‘Miss Lucy! Miss Lucy! I thought – I could not be sure – in those clothes … But it is you! We thought you must be dead!’ Somehow his arms were round me, quite unselfconsciously hugging me to him. It was amazingly comforting. ‘Oh, Miss Lucy, we thought you had gone with that devil in his boat, and been killed!’
I found myself clinging to him. ‘I did. I did go with him … and he did try to kill me, but I got away. I went overboard, like Spiro, and he left me to drown, but – Adoni! You mustn’t say things like that! Where did you learn them? No, hush, they’ll hear you …’
‘We’ve got to get him now. We’ve got to make sure of him.’
‘We will, I promise you we will. I know all about it now, Adoni. It’s not just Spiro and Yanni and me – he’s a traitor and a paid spy, and I can prove it.’
‘So?’ He let me go. ‘Come in now, Miss Lucy, there’s no need to be afraid of him. Come in straight away. Max is half crazy, I thought he would kill him.’
‘Not for a minute … No, wait, I must know what’s happened. Can you tell me, very quickly? Those are the Corfu police, aren’t they? Didn’t anyone come from Athens?’
‘No. The Athens people said that Max must bring Spiro home, and go to the Corfu police in the morning. They said they would look into it, but I don’t think they were much interested – they had their hands full after that Communist demonstration on Tuesday, and this is the affair of the Corfu people, anyway. So Max and Spiro came back alone, and I met the ferry. I told Max about the cave and the boxes that were hidden there, and he was afraid to waste more time by going to the police then – it was eleven o’clock, and only the night man on duty – so he decided to drive home quickly and go to the cave himself.’
‘Then you hadn’t had my message from Miranda?’
‘No. She telephoned the Corfu Bar, but I hadn’t been in there. I’d gone to Dionysios’s house, a friend of mine, and had supper there, and then we went to the Mimosa on the harbour, to wait for the ferry. They sent a boy running to look for me from the Corfu Bar, but he didn’t find me. When we got to the Castello, Miranda was waiting for us, and after a time she remembered, and told us about you.’
‘After a time?’
I heard the smile even through the whisper. ‘There was Spiro.’
‘Oh, Lord, yes, of course! She’d forget everything else. Well, I don’t blame her … Go on. She told you about me.’
‘Yes. I have never seen Max like that before. We ran down to the boat-house, he and I, but the boat was gone, and you. We searched there, and along the shore, and then went up to the Villa Rotha. It was locked, so Max broke the window, and we looked for you, but found nothing. So he got to the telephone, and got Mr Papadopoulos at his home, and told him everything very quickly, and told him to bring Spiro and Miranda from the Castello as he came. Then Max and I went back to the boat-house to wait for Mr Manning.’
‘Yes?’
‘We waited for some time. Then we saw him coming, no engine, just the sail, very quiet. We stood in the shadow, just inside the doors, waiting. He did not come in through the doors, but just to the end of the jetty, and he berthed the boat facing the sea, then got out very quietly and tied her up, so we knew he meant to leave again soon. Then he came back along the jetty and into the boat-house.’ He stirred. ‘We took him, Max and I. He fought, but we had him. Then Max sent me to look in the boat for you, and when I got back Mr Manning was pretending to be surprised and very angry, but Max just said, “Where is she? Where’s my girl?” and had him by the throat, and I thought he was going to kill him, and when Mr Manning said he knew nothing Max said to me, “Hurry up, Adoni, before the police get here. They won’t like it.”’
‘Won’t like what?’
‘What we would have done to make him talk,’ said Adoni simply. ‘But the police came then. Mr Manning was very angry, and complained, and one could see that Mr Papadopoulos was uncomfortable. We had to come up to the house. The other man stayed to search the boat. You saw him come back just now? He hasn’t found anything, only the place under the deck where Mr Manning had hidden the boxes … But you heard all that, didn’t you?’
‘Guessed it. It was in Greek.’
‘Of course. I forgot. Well, that was all. Wait a moment …’ He vanished round the house wall, and in a few seconds materialised again beside me. A glass was pushed into my hand. ‘Drink this. There was some whisky on the terrace. You’re cold?’
