Mediterranean Nights (43 page)

‘Sasha,' she murmurs desperately, ‘we are going away together, aren't we? Why not let's go tonight?'

‘Yes, we are going away,' he echoes, with slow dogged firmness. ‘But not tonight. There is something I've got to do tomorrow—I—I can't think clearly now—don't remember what it is, but they keep on telling me—and it's important. We're going to save the country. That's right—and I've been picked to do it. I've got to look at the big star on his chest. The big star—and aim for that.'

A meeting of the Terrorists in the Doctor's room that night. A small model of a street with buildings is on the table, and in the midst of them four miniature motor-cars placed at intervals along the roadway. Little lead figures are set at intervals along either pavement to represent the police.

‘And you, Rudolf,' the Doctor is saying to a swarthy man, ‘will take care of number three.' As he speaks he touches one of the miniature policemen with his forefinger and turns it over. ‘Directly our man runs forward out of the crowd, you thrust this fellow from behind and trip him, then make your getaway as quickly as you can. You, Marino, will tackle number four …'

The door opens and Stephanie comes bursting in.

‘Stop!' she cries desperately. ‘I won't have it. Sasha is half-crazy now with the drug. If he wants to do it when he's sane—then all right, but I won't have him sent to his death as he is.'

‘
You
won't?' says the Doctor quietly.

‘Yes,' she flares out. ‘If you weren't a lot of cowards one of you would do it yourselves—not get a poor drugged imbecile for your instrument. This has got to stop—if not…'

‘Well,' says the Doctor icily. ‘If not—what?'

‘I'll give myself up—give you all away. Do you understand?'

‘I see.' The Doctor nods to two of his men, who grab her before she can reach the door.

She is hustled forward to face him and he says stonily: ‘You have done your work, and I think it will be best if you are kept quiet now until it is all over.'

Despite her struggles, the sleeve of her dress is ripped away and she is held by the Terrorists while the Doctor gives her an injection in the arm. A trap-door is then opened up in the floor and she is led down into a cellar. They leave her, closing the trap above her head.

In the cellar she looks dazedly round for a moment, stumbles forward and falls across a rough bed. Then she sinks down upon it and falls asleep.

The King in full uniform on the following morning. The Chief of the Police is informing him that all the ramifications of the Terrorist organisation are now known. Every one of them is a marked man, and he urges their immediate arrest.

However, the King will not agree to this. He says that if there is no attempt on his life wholesale arrests are certain to cause popular indignation. Now that the police know who to watch they can give him adequate protection. Let them make their attempt if they mean to. The police can close in on them immediately and the people will then be in sympathy with the Government when their execution is ordered. Personally, he does not think there will be any attempt that day or they would have received some warning from his young protégé Lieutenant Sasha Renescu. The King then asks for news of Sasha.

The Chief of the Police reports that he was at the New
Arts Club the night before with the girl, who left him there; and that half an hour later two of the others called for him and accompanied him to the Doctor's house, where he still is.

The Chief of Police retires with a last assurance that there is nothing to be feared since all his arrangements are perfected. Every Terrorist will be covered during the whole time of the procession. We then catch a glimpse of him in the corridor giving instructions to three of his principal men.

We now see the Queen taking leave of the King. She is trying to put a brave face on it, but is obviously terribly nervous for him. He is laughing and gay as usual, and tells her lightly that he will be back in time for tea. Then, that there is just one thing that she can do for him.

She leans forward earnestly and he whispers in her ear. ‘See that the muffins are not overcooked. You know how I adore muffins.'

We move now to Sasha, dull-eyed and lethargic, with Doctor Pailev, standing on a quiet street-corner. The Doctor is repeating patiently: ‘You will jump on the running-board of the car, you understand?'

Sasha replies tonelessly: ‘The running-board of the car—what car?'

‘
The
car,' says the Doctor. ‘The fourth car in the procession—but I shall be with you and I will give you a push. You know what to do then?'

‘I must aim at the star on his breast,' Sasha says, slowly repeating his well-learnt lesson.

