by John Creasey
‘The good ship Theophilo!’ said the Englishman, with a quick, sudden grin which seemed the only thing to rob his face of its woodenness. ‘Not out sized, but she’ll do. Steady the bows, comrade!’ He looked at Stefan, who gave his slow, wide grin, and murmured audibly: ‘I was mistaken in you, m’sieu.’
‘I didn’t think so much of you,’ said the Englishman. ‘By the way, my name’s Smith.’ He grinned widely. ‘Come on, Debenham. Can’t wait all day. What?’
‘Isn’t there another boat?’ demanded Brian. ‘We could keep you covered then.’ He eyed a dinghy twenty yards away, but Smith spoke quickly: ‘She’d founder in five minutes.’
‘Look out!’ snapped Palfrey abruptly. ‘And stop arguing.’
The warning was necessary, for the guards had topped the rise at last, and were running at speed down the slope, firing as they came but careful to keep at a good distance from one another. By then Palfrey, Stefan, Smith and the Marquis were on board. Brian waited long enough to send another burst of gun-fire towards the nearer man, then climbed on board. Stefan pushed off. Brian maintained a precarious balance and an equally uncertain hold on the Tommy-gun, while Stefan lowered himself cautiously to one of the seats.
Smith and Stefan took the oars.
Together they pulled hard enough to send the boat racing down-river. The current helped them, although they rocked perilously until they had overcome the initial difficulties of starting. Brian knelt in the stern and kept sending little bursts of fire towards the shore, keeping the pursuers at a safe distance. He saw a dozen of them rushing to the other boat, and watched six crowd into it. Two oars on either side flashed into the water, and then out of it; the men who had started to give chase along-the river were no mean watermen.
The Theophilo gathered speed, riding the surface well despite her clumsy and unwieldy appearance.
Brian watched the guards following and saw that the second boat was getting lower in the water. The guards did not appear to notice it until they were in midstream. Then they tried to turn back, but the water-logged craft made heavy going. First one and then another plunged over the side, swimming towards the bank.
Soon the Theophilo turned a bend in the river, leaving her pursuers far behind.
It was very quiet except for the lapping of the water, the regular dipping of the oars, the creaking of the rowlocks. Both Stefan and Smith were oarsmen of ability, needing no help from Palfrey, who was sitting with the rudder-ropes beneath his arms.
Palfrey briefly examined the bandage on the Marquis’s arm. ‘No, I’ll leave it until we get back. Whoever bandaged that knew enough about first-aid to make sure that the wound was all right.’
‘Thank the lord!’ exclaimed Brian.
‘Ye-es,’ said Stefan slowly. ‘What do you mean, Sap? When we get back where?’
Palfrey stared at him without speaking.
‘The del Roso.’ Brian spoke roughly.
‘Any one of us who goes to the del Roso except furtively will be a fool,’ declared Stefan, ‘and also a suicide. The hotel, of course, will be watched. I think if we show our faces in Orlanto by day we will be lucky to have any faces left for showing. Don’t you agree?’
Palfrey eyed him steadily.
‘You might be right,’ he said. ‘But—’
‘Damn it, we must go back!’ exclaimed Brian. ‘What about Drusilla and van Hoysen? And …’ he paused, and then added slowly: ‘Where else could we go, anyhow?’
‘I know just the place,’ said Smith unexpectedly. ‘Little spot on the river. We’ll be all right there.’ He paused, and then added: ‘Of course, Miss Blair and Mr. van Hoysen. Something has to be done about them, what?’
The two men rowed on steadily, with Palfrey and Brian eyeing each other over their heads, and the Marquis lying inert beside them.
In the mass assault which they had just survived, there had been a desperation surely proving that they were wanted, dead or alive. It had been a trap set wide for them.
Gently, Palfrey broke the silence: ‘I’m going back to the hotel,’ he said. ‘Stefan, you and Smith had better take the Marquis to a place of safety. Brian, are you game to come with me?’
‘Like a shot,’ said Brian.
‘I have told you what will happen,’ said Stefan, and shrugged. ‘Some other way of sending help to Drusilla can sure be found? Eh, Smith?’
