by John Creasey
Diana said nothing She looked tired, although a few minutes before she had been swimming and laughing.
‘Hasn’t he been paid?’ Loftus added quietly.
‘Not—in full,’ said Diana. The directness of her gaze startled him, for it had an intensity he had not seen before. ‘Bill, if you talk about him again I’m going back to London, and next time you call me I’ll be out. Don’t say it isn’t fair. Life isn’t. I’ve learned to take it as it comes, and I thought you had. If it will please you I’ll pay you a compliment—you’re the only man I’ve met who hasn’t taken it for granted that since the family fortunes went I’m for sale to the highest bidder. Except de Casila.’ She shrugged. ‘He is prepared to make an honest woman of me.’
‘Meaning that your opinion of men in general isn’t high,’ said Loftus.
‘It never has been, darling. Can’t we forget it?’
‘I suppose we’ll have to,’ said Loftus. He jumped up. ‘I’d like another swim. Coming?’
Diana hesitated.
‘You stay and watch if you like,’ Loftus said.
He took off his wrap, and walked across the small patch of lawn towards the sea. The tide was in, and the sun, low in the West, was still warm. He had a dinghy moored to a buoy fifty yards out, and swam powerfully towards it. He was, Diana told herself, one of the few men who looked better in swimming trunks than in a Savile Row suit. One expected him to have a well-developed paunch, but his stomach was firm and flat; and his brown arms and shoulders glistened as he cleft the water. He reached the boat, clambered over, and then dived in the sea again, smoothly, gracefully.
Diana’s eyes followed him. Loftus was under water when she ran across the beach to join him, and he did not see her at first. Suddenly, from somewhere nearby, there came a sharp crack! Loftus surfaced, and stared towards the shore.
‘What was that?’ Diana called, treading water for a moment.
‘Don’t know.’
Crack!
There was no mistaking the sound this time: it was the bark of a revolver, and Loftus caught sight of a wisp of smoke rising from a field next to the cottage.
There was a third shot, and a bullet hummed across the waves.
‘Under water, fast!’ he ordered.
Diana went under smoothly, and Loftus followed, but not before he had caught a glimpse of a man standing close beside the cottage hedge. The next moment he was diving low; vague and distorted by the greenish water, he saw Diana in her silver costume and cap. He could stay under water for sixty seconds, but was not sure how long she could keep going.
After a few moments, Diana went up for air. Loftus followed her, seeing that she stayed above water for only a second, then dropped below the surface. This time he gripped her left arm, and swam towards the dinghy. It was no more than ten yards away, and he soon saw the shadow of the keel above him. He kept Diana well beneath it, his arm right across the small of her back, until they reached the far side. Then he struck out for the surface.
Once above the water he kept Diana close to him, making sure the dinghy screened their heads from anyone on shore. She was struggling for breath. Loftus took great gulps of air, holding the side of the boat with one hand, and Diana with the other.
‘Nice people—about,’ he gasped. ‘Can you—hold on?’
Diana gripped the side of the boat. Loftus moved cautiously towards the rudder, and peered shorewards. Standing upright by the hedge he now saw two men. The sun glistened on the guns in their hands.
One of the men had an immense shock of black hair, and beneath it his face looked white: a long, lean-jawed face. The other man, shorter by a head than his companion, had reddish hair with a Cockney quiff over the forehead.
The tall man pointed at the dinghy; the other nodded, and took something from his pocket.
It was small and round: like a tennis ball. Loftus turned swiftly to Diana.
‘Under water again, and swim like blazes,’ he grated. ‘Away from the shore. The tide’s going out, thank God!’
Diana nodded, then dived. Loftus took a single glance above the dinghy, and saw the short man taking his arm back, as though about to throw. Then he too went under.
It was one of the worst moments of his life. He knew that the ‘tennis ball’ was a hand-grenade; and he knew that it was hurtling towards them. If it hit the dinghy the repercussions might give them trouble, but if the short man over-threw...