‘No. Excited. But thanks all the same.’ I drank the spirit, and handed back the glass. I saw him stoop to put it down somewhere, then he straightened, and his hand closed over my arm. ‘What now, Miss Lucy? You said we could get him. Is this true?’
‘Quite true. There’s not time enough to tell you it all now, but I must tell you some of it – enough – just in case anything happens to me … Listen.’ In a few brief sentences I gave him the gist of what Godfrey had told me. ‘So that’s it. Athens can follow up his contacts, I suppose, and it should be possible to work out roughly where he’d go ashore, in the time it took him. They’ll have to get on to Tirana straight away and find some way of stopping the stuff circulating. But that’s not our concern. What we have to do now is to get the police to hold him, and hold him good and hard.’
‘What’s your proof you said you had? Enough to make them listen?’
‘Yes. I’ve got one of the boxes of currency. Yes, really. I dumped it off the platform in the boat-house, about half-way along the left side. I want you to go down and get it.’
‘Of course. But I’ll go in with you first.’
‘There’s no need. I’d rather you got the box safe. He knows I took it – he must know – and he’ll have a good idea where I hid it. He’s a dangerous man, Adoni, and if this should go wrong … I don’t want to run any risks at all of his getting down there somehow and getting away, or of his having another shot at killing me, if he thinks I’m the only one who knows where the box is. So we’d better not both be exposed to him at once. You must go and get it straight away.’
‘All right. Be careful of yourself.’
‘I’ll do that. The swine had a gun. I suppose you took it?’
‘Yes. And the police took it from us.’
‘Well, here we go.’ I took a shaky little breath. ‘Oh, Adoni …’
‘You are afraid?’
‘Afraid?’ I said. ‘It’ll be the entrance of my life. Come on.’
The scene was unchanged except that the constable now stood in Adoni’s place by the door. Godfrey had lit a cigarette, and looked once more at his ease, but still ruffled and irritated, like a man who has been caught out in some misdemeanour for which he will now have to pay a stiff fine. They had apparently got to the cave and the packages which were, according to Godfrey, radio sets. He was explaining, wearily yet civilly, how the ‘sets’ had been packed and stored.
I put a cautious hand in through the broken pane, and began to ease the window-catch open. It moved stiffly, but without noise.
… ‘But surely this can wait till morning? I’ve admitted to an offence, and I’m perfectly willing to tell you more, but not now – and certainly not in front of a bunch of amateurs and children who seem to be trying to pin a mass murder on me.’ He paused, adding in a reasonable voice: ‘Look, Inspector, if you insist, I’ll come in to Corfu with you now, but if Miss Waring is genuinely missing, I really do think you should concentrate on her, and leave my small sins till morning.’
The Inspector and Max started to speak together, the former stolidly, the latter with passion and anger, but Miranda cried out suddenly for the first time, on a piercing note that drowned them both.
‘He knows where she is! He has killed her! Do not listen to him! He has killed her! I know she went to the boat! He took her and killed her, as he tried to kill Spiro my brother!’
‘It is true,’ said Spiro violently. ‘As God watches me now, it is true.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Godfrey. He got abruptly to his feet, a man whose patience h
as suddenly given way. ‘I think this has gone on long enough. I’ve answered your questions civilly, Papadopoulos, but it’s time this scene came to an end! This is my house, and I’ll put up with you and your man if I have to, but I’m damned if I sit here any longer being yapped at by the local peasants. I suggest you clear them out of here, now, please, this minute, and Gale with them.’
The catch was off. As the window yielded softly to my hand, I heard Max say, in a voice I hardly knew was his:
‘Markos, I beg of you. The girl … there’s no time. Give me five minutes alone with him. Just five minutes. You’ll not regret it.’
Papadopoulos’ reply was cut off by a crash as Godfrey slammed the flat of his hand down on the desk, and exploded.
‘This is beyond anything! It’s more, it’s a criminal conspiracy! By God, Inspector, you’ll have to answer for this! What the hell are you trying to do, the lot of you? Papadopoulos, you’ll clear these people out of my house immediately, do you hear me? I’ve told you all I’m going to tell you tonight, and as for Lucy Waring, how often do I have to repeat that I took the damned girl home at seven, and I haven’t seen her since? That’s the truth, I swear to God!’
