1950 - Mallory (14 page)

W
ith one swift glance, Jan took in the details of Holroyd’s escape: the crumpled bedspread, the two lengths of rope lying on the floor, the moving curtain, fanned by the breeze coming through the half-open window. How long had Holroyd been gone? Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes? Time enough for the police to be on their way.

Jeanne and Ranleigh stood in the doorway behind Jan and stared blankly at the empty bed. There was a dazed, vacant expression on Jeanne’s face that worried Jan. In past emergencies she was always to be relied on, but not now. Obviously she was still feeling the effects of her attack, and for the moment, he decided, she was useless. He looked sharply at Ranleigh and was relieved and surprised to see that although he was startled he was calm.

‘They may be out there now,’ Ranleigh said, seeing the danger at once. ‘If he telephoned they could be here within a few minutes.’

‘Yes, and this time they’ll be armed,’ Jan said grimly. ‘It won’t be like leaving the Endfield. Not easy, like that. Keep by Jeanne,’ he went on. ‘I’m going to take a look outside.’ Instinctively he felt he could rely now on Ranleigh. The sudden atmosphere of tension and danger, the hopelessness of their position if they were caught seemed to have stiffened Ranleigh’s nerves. The hands of the clock had turned back. He was the same Ranleigh who had worked against the Gestapo, who had resisted torture, and who was still one of the unconquerable nine. Jan sensed this regeneration and was thankful. It crossed his mind that not twelve hours ago he had plotted Ranleigh’s death, and he grimaced wryly.

‘Use the window,’ Ranleigh advised. ‘They may be waiting to rush the door.’

‘That was sound,’ Jan thought. The old technique was returning quicker to Ranleigh than to himself. He slid the Mauser out of its holster and balanced it in his hand.

‘Give him Corridon’s gun,’ he said to Jeanne, but she didn’t move nor say anything. Both men could hear her breathing, rustling dryly in her throat.

‘Take it, Nigel,’ Jan said, using for the first time Ranleigh’s first name. He wanted Ranleigh to know that his trust in him had returned, and he could think of no other way to do it, unwilling to say so in so many words.

Ranleigh slipped his hand into Jeanne’s pocket and took out the automatic. She shuddered away from him.

‘My head hurts,’ she moaned, leaning against the wall, the palms of her hands squeezing her temples.

Jan made a gesture of helplessness. In the darkness the sound of the safety catch as Ranleigh thumbed it back made a sharp exaggerated click.

‘I’ll take a look at the back,’ Ranleigh said. ‘Stay here until I return,’ he went on to Jeanne. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’ He spoke gently, and Jan thought it was in an emergency like this that forgotten comradeship asserted itself.

As Ranleigh moved silently away, Jan approached the studio window, lifted the curtain and peered through the chink into the darkness. He could see nothing, and yet his instinct, a little rusty now, but still acutely developed, warned him that there was danger outside. Silently he pushed open the casement window without disturbing the curtains and listened. At first he could distinguish nothing above the steady hum of traffic moving along the distant King’s Road, then as he tuned this noise out of his hearing he picked up the faint, almost imperceptible sound of the river swishing against the embankment across the street. Then other sounds came to him: the soft scrape of a boot on concrete, a faint whisper of a man’s voice, the chink of metal against stone. He stiffened to these sounds of danger, and then, his eyes growing accustomed to the dark, he saw shadowy figures moving with surprising silence, taking up positions before the bungalow, and the glint of buttons confirmed his fears. The police were already there; cautious, obviously in no hurry, aware that the net was closed but the animals in the net still dangerous and yet to be captured.

Ranleigh joined him at the window.

‘They’re here. Four of them are guarding the back.’

‘I’ve counted eight so far in the front,’ Jan returned.

‘There’ll be more, and the streets will be sealed off. It’s not going to be easy.’ His voice was flat and expressionless, but he was aware of a dryness in his throat and that his heart was pounding, sending blood singing in his ears.