The roaring the water made in his ears was like thunder. He could just see Diana ahead, a silver streak in the green sea. She was trying to get lower, and he followed her, waiting for the dreaded explosion.
They hardly heard it.
There was a faint, distant boom: and then the sea seemed to rock. Loftus was turned completely over, and felt as though his lungs would burst. The pressure was excruciating, but he could make no attempt to go towards the surface. He was tossed and tumbled about like an empty shell.
Gradually the pressure eased.
Still tossing, he broke surface. For a few seconds he kept as low in the water as he could, breathing deeply, trying to recover his strength. When he opened his eyes he saw only the swelling waves: and beyond, miles away it seemed, the shore and the cottage. The figures of the two men were vague outlines.
The dinghy had gone, as though lifted from the sea by a giant hand, and where it had been was a pall of dark smoke.
A plank was floating near him. He saw a second, a third; but there was no sign of Diana.
Suddenly a silver cap bobbed up, and then disappeared, twenty yards further out to sea. Loftus swam towards it, catching a glimpse of her face as she turned over in the water. Across her forehead was a trickle of blood.
In that moment he knew that Diana was much more to him than a pawn in one of the Department’s operations.
Reaching her, he found that she was nearly unconscious. The cut on her forehead was high, mostly covered by hair. Loftus, supporting her one-armed, swam parallel with the shore.
For the first time he allowed himself to wonder about the shooting. It looked as though de Casila knew who was spending so much time with Diana. The cold-bloodedness of the attempt and the cleverness of that choice of scene worried him. There were no other cottages or bungalows on the front occupied that day, and even if the shots were heard they would probably be put down to someone potting at rabbits.
The haze of smoke from the explosion was fading now, and Loftus could see more clearly—but what he saw made him tighten his lips. The two men were still staring across the water, but they had come down from the meadow and were on the shingle of the beach.
The force of the tide against him was strong. He would have risked swimming away from the coast had Diana been conscious, but the current would soon start carrying them out to sea, and their one chance of safety was to keep within reasonable distance of the shore.
Eastward was Worthing, westward was Littlehampton, and then Bognor, from all of which places he might get help.
Diana was breathing very slowly.
Loftus manoeuvred so that her arms were about his neck, and she floated face downwards above him. That way he could support her for a while. But with a bank of clouds coming slowly from the south was a keen wind, making him shiver, making his hands blue with cold. He felt a dread of cramp, and once a twinge shot though his right leg. The shore had disappeared, and he was startled when he realised how quickly the current was running.
Odd thoughts flooded his mind. Craigie’s face. Belling’s. Diana’s photograph. The memory of the picture of Juan de Casila, swarthy, fleshy and gross.
The waves were lapping about his mouth more insistently, he was dropping lower, his shoulders completely submerged. In desperation he looked round, but he could see only the grey-green water all about him.
‘I can’t do it,’ he muttered aloud.
Suddenly he felt Diana move: and then he heard her voice, weak and tremulous.
‘What—what is it? Bill...’
‘Take it easy,’ he
said. ‘It’s an old-fashioned form of transport but...’ a wave engulfed them, and the words were lost.
‘Let me—go.’
‘Take it easy,’ he told her again—but she unclenched her hands from about his neck, and he felt her weight slip from his shoulders. As he turned his head, he saw her swimming to catch him up.
She forced a smile. ‘I’m all right—for a bit.’
They swam on, but the tide was now moving faster. If Diana realised the extent of their danger, she said nothing. The sun was hidden by cloud; the wind was rising, and the sea grew tougher. She was swimming slowly. Now and again she flashed another smile, which Loftus found more and more difficult to return. The weight of his arms and legs seemed doubled, and he knew that neither of them could go on much longer.
‘Have a rest,’ he called, and turned over on his back.
Diana did the same. Arms and legs outstetched, they floated for perhaps five minutes, while what remained of the blue sky disappeared, and the first shower of rain spattered coldly over them.
Suddenly, they heard the chug of an engine. Loftus lifted his head.
‘Do you hear that?’ gasped Diana excitedly.
