by John Creasey
The car was about fifty yards behind when he reached the forest, and the sun showed only as a distant tracery of light. The leaves of beech, birch and oak looked almost translucent, and there was much beauty on either side, with small clearings and great trees, little glades, narrow footpaths, here and there parking places.
The car behind Korven was hidden by a bend in the road, but it came in sight again, travelling much faster.
“It can’t be after me,” he muttered. “No one knows me.”
He couldn’t hope to outpace the car, so he pulled over to allow it plenty of room. His mirror showed two young men in the front, and he thought he saw a third, behind them. They couldn’t be after him, but—Palfrey had warned him how dangerous this task might be: how deadly, too.
The car was about to overtake.
It was very close.
He felt a choking fear, for it was so close that he could almost touch it. He pulled further over, on to the grass verge: the front wheel wobbled. Then the car passed, swung in front of him and jolted to a standstill. He could not avoid banging into the back, but was travelling so slowly that the collision did not hurt him or the Vespa. He was frightened as he trundled the machine on to the grass, and two young men came hurrying from the front of the car.
He had never seen either of them before.
He must not say a word to let them think he had been half prepared for this.
They came hurrying, one on either side of the Vespa, as if to make sure that he couldn’t get away. One man had a narrow face with thin lips and a spiteful look; the other might have been anyone in a crowd.
Korven propped the machine up as they drew level, still on either side of him.
“The one thing you must never do, in any circumstances, is name me or Z5,” Palfrey had said. “You are one of us because we believe you would be prepared to die rather than betray Z5.”
It had seemed so easy to promise.
Now, it was almost impossible to behave as if he did not guess what these men wanted.
“Do you know you nearly caused a serious accident?” He was sharp-voiced.
They didn’t even speak, just set upon him. He had no chance to defend himself. One man struck him in the stomach, the other on the jaw, and as he swayed helplessly, he felt a thudding blow on the back of the head, and lost consciousness.
When he came round he was aware of pain in his head, and a different kind of pain at his wrists and ankles. At first he did not understand; but then he remembered. He tried to open his eyes but could not, and it was so dark that he thought he was blind. Then he realized that something was tied round his head, blinding him, and that his wrists and his ankles were bound too. He felt a smooth, steady motion, and realized that he was propped up in the corner of a car.
Was it that old “taxi”?
Fear was less acute now, partly because he was still dazed. He did not stir, except to try to ease the constriction at his wrists, but he could not do it. He smelt tobacco smoke, sweet and pleasant.
Soon he began to wriggle about, and no one took any notice.
The car slowed down.
The one thing you must never do is to name me or Z5
He felt the car turn a corner and then climb a steep hill, and soon he realized that the surface was nothing like so good as it had been. The car bumped. The driver changed gear; once, twice. Then they bumped to a standstill, and there was a noticeable squeak as the handbrake went on. Korven heard movements first inside the car, then outside. A door opened.
Fear was coming back, greater now.
On his very first job for Z5, this happened.
A man from outside the car said: “Got him?”
“Yes.”
“Any trouble?”
“Just started to fidget.”
“He talked?”
“Chance would be a fine thing.”
“We got rid of the Vespa,” the newcomer said. “Drove it right over. It’ll be in little pieces on those rocks.”
There was a chuckle; low-pitched, ugly; that did more than anything else to turn Korven’s fear to a kind of terror, and he began to shiver.
One of the men went on;
“There’ll soon be another thing in little pieces.”
Korven could not stop himself from trembling, yet his mind worked swiftly, every tiny detail of what they said and did impressed itself on his mind. They lit cigarettes, moved about outside the car, spoke occasionally, and gave the impression that they were waiting for something or someone. Then there was the sound of a car engine some way off, which drew nearer.
“This’ll be him,” one of the men said.
Him?
Korven was pulling at the cords at his wrists and straining at those at his ankles, but he couldn’t shift any. The darkness seemed to make his situation worse. He heard footsteps on the rough ground, then one of these two men said:
“That you, Mr. Smith?”
A man said in a thin voice: “Yes. Is he here?”
“Safe as houses.”
“Let me see him,” the newcomer said. The tone of authority was very noticeable.
The door opened wider and Korven felt hands at his legs; another door opened and hands pulled at his shoulders. He was half lifted, half dragged out, but he couldn’t stand upright, the men on either side saved him from falling. He fought for courage and tried to picture Palfrey’s fine, calm face, to hear his quiet, confident voice.
“Push him against a tree,” said the man named Smith.
“Right.”
“You needn’t be gentle.”
They weren’t gentle.
Korven leaned against a tree, and one man still held his wrists. Hands plucked at the cloth round his eyes, and he felt a bandage being taken off. There were several layers. At last he could see a pale glow, but there was no bright light even when the last layer had been peeled off.
Gradually the night took shape. There were trees, two of the men, the car, a better light some distance off, with a shimmery look about it. The sun had set behind a bank of clouds and was lighting up the edges of the cloud. He was still in the forest: or in a forest. Then he was aware of something else: light shimmered as on water, and there was a faint roaring sound.