Both men stood silent in the darkness, facing each other. Again Jan felt that Ranleigh was surprisingly calm, and it irritated him that he himself was on the edge of panic.

‘The three of us can’t do it, Jan,’ Ranleigh said. ‘Take her and try the back way. I’ll cover you.’

Jan could scarcely believe he had heard aright.

‘You’ll cover us?’ he repeated blankly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Go on,’ Ranleigh urged. ‘It’s your only chance. Two might do it, but not three. Take her and go.’

‘You mean it?’ Jan asked, shaken. ‘They’ll finish you.’

‘Why not?’ Ranleigh succeeded in controlling the emotion that welled up inside him. ‘I’m finished anyway. There’s no time to talk. You should be able to sneak through.’

‘Yes.’ Jan felt bad, thinking that this was the man he had planned to shoot. ‘But you have as much right to your life as I.’

Ranleigh interrupted him, pushing him from the window.

‘Go! Take her! As soon as you hear me shoot make a dash for it.’

Jan fumbled for his hand and gripped it hard, humiliated to be forced to accept his life from Ranleigh.

‘My good friend,’ he said, wanting to curse Ranleigh. ‘My very good friend,’ and then he was gone, leaving Ranleigh alone.

For some moments Ranleigh stood motionless, buoyed up by the immensity of his sacrifice. Jan had said not so long ago that this was the continuation of war. In war a man laid down his life for a friend: a heroic gesture, Ranleigh had always thought. Still more heroic then, he tried to assure himself, for a man to sacrifice himself for his enemy. Ranleigh had no illusions about Jan. Sooner or later Jan would have got rid of him; a shot through the head, a knife in the back. What did it matter how it was to be done? It would have been done. Ranleigh had no doubt about that; proof that he was no longer of use to them.

This way out was better. Those two would remember him as long as they lived now. It also avoided the suspense of waiting, of watching every move Jan might make, of sleeping lightly, of being afraid to turn his back. And by doing this Ranleigh felt he had finally defeated Jan, forcing him to call him his very good friend, and Ranleigh smiled bitterly. It was a triumph to him for he was sure that had Jan offered him his life he would not have called him his friend.

He pushed back the curtain a few inches with the muzzle of the gun. The window was open and the cool, damp air touched his feverish face. He had no doubt that when he fired the end would come swiftly. The men out there meant business. Two of their comrades had been killed; they would show no mercy.

He wondered what would happen to Mallory. It was a pity about Mallory. Something must have got into the chap to have done what he had done. If it hadn’t been for him this fantastic situation would never have arisen.

But at the same time, Ranleigh thought bitterly, if it hadn’t been for Mallory he would have had to find a job, and by now, would be working in a shop or an office; trading on people’s pity, displaying his empty sleeve and the patch over his eye as a beggar displays his rags. Well, at least Mallory had saved him from that degradation. Mallory was giving him a quick death, ‘Who knows,’ Ranleigh said to himself, ‘I might meet him on the other side one of these days,’ and although he didn’t believe in the “other side” he felt comforted.

He heard Jan slide back the bolt on the back door, and for a brief, horrible moment his determination faltered and he began to tremble, more frightened of failure than of the police. The gun in his hand felt like a dead weight. It required a tremendous effort to raise it. Then he heard Jan whisper, ‘We are ready,’ and caught a note of impatience and doubt in his voice.

He jerked aside the curtains and stood squarely before the window, exposing himself fully to those outside, and with every nerve in his body shrinking in anticipation of the return blow, he fired shot after shot into the darkness.

T
he taxi pulled up outside the cul-de-sac leading to the Amethyst Club. Rain was falling, a cold grey curtain in the street lights. Frith Street was empty. It was as Corridon had hoped: rain had come and had cleared the streets.

Bending his head, as if sheltering his face from the rain, Corridon paid off the taxi, taking care the driver did not get a glimpse of his features. Then he and Ann hurried down the dark cul-de-sac, rain pelting down on them as they ran.