‘Luck’s in,’ grunted Loftus. He lifted his right hand as high as he could, to try to attract attention. A wave lifted him well up, and he saw the boat, a small grey craft, moving towards them.
A shout was on the tip of his tongue when he saw the two men in the prow. One had very dark hair, with a pale face. The other was the man who had thrown the bomb.
Loftus felt a sudden, horrible sickness in his stomach. Something in his expression told Diana who it was.
But before he saw the boat again he heard a second engine.
3
Sea Scrap
Diana and Loftus swam as quickly as they could away from the first boat, their hopes now centred on the second, the engine noise of which was getting louder. As Loftus trod water, a heavy fall of rain made a mist through which it was difficult to see, but he discerned the dark outlines of both craft. A second later he saw a flash, then heard the report of a shot.
‘They—saw you!’ gasped Diana. ‘We’d better separate.’
‘Quiet!’ snapped Loftus.
The shooting started afresh, but it was not directed towards them.
‘Who—is it?’ Diana chattered, her lips blue with cold. ‘If we don’t get clear, I shall never forgive myself.’
‘You won’t be able to if we don’t get clear!’ said Loftus drily. Suddenly he absorbed the implication of her words—‘I shall never forgive myself.’
Which meant she believed the attack had been aimed at her!
But that could all be sorted out later, thought Loftus. The immediate problem was how they were to reach the second boat. He had thought, at first, that one of Craigie’s men had been watching him, had seen the trouble and had set out to help. Now he dismissed the idea. Had another Z man been near the cottage, the shooting reprisals would have started much earlier.
Then who was in the second boat?
Through the swirling spray he caught another brief glimpse of it, an oilskinned figure at the helm. He shouted, but the man stared stolidly ahead.
Desperately, Loftus started swimming towards it, Diana beside him.
Suddenly the man in the boat turned. The next moment a life-belt was flung towards them, the rope uncoiling like a snake through the air. The belt dropped not two yards from Loftus. He grabbed it, holding it for Diana. A second belt was thrown as she supported herself on the first. Loftus felt the pull as the men dragged at him, and the launch drew nearer.
• • • • •
Whisky, blankets, an electric fire in a white-painted, well-furnished cabin, made Bill Loftus feel a new man. Wrapped in blankets that seemed to smother her, was Diana, sitting opposite him. Standing between them was a tall, well-dressed man who would have been handsome but for a pronounced squint. The squint worried Loftus.
‘I assure you,’ said the man with the squint, ‘that we owe you a greater debt than you appreciate, Mr. Loftus. Had anything happened to Miss Woodward I doubt whether I should have lived long. I am responsible for her safety, you see.’
‘As a matter of fact, I don’t see,’ Loftus said. ‘It seems like a bad dream, but they—whoever they are—meant to get us all right.’
‘They were men who dislike—er—a friend of Miss Woodward,’ said the man with the squint. ‘But I have not introduced myself. My name is Clement...’ he inclined his head. ‘Let’s leave the explanations until later. We have to get you some clothes...’
‘They’re at my cottage,’ said Bill. ‘It’s not far from Ferring.’
‘An excellent suggestion, Mr. Loftus,’ said Clement. ‘But we must not draw attention to ourselves.’
An hour later they were drinking coffee in the cottage sitting room. Two men who had been with Clement in the launch were now in the kitchen.
‘Now,’ Loftus said, as he passed his cup for a refill, ‘we really ought to know what it’s all about. The police will have to be told, of course.’
‘I’m sure we would all be happier if the police were not told, Mr. Loftus.’
‘Nonsense! There are a pair of would-be murderers about, and we’ve got to catch them. You can’t be serious.’
Clement’s squint, or so it seemed to Loftus, became even more pronounced.
‘I am, I assure you. It would do Miss Woodward a great deal of harm to have such publicity.’
‘Harm? But she’s always getting publicity!’
‘Publicity of this kind would do her a very great deal of harm, Mr. Loftus. She will be the first to admit that.’
Loftus looked at Diana, who gave a slow nod.
‘He’s right, Bill. I’d be happier if you didn’t make a fuss about it.’