They were close to the sea; and they had talked of driving the Vespa right over.
A man spoke from his side.
“You’re Dr. Korven, partner to Dr. Dimmock of Lauriston. That right?”
“Yes,” Korven managed to say. “Yes, that is right, why are you behaving like this?”
“Just answer my questions. Who sent you to see Mrs. Hill?”
“Dimmock did.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He—he just said that Mrs. Hill had been paralysed, he could not go himself and wanted me to see her. That is all, I cannot understand why—”
“If you start making a speech you’ll get badly hurt. Did Dimmock say anything else?”
“No.”
“He give you any special instructions?”
“How could he do that, he did not know what was the matter with this woman!”
“He tell you what you might expect to find?”
“Listen to me, please,” said Korven, pleadingly. “This is the simple truth: he told me that Mr. Hill had telephoned about his wife, who had had some kind of stroke. He could not go to see her, because tonight he had to see another patient. Also, it was his night off. So he asked me to go. He promised to go himself if I thought that wise. He told me that Mrs. Hill was an attractive young woman, with one child. That she was very strong but also very small, and that I was not to be deceived by her smallness. She was intelligent, also. That is all Dr. Dimmock told me.”
“Did he suggest any kind of treatment?”
“He could not, he did not know what was wrong.” Korven was sweating freely, and his voice kept breaking; for he feared that death was very near, and its nearness was worse because it seemed so purposeless. Why was this happening? Why had he—
“Ever heard the name of Palfrey?” asked the man whose name was Smith.
Oh, God.
The one thing you must never do is to name me, or Z5
“I—I do not understand you.”
“Palfrey, spelt like a kind of horse. PALFREY. Palfrey.”
Korven gasped.
“No. No, I do not know the name.”
“Know anyone named Sap?”
Sap Palfrey.
“No!”
“Bruton?”
“No.”
“Do you know Andromovitch?”
Stefan, the Russian.
“Please,” Korven said desperately, “I know none of these people. I have done nothing, I assure you, let me go now, I have to see Dr. Dimmock about my patient, she is very sick.”
“You needn’t worry any more about your patient, she’ll be looked after.” That was sneered. “Did you telephone Dimmock from the village?”
“No.”
“That’s right, he didn’t,” a man said.
All this time they had been standing behind Korven, as if they did not intend to let him see clearly, but now the man called Smith stepped in front of him, and stood only a yard away. The fading light shone on his heavy-featured face, and there was no sign of kindness or goodness. He was tall and bulky. The others were still behind Korven, who leaned back against the tree, trying to control a fit of shivering.
“Listen to me,” Smith said. “Remember that if you tell any lies you won’t live to see the night out. This patient, the woman Hill: what was she suffering from?”
“I do not know.”
“Ever seen anyone like it before?”
He had come to look for such a seizure, and Palfrey had described the signs exactly.
“Not the same way, no. She was paralysed. It appears to have started from a throat infection.”
A man out of sight caught his breath; it was like a wince. The bulky Smith didn’t change his expression, but raised one hand sharply, as if the words “throat infection” had some special significance.
“How do you know it started from the throat?” he demanded softly.
“I asked her.”
Swift as a whip, the man’s arm moved, and his finger slapped savagely on Korven’s face.
“You’re lying, you couldn’t question her, she couldn’t talk.”
“No,” Korven gasped in despairing agreement. “She couldn’t talk, but when I asked questions she nodded her head, that’s the way she answered. I have told you all the truth, all of it. Please believe me.”
The man named Smith said almost casually:
“I believe you have, too. Okay, boys, let him go.”
Let him go seemed to flare like a great flame in Korven’s mind. Let him go. He had fooled them! He need not have feared death, they were going to release him, there was no need to worry. Let him go.
A man slashed the cords at his ankles. He was pushed forward, then hustled through the near darkness. The others seemed to be able to see much better than he could. One man was behind him and another at his side, and the only sound was of their footsteps. His feet dragged, but they didn’t let him rest. If they were going to let him go—
They weren’t! He was wrong. He knew what that cryptic phrase meant: he was to be thrown over a cliff, on to the rocks, like the Vespa. He managed to break free, and plunged towards the right, away from the sea and the cliff. He could see the shape of the cliff against the afterglow now, could hear the hissing roaring of the sea, not far away. He tried to run, but could hardly see. He was blinded by his own fears as well as the darkness.
He must not name Palfrey.
He stumbled against the root of the tree and pitched forward, tried to save himself but could not. Then he felt the others pounce, lift him, and carry him bodily; all his struggles were of no avail. They reached the edge of the cliff, and he could see nothing but blackness, although he could hear waves smacking up against rocks below, as if they were calling out for him.
Then, he was struck on the back of the head.
He did not realize what was happening when they pitched him over.
“It’s a good job Dimmock didn’t go himself,” said a man to Smith, “there’d have been a bit of fuss over him. No one will worry about what’s happened to that black so-and-so.”