Corridon made for the side entrance; a door in the basement that was guarded by iron railings. He opened the door and pushed Ann into a dimly lit passage that smelt of stale refuse and an accumulation of mass-produced meals.

‘So far so good,’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘We’ll be safe here for a few hours if I can find Effie.’ He shook the rain from his coat. ‘Will you wait while I see where she is? I won’t be a moment.’

‘All right,’ Ann returned. ‘But suppose someone comes?’

‘Say you’re a friend of Effie’s. But I won’t be a moment.’ He touched her arm, smiling at her. ‘You’re a bit of a knockout, aren’t you?’ he went on. ‘You behave as if you’ve done this kind of thing every day of your life.’

‘Go and find Effie,’ she returned. ‘Compliments can wait.’

She was a knockout, he thought as he went swiftly down the passage that led to the underground kitchens. Talk about nerve! She hadn’t faltered once. If Mallory was anything like her no wonder Jeanne and Jan were scared of him.

The door leading to the main kitchen stood open, and he paused just outside and looked in. The staff were hard at work preparing last-minute meals. The smell of onions and hot fat was overpowering. He couldn’t see Effie, and guessed she was in the preparation room where he had spent so much of his spare time in the past talking to her. He found her busy peeling potatoes, singing to herself and alone.

‘Effie!’ he said from the doorway. ‘Is anyone around?’

She dropped her peeling knife, stifled a cry and jumped up, clutching the potato bowl to her. She stared at him with wide eyes.

‘Oh, Mr. Corridon!’

He entered the room, closed the door with his foot and smiled at her.

‘I’m in trouble as usual, Effie, and want your help. Will you help me?’

‘Of course.’ She put down the bowl and came to him. Her big eyes were dark with alarm. ‘What is it, Mr. Corridon?’

‘Can I go to your room? I have a friend with me. I don’t want Zani to know we’re here. Where is he?’

‘In the club. I must finish these potatoes, then I’m through for the evening. Can you find your way up?’

‘I think so. Come up as soon as you can. Can you get hold of an ABC timetable? And you might bring some food. Anything will do. But don’t let anyone know we’re here.’

‘I won’t. You go up, Mr. Corridon. I won’t be more than ten minutes.’

He slipped his arm round her thin shoulders and gave her a hug.

‘You’re a good scout, Effie. I knew one of these days you’d be able to help me.’

She touched his sleeve with an adoring gesture that moved him.

‘Is it the police, Mr. Corridon?’ she asked, and he could feel her trembling against him.

‘I’m afraid it is,’ he said and grinned. ‘But don’t be frightened, I can handle it. You won’t be long, will you?’

He returned to Ann, who was leaning against the dirty wall, her hands in her mackintosh pockets, completely at ease.

‘We’ll go upstairs,’ he said. ‘Effie’s lent us her bedroom.’

They reached Effie’s room without meeting anyone on the way, and Corridon drew the blind before turning on the light.

‘Let me give you a hand with that,’ he said as she slipped out of her mackintosh. He took off his coat and hung both coats on a hook on the back of the door. ‘You’d better sit on the bed. It’s more comfortable than the chair,’ and as she sat down he said with a smile, ‘You can’t say you’re leading a static form of existence now, can you?’

‘Just because I am an artist,’ she returned a little mockingly, ‘it doesn’t mean I sit and vegetate. I keep thinking about those three. They couldn’t possibly have got away, could they?’

‘The chances are they have. They’re experts at getting out of tight corners. I think we should assume they have escaped and act accordingly. But that doesn’t mean you should continue to keep with me. Look, why don’t you give up the idea and go home? So far you’re in the clear, but if you continue to keep with me you’ll eventually land in serious trouble.’

‘You seem very anxious to get rid of me. I like trouble and I assure you I can look after myself. I take after Brian.’

‘So it seems,’ he said dryly, ‘but there’s no point in mixing you up with the police. If you must go to Hermit Island why not go on your own?’