No actress ever had a better cue. I pulled the window open, and went in.
22
Let us not burthen our remembrances, with
A heaviness that’s gone.
V. 1.
For a moment no one moved. I was watching Godfrey, and Godfrey alone, so I was only conscious of that moment’s desperate stillness, then of exclamations and confused movement as Max started forward, and Papadopoulos jerked out a restraining hand and gripped his sleeve.
I said: ‘I suppose you weren’t expecting me, Godfrey?’
He didn’t speak. His face had drained, visibly, of colour, and he took a step backwards, his hand seeking the edge of the desk. Down beside me I caught the flutter of a hand as Miranda crossed herself.
‘Lucy,’ said Max hoarsely, ‘Lucy – my dear—’
The Inspector had recovered from his surprise. He sat back. ‘It is Miss Waring, is not? I did not know you for the moment. We have been wondering where you were.’ I noticed suddenly that Petros, the constable, had a gun in his hand.
I said: ‘I know. I’m afraid I’ve been listening, but I wanted to hear what Mr Manning had to say; and I wanted to know what had happened since I left him an hour or so ago.’
‘By God,’ said Max, ‘we were right. Markos—’
‘An hour ago, Miss Waring? He was out in his boat an hour ago.’
‘Oh, yes. I was with him. I must have gone overboard some way to the east of Kouloura, beyond the island.’
‘Ah …’ said Spiro, his face blazing with excitement and satisfaction. There were exclamations, and I saw Petros move forward from the door, gun in hand. Godfrey hadn’t spoken or moved. He was leaning on the desk now as if for support. He was very pale, and the bruised side of his face stood out blacker as the blood ebbed from the rest.
‘Are we to understand—?’ began Papadopoulos.
Max said: ‘Look at his face. He tried to kill you?’
I nodded.
‘Max!’ cried Papadopoulos warningly. ‘Petros? Ah … Now, Miss Waring, your story, please, and quickly.’
‘Yes, of course, but there’s something – something urgent – that I’ve got to tell you first.’
‘Well?’ demanded the Inspector.
I opened my mouth to answer, but what I had to say was drowned by the sudden, strident ringing of the telephone. The sound seemed to rip the quiet room. I know I jumped, and I suppose everyone’s attention flicked to the instrument for a split second. The constable, who held the gun, made an automatic move towards it as if to answer it.
It was enough. I hardly even saw Godfrey move, but in one lightning movement the hand that leaned on the edge of the desk had flashed an inch lower, flicked open a drawer, jerked a gun up, and fired, all in one movement as swift and fluid as the rake of a cat’s paw. Like an echo, Petros’ gun answered, but fractionally too late. His bullet smacked into the wall behind the desk, and then his gun spun smoking to the floor and skidded, scoring the polish, out of sight under the desk. Petros made some sound, clapped a hand to his right arm, and reeled back a pace, right into Max’s path as the latter jumped forward.
Simultaneously with the crack of the gun Godfrey had leaped for the open window where I stood, two paces from him. I felt my arm seized and twisted up behind my back in a brutal grip, as he dragged my body back against him as a shield. And a hostage. The gun was digging into my side.
‘Keep back!’
Max, who was halfway across the room, stopped dead. Papadopoulos froze in the act of rising, his hands clamped to the arms of his chair. The constable leaned against the wall where Max’s thrust had sent him, blood oozing between his fingers. The twins never moved, but I heard a little sobbing moan from Miranda.
I felt myself sway as my knees loosened, and the gun jabbed cruelly. ‘Keep on your feet, bitch-eyes,’ said Godfrey, ‘or I’ll shoot you here and now. The rest of you listen. I’m going now, and the girl with me. If I’m followed, I don’t have to tell you what’ll happen to her. You’ve shown me how little I’ve got to lose … Oh, no, I’m not taking her with me … She’s a damned uncomfortable companion on a boat. You can come down for her as soon as you hear me leave – not before. Understand? Do it before, and …’ a movement with the gun completed the sentence, so that I cried out, and Max moved uncontrollably. ‘Keep your distance!’ snapped Godfrey.
He had been slowly pulling me backwards towards the window as he spoke. I didn’t dare fight, but I tried to hang against him like a dead weight.