‘But why?’
‘Miss Woodward is a great friend of a certain politician,’ said Clement. ‘The attack was connected with him. European politics are—well, shall we say explosive? Someone who wanted to cause the gentleman in question distress doubtless made the attack on Miss Woodward. Publicity would cause almost as much distress as her death, and I know she has Señor—her friend’s...’ Clement corrected himself hastily—‘interests much at heart.’
Loftus looked incredulous.
‘That’s all very well, but the swine need teaching a lesson. Besides, why all the mystery? Who is the politician?’ He glanced at Diana, and he saw what he expected—a warning that Clement missed.
The tall man’s squint seemed more pronounced than ever.
‘He had best remain anonymous, Mr. Loftus. As for teaching the attackers a lesson, I assure you that every effort will be made to do that.’
Clement’s expression was not pleasant, and the situation intrigued Loftus. It was not hard to pretend to an outrage he did not in fact feel.
‘Oh, all right,’ he said with well simulated bad grace. ‘But how the hell did you get to know where we were? Glad to see you, I must admit, but...’
‘It is my job to make sure of Miss Woodward’s safety,’ said Clement, ‘I knew that Pin...’ he broke off, hesitated, then went on without completing the name—‘was following Miss Woodward, and I in turn followed him.’
‘Who is Pin?’
‘An enemy of my employer,’ Clement said. ‘You may have recognised him?’
‘I saw a tall man and a short one, that’s all.’
‘He would be the tall one. Unfortunately, we lost him, and did not find him until he was putting out to sea. The bomb episode had been seen and heard, and we guessed what had happened. You can easily imagine our relief on finding you and Miss Woodward.’
‘We weren’t sorry ourselves, but damn it—the police really ought to be told...’
Diana broke in quickly, leaning forward and resting a hand on Loftus’s arm.
‘Let Mr. Loftus and I discuss it, Mr. Clement. We’ll start back for London soon.’
The tone of her words was tantamount to an order, and Clement nodded.
Five minutes afterwards, he left the cottage, driving off with his two companions.
Diana lit a cigarette.
‘Well, Bill?’ she said quietly.
‘Never known anything like it,’ said Loftus, with a ghost of a grin. ‘It was warm work while it lasted.’
‘I owe you two things,’ said Diana. ‘First, my life. Second, my thanks for keeping de Casila’s name out of the conversation with Clement.’
‘I gathered you didn’t want him mentioned. But why shouldn’t I know that you and de Casila are—well, friends? People do know it.’
‘Not many,’ said Diana.
‘But they do. I’ve heard it mentioned three or four times.’
‘It’s rumour, not knowledge,’ said Diana. ‘Anyway, I didn’t want you to admit that you know it. It isn’t safe.’
‘Now this,’ said Loftus, standing up and looking down at her, ‘is crazy. We get shot at and bombed. A mysterious customer pulls us out of the sea. And now you talk of danger because I know you’re a friend of de Casila. That’s damned silly.’
‘It’s not.’
‘The man is worse than I realised,’ Loftus said with a grimace.
Diana, unexpectedly, laughed.
‘You never react as you should, do you? Bill, let’s take the first thing first. Thank you—all I can say.’
‘My dear, I didn’t do a thing more than anyone in the same position would have done. Forget it.’
‘I’m not likely to. It makes me wish circumstances were different.’
Loftus drew a deep breath. He hated the need for acting now: this was proving far more difficult than he had expected.
He took the bull by the horns.
‘Look here, Di, I’m a mug in some ways, but not a congenital idiot. There’s some funny business afoot. No one in their senses would try to get at de Casila through you, simply for the sake of giving him an hour’s distress—which, knowing the gentleman’s reputation, is about the limit he would go in mourning for anyone. That suggests you’re more important than it seemed at first—both to de Casila and to his enemies.’
‘That’s shrewd,’ admitted Diana.
‘It’s pretty obvious. I didn’t know de Casila was mixing himself up in dirty politics, but if he is, why do you have any truck with him?’