‘That's right,' the Doctor goes on. ‘At the star on his breast. You will be the saviour of our country.'

‘The saviour of our country.'

‘And Stephanie will be waiting for you,' the Doctor adds swiftly.

‘Stephanie—yes, Stephanie will be waiting,' repeats Sasha.

The cellar below the Doctor's clinic. Stephanie wakes from her sleep; memory floods back to her. She looks at her wrist-watch.

The time is ten past two. Suddenly we see all the meaning of that flash upon her face. She staggers to her feet, runs up the ladder and struggles with the trap-door. It is bolted on the upper side. She cannot shift it. She bangs upon it violently.

The King getting into his car outside the Palace.

Sasha and the Doctor pushing their way through the crowd.

Stephanie battering upon the trap-door with a broken chair in an endeavour to smash it open.

The King's car moving off. The crowd cheering.

The Doctor and Sasha wedged in the front of the crowd. We recognise Rudolf and Marino behind the two nearest policemen, who are stationed a good ten yards apart. We also recognise the faces of the Chief of Police's principal men, covering them.

The King's car entering the main street.

A ‘shot' of the crowd lining the pavement silent but expectant. Police are stationed at every ten yards or so, and between two of them, with a clear run into the roadway, we see Sasha with the Doctor just behind him.

The Chief of Police's car driving up to the Doctor's clinic. As he tumbles out with several men he says to one of them: ‘It's too good an opportunity to miss raiding this place for their papers now they're all out.' They enter the house.

The King in his car bowing right and left to the cheering multitude.

The crowd. Sasha with vague staring eyes clutching a bulky object in his pocket. The Doctor's face appears over his shoulder; beads of perspiration are running from his big bald forehead.

Stephanie being hauled out of the cellar by the Chief of Police and his men. She gasps out that there is a plot to kill the King. The Chief of Police gives a quiet smile and says indifferently: ‘You needn't worry, young woman. We've got all your friends covered.'

The King's car moving at walking-pace down the principal street.

The crowd leaning forward to peer at it as it approaches in the distance. Sasha alone remains staring stolidly to his front, vacant-eyed.

Stephanie wildly imploring the Chief of Police to listen to her. ‘But you don't understand,' she wails. ‘It is Lieutenant Sasha Renescu who is going to do it.'

‘Nonsense,' he laughs. ‘He has been working for us, and it is he who has given you all away.'

A man running out of the crowd towards the King's car
a hundred yards lower down the street than the place where Sasha is standing. The King presses a button; the car comes to a halt. Two policemen have rushed forward, but the man is only presenting a paper. It is a petition. The King accepts with his charming smile. The car moves on.

A ‘shot' of Stephanie on the pavement outside the clinic still arguing with the Chief of Police. She beats her hands upon his breast and cries: ‘I implore you to believe me.'

The King's car. It is moving on again at a walking-pace. He is almost level with the place where Sasha stands. Sasha's mouth is set; his eyes are fixed upon the roadway.

Suddenly he turns and grips the Doctor by the arm. Up to this point we are still not quite certain if Sasha has really fallen under the influence of the drug or if he has been playing a part in order to unmask the Terrorists singlehanded.

The King is smiling and bowing.

The Doctor shakes himself free and gives Sasha a push. Sasha suddenly pulls himself upright and dashes forward into the empty street towards the car.

Two detectives instantly tackle Rudolf and Marino. Two others seize the Doctor from behind.

Sasha has drawn his gun. He points it at the King. We see the King's face. He is overcome by horror and distress as he recognises Sasha. He half stands up and shouts: ‘Lieutenant Renescu!'

We see Sasha halt dazedly. His pistol circles unsteadily. A look of mad resolve comes into his eyes. He lowers his head in an effort to aim at the star on the King's breast.

The crowd fighting and struggling. The Chief of Police hitting out right and left as he forces his way through. Stephanie, ducking under his arm, rushes forward and flings herself on Sasha from behind just as he fires. The bullet goes wide. They both go down together in the roadway.