‘No,’ said Smith, after a long pause. ‘I don’t know of any.’
Stefan shrugged again.
‘I am sorry. It seems to me crazy.’
‘Don’t be an ass,’ said Brian shortly. ‘We’ve got to go, you must see that. Drusilla—’
‘If Drusilla is in danger, then she is watched now,’ said Stefan quietly. ‘If she is to get out of danger, she needs to do it herself.’
Palfrey hesitated, and then said: ‘You’re right enough, Stefan. But it doesn’t work out just that way. We’re going into Orlanto.’
‘I shall mourn for you,’ said Stefan deliberately.
Palfrey’s smile grew reflective. Brian glared at the Russian, then back at the bank. He judged that they had covered some ten miles. In front of him Smith was pulling without any sign of fatigue, glancing neither right nor left. He had contributed little to the discussion, but he was the next man to break the silence.
‘Any signs of a small white house-boat ahead, Debenham?’
They were on another bend in the river, turning slightly towards the west. Brian started at his name, then peered ahead. For some seconds he saw no sign of a house-boat, but eventually glimpsed it nestling against the bank beneath some trees which looked like willows.
‘There is one.’
‘It is where we stop,’ said Smith. ‘Home at last, and who’s sorry?’
The house-boat gave an impression of bright paint, polish and brasses. A pleasantly clean smell came from it. But for the gentle rise and fall on the swell of the river they might have been in a bungalow at the edge of the water.
Smith obviously knew his way about, and opened the door, standing aside for Stefan to pass him. Stefan bent low to carry the Marquis into a long, narrow room, with two beds, prim in pink silk bedspreads.
Palfrey looked at a deep flesh-wound, caused by a bullet, in the Marquis’s forearm. It had been well dressed and the bullet taken out. It looked ugly, but he had no fear that infection might set in if care were exercised.
Brian was standing by the rails, white-painted like the supports for the awnings, which were fluttering in the breeze. He peered towards the tree-clad slopes of the land on the other side of the river, and Stefan joined him.
‘Brian,’ he said quietly.
The Englishman turned, but said nothing.
‘Brian,’ said Stefan, smiling gently. I shall, of course, come with you to find Drusilla.’
Brian stepped back a pace.
He stared into the Russian’s eyes, his own narrowed. The lapping of the water and the cawing of the gulls was all about them, and there was no other sound until Brian said gruffly: ‘Don’t be an ass. Two are enough. And—’
‘Don’t tell me I am not practising what I preach!’ exclaimed Stefan in mock horror. ‘Without you and Palfrey, and Drusilla, I shall be of little use. So I must try to save you from suicide. I wonder how far we are from Orlanto now? Ten miles, do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Brian slowly. ‘No more than ten.’ He lit a cigarette, flicked the match into the water and watched it carried away, and then added ruefully: ‘You’re a queer customer, Stefan.’
The Russian laughed.
‘To me, you are quite incomprehensible,’ he said. ‘Does it matter? I wonder if—’
He paused.
Above the soft notes of his voice came another sound, from farther away. He peered down river, Brian with him, towards the bend. As they waited and watched they heard the sound of oars in the water quite clearly. They straightened up, and Brian stepped towards the door.
‘We’d better get out of sight.’
‘Our boat is still tied up,’ said Stefan. ‘If it is a frequenter of the river, he will know that someone is on board. So we must get rid of the boat, but it can be done later.’ He followed Brian through a doorway, entering a room opposite the bedroom. At one end there was a bar, the shelves behind it gaunt because they were empty. It gave the room an unfurnished, unfinished look.
They peered through the window together.
A skiff came in sight, handled beautifully, with hardly a sound except the oars dipping in and out of the clear water. It came at speed, looking top-heavy because of its two occupants, both of them dressed in dark clothes. As the skiff moved it appeared to change its direction and approach the house-boat. The two watchers stiffened, while the skiff turned and they could see the occupants in profile.
Brian drew a deep breath.
‘Do you see that!’
‘Ye-es,’ said Stefan softly. ‘Two men very much alike to look at from here, Brian. One, of course, is Hermandes.’