Max said hoarsely: ‘He won’t leave her alive, Markos. He’ll kill her.’
‘It won’t help him.’ I managed to gasp it somehow. ‘I told … everything … to Adoni. Adoni knows …’
‘Shut your God-damned mouth,’ said Godfrey.
‘You heard that?’ said Max. ‘Let her go, blast your soul. You don’t imagine you can get away with this, do you? Let her go!’
Papadopoulos said quickly: ‘If you do not hurt the girl, perhaps we will—’
‘It will give me great pleasure,’ said Godfrey, ‘to hurt her very much.’ He jerked hard on my arm, and took a step towards the window. ‘Come along, you. Where’s the pretty-boy, eh? Where did he go?’
He stopped. We were full in the window. For a moment I felt his body grow still and rigid against mine, then he pulled me out of the shaft of light, backing up sharply against the window frame, with me swung round to cover him, and the gun thrust forward now beside my waist, and nosing round in a half circle. Behind us, out on the dark terrace, something had moved.
Adoni … It was Adoni with the package, delivering it and himself neatly into the muzzle of Godfrey’s gun.
The next second I knew I was wrong. There was the tinkle of glass, the splashing of liquid, and the sound of someone humming a tune. ‘Come where the booze is cheaper,’ sang Sir Julian happily, helping himself to Godfrey’s whisky. Then he saw us. The slurred and beautiful voice said, cheerfully: ‘Hullo, Manning. Hope you don’t mind my coming over? Saw the light … thought Max might be here. Why, Lucy, m’dear …’
I think I must have been half fainting. I have only the haziest recollection of the next minute or so. Sir Julian came forward blinking amiably, with a slopping glass in one hand, and the bottle still grasped in the other. His face had the gentle, foolish smile of someone already very drunk, and he waved the bottle at Godfrey.
‘Helped myself, my dear Manning. Hope you don’t mind?’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Godfrey shortly, and jerked his head. ‘Into the room.’
Sir Julian seemed to have noticed nothing amiss. I tried to speak and couldn’t. Dimly, I wondered why Max had made no sound. Then his father saw him. ‘Why, Max …’ He paused, as if a vague sense of something wrong was filtering through the fog of alcohol. His eyes came uncertainly back to Godfrey
, peering through the shaft of light thrown by the window. ‘There’s the telephone. Someone’s ringing up.’ He frowned. ‘Can’t be me. I thought of it, but came instead.’
‘Inside, you drunken old fool,’ said Godfrey, and dragged at my arm to pull me out past him.
Sir Julian merely smiled stupidly, raised the bottle in a wavering salute, and then hurled it straight at the light.
It missed, but only just. It caught the flex, and the light careened wildly up to the ceiling and swung down again, sending wild shadows lurching and flying up the walls so that the ensuing maelstrom of action seemed like something from an old film, flickering drunkenly, and far too fast …
Something white scraped along the floor … Spiro’s cast, thrust hard against Godfrey’s legs. Godfrey staggered, recovered as his shoulder met the window frame, and with an obscene little grunt in my ear, fired down at the boy. I felt the jerk of the gun against my waist and smelt the acrid tang of singeing cloth. He may have been aiming at Spiro, but the light still reeled as if in an earthquake, and, off balance as I was, I spoiled his aim. The bullet hit the cast, which shattered. It must have been like a blow right across the broken leg. The boy screamed, rolling aside, with Miranda shrieking something as she threw herself down beside him.
I don’t know whether I tore myself away, or whether Godfrey flung me aside, but suddenly I was free, my arm dropping, half broken, to my side. As I fell he fired again, and then something hit me, hurling me down and to the floor. Max, going past me in a silent, murderous dive for Godfrey’s gun-hand.
I went down heavily into the wreckage of the plaster cast. The place stank of whisky and cordite. The telephone still screeched. I was deafened, blinded, sobbing with pain. The two men hurtled backwards out on to the terrace, locked together in a struggle of grunting breaths and stamping feet. One of them trod on my hand as he passed. Papadopoulos thudded past, and out, and Petros was on his knees near by, cursing and groping under the desk for his gun.
Then someone’s arms came round me, and held me tightly. Sir Julian reeked of whisky, but his voice was quite sober. ‘Are you all right, dear child?’