearly, still in her bathing suit, that he pounded the teak panelling with sick frustration.
He turned his head miserably, as Lang stepped softly up the steps. Something in the man's eyes made him frown.
`What's the matter?'
`Quick,' Lang snapped. `There's someone coming!'
For a moment Vivian stared at him, not understanding, and then, his breath quickening, he crossed to his side.
`Where?'
Lang nodded to the curving wall, which bulged out astern of the boat like the side of a castle. `That boy, see him?'
Vivian scanned th
e moving figures, and suddenly stiffened, as his glance alighted on the small boy who was wandering along in their direction, stopping every so often to study the names of the various moored craft. Vivian's stare became riveted on the envelope which gleamed white in the urchin's grubby hand. Scarcely daring to breathe, he waited until the boy was level with the boat, then, unable to contain himself any longer, he stepped out on to the deck, his knuckles white, as he clenched his fists at his sides, in a sweat of suspense.
The boy, his dark hair curled in an unruly mop, stopped opposite the ladder, his dark eyes wrinkled, as his lips spelled out the name on the yacht's side. Seeing Vivian watching him, he showed his teeth in a cheeky grin.
'Seafox, mister?'
`That's right.' His heart pounded excitedly.
'Gotta letter from a bloke up the road!' He grinned again, scratching his greasy shirt contentedly. 'Tole me ter give it yer.' Then, as an, afterthought: `Reckon it's worf a couple er bob, eh?'
As Vivian scrambled up the ladder, the boy darted forward to catch the gleaming coin which Lang had thrown from the wheelhouse door.
'Cor! Thanks, mister!' The youth's eyes were round with pleasure.
Vivian took the envelope from the grubby fist, and as the boy sauntered away, whistling, he leaned across the safety wall, feeling the stonework warm through his shirt, and tore open the flap.
The letter had been typed, and as he read the brief contents, he found his nervousness draining away, as if his soul was satisfied at the prospect of action.
BRING PARCEL TO JUNCTION OF ROYAL PARADE AND WESTCLIFF PROMENADE. COME ALONE AND BE THERE AT 10 A.M. IF YOU UNDERSTAND TAKE IN THE SIGNAL. DON'T FORGET, NO TRICKS.
The cool bastards, he thought, they're sure of themselves all right. He squinted at the opposite side of the harbour. They're watching me right now.
He returned to the deck, and deliberately jerked the towel from the rail.
He showed the message to Lang, who had stayed out of sight in the wheelhouse. He nodded slowly, and studied his watch.
`Two hours to go!' It sounded like a judge passing sentence. `I'll keep below until you've gone, Philip. We don't want the swines to know all our forces!'
Vivian lifted the heavy package from the locker, and thrust it under his shirt, holding its sharp bulk against his ribs with his elbow.
`As we used to say, Felix,' he smiled meaningly, `engage the enemy more closely!'
7
VIVIAN paused at the top of the winding flight of stone steps cut into the old cliff -side, and known locally as `Jacob's Ladder', and as he waited for his laboured breathing to return to normal, he allowed his gaze to wander over the wide panorama of the harbour and its approaches, which were spread below him like a map. From his lofty position, the yachts and wharves, the buildings and minute, moving figures, seemed distant and obscure, and quite unattached from him, and his agony of mind.
A chill wind swept the leaves and pieces of paper along the deserted pavement in a sudden, angry movement, and while he watched the long cliff-top road, with its whitefronted boarding houses, he felt a vague sensation of hostility, as if even the holiday-makers and morning idlers had been driven away by some hidden threat.
He looked at his watch for the hundredth time. Still nearly half an hour to go, but there was no point in hanging about in the harbour, when there seemed even the remotest possibility of getting to Karen earlier.
He pulled his cap down over his eyes, to shield them from the thin powder of sand, which, even at the top of the road, swirled grittily in the wind's sharp gusts. With the small bag containing the girl's clothes under his arm, and the jagged parcel bumping heavily against his ribs, he started to stride slowly to the far end of the sloping roadway, where he knew
the cross-roads to be, the place so carefully selected for the rendezvous, no doubt because of the numerous avenues of approach and escape. Even the thought that Lang was probably parked watchfully in a suitable side street, did not completely alleviate his feeling of loneliness and uncertainty. Only his quiet, controlled anger, and his eagerness for action, seemed real, and his eyes hardened at the prospect of getting his hands around Mason's throat.
A car drove slowly past, and he narrowly scanned the occupants, only to be met by the blank stares of two daytrippers, aimlessly searching for some form of distraction. He swore savagely under his breath, and unconsciously quickened his pace.
He halted by the road junction, and leaned casually against a lamp standard, letting his eyes rove around the awkward criss-cross of tarmac and white lines, of `Keep Left' signs and pedestrian crossings. No doubt a very busy place at the height of the season, he mused, but at that moment it all seemed wasted. An occasional bus or lorry on its way to Dover, and a sprinkling of cars, but apart from a tradesman or two he appeared to be the only pedestrian in view.