‘I thought we agreed to join forces?’ The twinkle in her eyes belied her serious expression.

‘That was before the police came into this,’ Corridon said patiently. ‘From now on things are going to be tricky.’

‘I’ve lost sight of three of you,’ she said, a sudden curt note in her voice, ‘and I don’t intend to lose sight of you.’ Then with a laugh, she added, ‘Besides, I don’t think you’d ever find the island unless I was with you, and I want you to be there well ahead of the other three if they do happen to turn up.’

He regarded her thoughtfully, wrinkling his brows.

‘I can’t make you out. You just don’t behave like any other woman. This is all wrong: you should be scared out of your wits. You don’t know me from Adam, and yet you want to come along with me. It beats me. I can’t make you out at all.’

‘Put it down to the war,’ she said and laughed. ‘You don’t think I stayed at home and did nothing, do you? I’m afraid the war made for me a new set of standards or bad habits. I don’t know quite what to call them. Since then I’ve been trying to live a normal life, but it hasn’t been easy, and when you suddenly appeared—’ She broke off with a smile. ‘Well, I’m not going to miss any excitement if I can help it.’

‘What did you do during the war?’ he asked sharply.

‘The same as you. I didn’t place you at first, but I know you now. I’ve often heard about you. You trained under Ritchie, didn’t you? I was with Massingham. You’d left by then.’

‘Massingham? Good Lord! Were you one of his foolish virgins?’ Corridon’s eyes brightened.

‘I was. I did ten drops. I’m rather proud of it.’

‘When they told us they were dropping girls we thought they’d hit on a new secret weapon. I don’t think Massingham ever got over the rude things we said about his lady shock troops. He loved every one of them, didn’t he? Well, I’ll be damned! So you were one of Massingham’s girls.’

‘Don’t look so startled,’ Ann said. ‘I know I look as if I’ll snap in two, but you’d be surprised how tough I am. And please don’t be anxious about me. I can take care of myself.’

‘I bet you can,’ Corridon returned. He had had and still had a great respect for Massingham’s trainees. ‘Well, that’s different. Of course you want to get in on this. All right, I won’t keep you out. After all you’re one of the old brigade.’

A tap came on the door and Effie came in carrying a tray of food. She nearly dropped the tray when she saw Ann. Watching her, Corridon saw her eyes darken. A sullen, sulky expression made her ugly.

‘Come in, Effie,’ he said, taking the tray from her, ‘I want you to meet Ann Mallory. Ann, this is Effie, my best pal.’

But even that little flattery did not thaw the cold light in Effie’s eyes, and when Ann said, ‘It’s very kind of you to let me use your room,’ Effie flushed and looked away. She sensed at once that in this girl she had found a rival, and immediately hated her.

‘Did you find an ABC?’ Corridon asked, setting down the tray on the bed. He glanced at his wristwatch. The time was a few minutes after ten o’clock.

‘I’m getting it now, Mr. Corridon,’ Effie said coldly and went out.

Corridon made a little grimace.

‘Here, start eating,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to be going soon.’

Ann selected a chicken sandwich and offered the plate to Corridon.

‘Is she in love with you?’

‘Who? Effie?’ Corridon shrugged. ‘I suppose so. She’s a good kid. I suppose it’s my fault. I’ve known her a long time. I’m having her mouth fixed. She’s been a good friend to me, but that’s all. Anyway, on my side.’

She liked him for his embarrassment and tactfully changed the subject.

‘I wish we could find out what happened to those other three. I don’t want them to get to Hermit Island before we do.’

‘I’ll find out. I can find out most things here.’

Effie returned with the ABC.

‘Now listen, Effie,’ Corridon said. ‘I have to leave London. I won’t go into details because the less you know the better. We’re going to Scotland tonight. We’ll need food for the journey and I want you to come with us to the station to get the tickets. The police will be on the lookout for us, and if we can get on the train without being seen so much the better. Will you do that?’