“We shall have to watch Dimmock,” Smith said evenly.
Chapter Four
DIMMOCK’S RIDE
Dr. Arthur Dimmock climbed out of his car, outside the garage at the side of his house in the centre of Lauriston, and opened the front door of the house as his wife stepped from the car. He switched on a light and was revealed as a short, stocky man with silvery grey hair; his wife looked taller and much slimmer.
“You get in, dear, won’t keep you a jiff,” Dimmock said. “Expect there’ll be a message from Korven. I may have to go out to Conne.” “Oh, Arthur, not tonight.”
“Doctors can’t be choosers,” Dimmock said, aware that he had said that at least once on every day of his life since he had passed his examinations, and he gave a little perky smile. He had an Irish look about him, an Irish merriness in his voice and manner, although his voice was quite free from accent. “I’ll see if the Vespa is at the back.”
His wife went in as Dimmock opened the garage doors. There was no Vespa, just two old bicycles, a narrow work bench, two inner tubes patched and waiting until they came in useful, and a few oddments. He stamped to the house itself, where his wife had put on more lights, and stepped into a spacious hall, carpeted from wall to wall. It had not only spaciousness but charm.
The door to his surgery was on the right of the hall, and there was another door to it leading from the side of the house; that was the way that Korven usually came in. Dimmock went in briskly, switching on two lights. He looked at the small desk where he made out his prescriptions and his National Health certificates, and did the other clerical work which sometimes exasperated him to furious protests. There were no messages on it. He sat on the corner of the desk, lifted the telephone and gave a number, swinging his right leg; it was a quarter to eleven. A woman answered.
“Oh, Nurse Windleham, Dr. Dimmock here.”
“Am I glad you’re back!” exclaimed the woman. “I’ve had a terrible evening doctor. Dr. Korven hasn’t been in touch with me at all. I’ve tried to reach him at his home, but they say he hasn’t been in all the evening. There were three urgent cases, I just had to refer to Dr. Hardy.” She was full of reproach; that Dimmock should have an evening off: that Korven should be trusted so much: that it was necessary to refer patients to another doctor.
“Korven not back?” Dimmock almost exploded. “Positive there’s no message?”
“Good gracious me, doctor, I wouldn’t tell you a thing like that if it wasn’t true.”
“All right, all right,” said Dimmock testily. “Most peculiar business, though. He went out to an emergency call.”
“You told me he’d gone to see Mrs. Hill, out at Conne.”
“That’s right,” said Dimmock. “All right, nurse, my wife will be in now, she’ll take any more calls if I’m not here. Thank you for sitting in for me. Goodnight.” He was brusque partly because it was his natural manner, partly because he was puzzled. He went out into the hall, leaving the lights blazing, and his wife came out of the drawing-room, patting her hair into position. She was very slim for a woman of over sixty, and looked a little tired. A few sequins sparkled in her black dress. “Hallo, dear. Funny kettle of fish. Korven’s not been back, no message, nothing. I’ll have to go and see what’s the matter o
ut at Conne.”
“Oh, Arthur!”
“Like to come for the ride?” Dimmock asked, half hopefully. He was at an age when long night drives on his own had no attraction. But his wife said:
“I don’t see any reason why you should go unless you’re called, and I certainly intend to go to bed.”
“Hm, yes,” said Dimmock. “Well, the quicker I’m off the quicker I’ll be back.” He gave her a peck of a kiss and went out, feeling a little uneasy, a little sorry about this: he had enjoyed the evening, would have enjoyed an hour in an armchair with the newspapers and a book, too. He gave rather a fierce little grin and went straight to the car. He didn’t blame Gwen: she’d danced with a lot of the youngsters and was tired. Grandchildren didn’t become twenty-one every day, though.
“But I can’t understand it,” Larry Hill said, looking at Dr. Dimmock in the cottage’s big downstairs room. “He left soon after seven o’clock and said he’d be back at ten.”
“Hm, queer kettle of fish,” grunted Dimmock. “Queer’s certainly the word. Hope he’s—well, never mind. Now I’m here I’ll have a look at your wife, shall I?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Hill said. “She’s just dropped off, doctor, and I don’t want to disturb her.”
“She all right now?”
“She seems all right, except that she hasn’t got her voice back yet. It’s beginning to worry her, and worry me, too. Dr. Korven seemed so sure that she would be able to talk soon.”
“Sorry, Larry,” said Dimmock abruptly. “We’ll have to wake her. I want to see this throat. I’ll give her a dose that will send her to sleep afterwards, you needn’t worry about that.” He gripped Larry’s forearm. “Never do to have a wife who couldn’t tell you what she thinks of you, would it? Just imagine the number of men who dream and pray that their wives will lose their power of speech!”
Larry’s smile was half-hearted.
At first Dimmock found nothing except a slight swelling and soreness to account for the continued loss of voice; and Jane Hill’s general condition seemed as good as it could be. Then he saw a slight pale mark on her larynx, rather like the mark of some insect. Peculiar. He studied it as well as he could.