A shiny, black saloon slid quietly into the main road, and halted opposite him, its engine ticking over confidently. He forced himself to look away, and tried to appear casual and indifferent.
He cursed desperately as the car's engine died, and darted a rapid glance across the road, taking in the three uniformed inmates and the bold `Police' sign on the radiator. Faintly he could hear the steady, monotonous murmur of the car's radio, then he turned his eyes away when he realized that the sergeant in the rear seat was watching him. He steeled himself, feeling strangely guilty, without knowing the real reason, and expecting, any second, one of them to walk across to him.
Vivian's anxiety turned to a sudden, hot fury. Blast them! Why the hell don't they go away! If the others see them there, they'll drive straight on. They'll think I've called in the police.
Several more cars passed, but the police showed no signs of moving. Vivian felt his palms sweating with impatience, and he took a firmer grip on his parcels to steady himself. Already his back ached from leaning against the post, but he was afraid to move, lest he excite the curiosity of the three lawmen.
His keen ear picked out a high-pitched whine, which grew louder and more penetrating every second, and as he turned his head he saw a brightly painted motor-cycle flashing along the road, its rider helmeted and goggled and his teeth bared in a happy grin. His young pillion rider, her hair streaming in the wind, was hugging him excitedly around the waist and shouting encouragement in his ear. Must be doing about sixty, thought Vivian, as the machine roared round the corner and on to the coast road.
The effect of the snarling apparition had a startling result as far as the police car was concerned. The sergeant jabbed the driver in the back with his finger, and with a grind of gears the black car leapt from its place by the kerb and vanished in pursuit. Vivian said a silent prayer of thanks to the unknown motor-cyclist, as in the far distance he heard the tinny clamour of the police gong.
Almost immediately, another car turned the corner, and Vivian's heart throbbed painfully as he caught sight of Morrie's stony face behind the windscreen. It swung in a wide arc and ran smoothly along the kerb in front of him. The rear door swung open and he saw Cooper's beady eyes glinting at him across the wide seat.
Vivian leapt into the rear and slammed the door, keeping his body turned in the little man's direction. He was only
dimly aware that the car had accelerated, and that Morrie had not even given him a glance. His feeling was one of relief, like that of a man who has sweated at the thought of a dangerous operation and then, once on the operating table, he knows that there is no longer any room for worry and fearful supposition, it is too late to turn back.
`Well, Skipper, it's been a busy coupla days!' Cooper's thin lips parted across his uneven teeth in a smugly confident smile.
`See here...' began Vivian, but the other man waved his hand in an angry gesture.
'No, you see here! You're through giving the orders now, we're running this show our way, so don't you forget it!' His small eyes darted quickly in Morrie's direction, as if to reassure himself. `It's no goddam good you gettin' any ideas, cause if you try one single, godda
m thing, your little sweetie has had it! Okay?'
Vivian nodded slowly, the knot in his stomach tightening, as he fought down his first impulse to smash the grinning face to pulp.
As if reading his thoughts, Cooper shook his head in mock despair. 'I'm not surprised you left the bloody Navy, it just beats me how we won the war, with guys like you messing about!'
`All right, Cooper, you've made your point,' said Vivian quietly. 'Now shut up, will you! And just remember this, if you've laid just one finger on the girl, I'll kill you!'
'Sez you!' sneered Cooper. 'D'you hear what he says, bonehead? He's tryin' to get tough.' He cackled gleefully and pulled out his cigarettes.
Vivian tingled, as briefly in the driving mirror above Morrie's cropped head he caught a glimpse of Lang's silver-grey Bentley following them down the road. A wave of excitement swept over him, as he turned his attention back to Cooper's remarks.
`What's in the bag then, Skipper? You aiming to go camping, or sumpn?' He prodded the canvas bag with a nicotine-stained finger.
`Clothes,' said Vivian coolly.
'Aw gee, yes, for the little girl. Some dish, eh?' He grinned knowingly. `Wouldn't mind a weekend with her!'
`When the time comes, Cooper, don't say that I didn't warn you!'
Cooper studied the end of his cigarette from beneath the brim of his hat, his expression shaded, but somehow giving the impression of an intense, nervous force. He looked up suddenly, his eyes bright, and Vivian felt as if a door had been opened into the little- man's soul. They were the wild, excited eyes of a madman. Christ, he's really enjoying this, he thought, the more he can make me suffer, the better he'll like it. He forced his mind to be calm, and met the other man's stare coolly.
`You don't understand, do you?' He peered right into Vivian's impassive face. `You're beat! Finished! Kaput!' He chuckled wildly, and twisted the cigarette viciously. `You can't understand that people like you are nothing to the boss, nothing at all.' He waited, but as Vivian remained silent, he leaned across the seat, tapping his arm with his finger. `You had your chance to play it straight, to fall in with us. What'd you do, eh? You just about fouled up the whole works.' He shook his head rapidly. `The boss didn't like you chucking all that stuff into the drink, you know. That wasn't very clever, you know. But, then, you've been rather a pigeon right from the start, haven't you?'
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