‘Very well, Mr. Corridon,’ Effie said, her face darkening.

The thought of Corridon going to Scotland with this girl was like a knife stab to her.

Corridon opened the ABC.

‘Will you get the food ready and ask Max to come up? Can you get hold of him without Zani knowing?’

‘I can try,’ Effie said sullenly and went away.

‘I’m afraid that poor girl thinks I’m a rival,’ Ann said, obviously worried. ‘Hadn’t you better reassure her?’

‘I can’t do that,’ Corridon said, glancing up from his frowning scrutiny of the timetable. ‘I haven’t entirely reassured myself about that.’

For a moment she looked startled, but not disconcerted as he rather expected, then she lifted her shoulders a little impatiently.

‘You don’t have to say that, you know. I’d much rather you didn’t.’

He turned back to the ABC.

‘All right, ‘he said, scowling at the Scottish tables, ‘but that happens to be the way I feel about it. I thought you might as well know.’ Then as she said nothing, he went on, ‘There’s a train to Dunbar from King’s Cross at one o’clock. It arrives at noon tomorrow. We’d better take that.’

‘Do you think they’ll be watching the stations?’

‘If those three got away, they’ll certainly watch the stations.’

Corridon returned. ‘They won’t leave a loophole unwatched. That’s why I want Effie to get our tickets. My description has been well circularized, and by now, they may have circularized yours.’

Ann felt in her dress pockets.

‘May I have a cigarette? I’ve left everything at home. I wish I’d had time to pack a bag.’

‘I left my bag too,’ Corridon said, giving her his carton of cigarettes. ‘I left it at Holroyd’s place. The police will know I was with Jan. That’s fine, isn’t it?’ He made an angry gesture. ‘I must be slipping not to have thought of that before.’

The door pushed open and Max put his head round. He looked from Corridon to Ann and pursed his lips.

‘Did you want me?’ he asked unnecessarily.

‘Come in and shut the door,’ Corridon said shortly. ‘I won’t introduce you. You’ll have less lies to tell if you don’t know who she is.’

Max gave Ann a low bow.

‘It’s my loss, lady,’ he said.

‘All right,’ Corridon said irritably, ‘shelve the old world stuff for a more suitable occasion. Heard anything about the shooting at Cheyne Walk?’

Max smiled.

‘Of course, The club’s buzzing with it. That’s all they’re talking about.’

‘What happened?’

‘You mean you don’t know?’ Max looked blank. For Corridon to admit ignorance of such a sensation shocked him.

‘What happened?’ Corridon repeated.

‘It was the same three who shot the coppers at the Endfield Hotel,’ Max said, and from the admiration in his eyes he obviously approved of the shooting. ‘The police were tipped off these three were in a studio in Cheyne Walk. They surrounded the place. The chap with one arm held them off while the other two slipped out the back way. There was a lot of shooting. I wish I’d been there. It was the best thing since the Sydney Street siege, but that was before your time, wasn’t it?’

‘Never mind the Sydney Street siege. Did they get away?’

‘Two of them did. The bloke with the one arm was killed. Real gangster stuff. They shot him to pieces. Pity. He had guts.’ Max shook his head sadly. ‘The other one cut his way through the bogies guarding the rear with a knife. Killed one flattie and scratched another. They say he was wounded himself but that may be copper talk. Anyway, they got away.’

Corridon and Ann exchanged glances.

‘All right, Max, that’s all I wanted to know. Keep your mouth shut about me. I don’t want Zani to know I’m here.’

‘I won’t tell him,’ Max said. He paused, looking at Corridon doubtfully. ‘There’s a rumour you’re connected with these three. There wouldn’t be anything in that, would there?’

‘It’s a bad time to ask questions,’ Corridon said, his eyes hardening.

‘So it is,’ Max said. ‘But I thought I’d mention it. They intend to catch those two. Every flatfoot in the country is on the job. You’ll have to be careful.’