The police and troops rushing forward. The shouting crowd. Sasha and Stephanie hauled to their feet. The King presses his button again and the car halts. He leans forward, gives a quick look at Sasha and then says quietly to the perspiring Chief of Police who is now beside the car: ‘You will answer to me for it that neither of those two is hurt. Take
them at once to the Palace. I shall wish to see them immediately I get back.'

Suddenly there is a new commotion in the crowd. The Doctor, with a heave of his powerful shoulders, throws the two detectives off and draws a pistol. He points it at the King and fires.

The King sinks back on the cushions of his car. The Doctor turns the pistol upon himself and fires again. The crowd and police obscure his falling body.

The King's head suddenly emerges again over the side of the car. ‘Has he quite finished?' he says, with his quiet smile to the Chief of Police. ‘If so, we will go on.'

We now see the King's study. Sasha is seated with his head between his hands. Stephanie is seated near him on the edge of a chair, wild-eyed and desperate. Enter the King.

He places a hand upon Stephanie's shoulder. ‘We have them all, my dear, all those poor misguided people who are so unkind that they would make away with me. But it never occurred to us that they would make an assassin out of him. I owe my escape this afternoon entirely to you. How can I repay you?'

Two large tears run down her cheeks as she stands up. She nods silently towards Sasha: ‘Give him to me. He does not know what has happened. He is ill—terribly ill. Oh, please let me take him away with me and make him well, Your Majesty.'

‘Willingly. He has rendered me a very great service. If it had not been for his information I might have been shot by someone else today. The one thing that we could not foresee was that in acting the part he had to play, it would be necessary for him to take that terrible drug, and that all unknowing he fell a victim to it. His attempt upon my life was entirely my own fault because I sent him into this business. He is one of the Officers of my Guard.'

‘I know,' she stammers. ‘He was…'

‘He is,' says the King firmly. ‘Lieutenant Sasha Renescu!'

Sasha passes a hand across his face and stands up. ‘Sire!'

‘It is my pleasure that you take leave of absence for six months and this lady has my orders to see that you do not return until that time is up. After that you will report again for duty.' His voice softens and he places a hand upon each
of their shoulders. ‘Go to England for a little rest, my children. Things are happier there.'

As they go out they stand aside a moment for the Queen to enter. The door closes, and the King smiles at his wife, as he takes her hand.

‘You see after all, my dear, there was nothing to be worried about; only an accident on the part of one of these people will ever deprive me of the one thing I value—your dear company.'

He turns then towards the fire-place where a dish is set in homely comfort, and murmurs: ‘Now I do hope that the muffins are not burnt. You know how I adore muffins.'

STORY XXVII

T
HIS
is the last story in the present volume, and I have saved it to the last because I have always thought it the best short story that I have ever written.

It opens by a comfortable fireside and the background is built up in that unhurried manner which a story should have when it has not suffered from over-cutting; yet I think many readers will agree that in these five-thousand-odd words there are all the ingredients upon which one might have based a full-length novel.

Some readers may find the triple murder that it contains a little grim, and that the tale has a bitter cynicism rarely found in my books. But it should be remembered that Lilseth would never have become the sort of woman she was, and that Angus would never have set out to take human life with far less concern than he would have shot a fox, had not the one been plunged into the abandon of a world gone mad when scarcely out of her teens, and the other made callous to killing from a long spell in that land of blood and death, the Western Front.

VENDETTA

I
HAD
always known that Angus McReay was a pretty dangerous man to get up against, but quite how dangerous I never realised until he told me the inner history of that affair in Corsica.

People said all sorts of funny things at the time he got his divorce, but I never believed them. I'd known Angus for years and I loved the man; we all looked on him as the bravest chap in the battalion, and that's saying something in a
Highland Regiment. When there was a trench raid or a night patrol you could be pretty certain to spot one tin hat in the half-light a good three inches above the rest, and you'd know Angus meant to be in the party. First man over and last man back—the men adored him—he could do anything with those Jocks.