‘The other Bombarda,’ complemented Brian abruptly. ‘What the devil are they after?’ He waited until the skiff came alongside. Hermandes jumped out quickly and effortlessly, and then tied the craft to a stanchion next to the Theophilo. Then they waited, looking about them until the middle door opened, and Brian and Stefan saw Smith appear.
Chapter Sixteen
A Conference is Postponed
Vasca Bombarda and Hermandes stopped a yard in front of Smith, standing side by side. Brian and Stefan had a clear view of their profiles; they looked like identical twins, of a height, dressed in the same dark clothes and with the same pallor of face. Both wore wide-brimmed, low-crowned hats.
‘Señor Bombarda,’ said Smith, and bowed. ‘A pleasure, señor.’
‘Allow me to present my brother, Hermandes Bombarda.’
Stefan looked into Brian’s startled eyes. Brian stretched to his full height and rubbed the back of his head.
‘So they are brothers.’
‘You weren’t wrong, my friend,’ said Stefan. ‘And obviously Clive was not completely trusted, or he would have known of the relationship. Either that, or he did not tell us all that he could.’ Stefan paused, then added: ‘We expect a sensation, and find an ordinary, everyday explanation. Bombarda, of course, was in London to discuss Catanese matters with the Marquis, and he is working with Hermandes. That fact answers many questions, I imagine, but we will be wise to wait until we learn more. Now—’ he raised a hand – ‘let us reveal ourselves!’
Brian smiled somewhat ruefully.
They left the lounge and approached the doorway where the others were grouped, Vasca Bombarda indulging in earnest, whispered talk accompanied by gestures which were obviously carefully controlled. Smith glanced past him and saw the others. Skilfully he interrupted the flow, and the introductions were made.
Both men bowed.
‘We’ve met before,’ said Brian.
‘I recall you,’ said Vasca, ‘on board the aeroplane.’
‘I recall you,’ said Hermandes, ‘at the Café del Porto.’
‘Señor Smith …’ began Vasca with hardly a pause, turning away from Brian and Stefan.
Stefan touched Brian’s arm and drew him away. The Catanese continued to talk to Smith, one against the other, until the Russian and the Englishman went out of earshot. Stefan was smiling as he lit one of his long cigarettes.
‘We are not wanted,’ he said. ‘The brothers Bombarda consider us of negligible importance. We can put the skiff and the Theophilo between the house-boat and the bank, Brian, and thus do something useful and prevent our curiosity from getting too far out of hand.’
There was a small jetty to which they were able to tie the Theophilo before returning for the skiff. Stefan decided that he would not trust his weight to the small craft. Brian bent his back to the sculls, finished the job, and then rejoined the Russian.
The Bombarda brothers had disappeared, but a door opened and Smith came through. His tall, stocky, rather shapeless figure moved briskly, but he lacked the suppleness of Brian and Stefan. His wooden features were not even relieved by a smile as he said: ‘Sorry, Debenham. I’ve had to ask Palfrey not to come with you into Orlanto.’
Brian stared at him with kindling annoyance.
‘But—’
‘The Marquis might recover at any time,’ said Smith. Talfrey will be needed at the parley—although’ – he admitted with a sudden, flashing grin – ‘the parley might have to be postponed. The Bombarda brothers have come to attend it, of course. Rather a poor thought—they might have been followed, what? Think you ought to go?’
Brian stood squarely in front of the man.
‘If the Bombarda brothers haven’t brought an escort, they deserve all they get.’
Smith shrugged. ‘They have, of a kind. There are several men on the banks. However, I see you’re set on this sortie.’
Brian said deliberately: ‘Look here. Smith, is Drusilla Blair a useful member of the party, or isn’t she?’
‘Of course, but—’
‘And doesn’t the same thing apply to van Hoysen?’ demanded Brian doggedly. ‘My oath, you are a pernickety crowd!’
Smith shrugged, and after a pause Stefan said: ‘How will you get into Orlanto, Brian?’
‘I’ll take the skiff.’ Obviously Brian expected an objection, and was surprised when Smith shrugged his shoulders and commented:
‘The others won’t need it for the night, anyhow. You’ll have to suit yourself.’
‘I’m going to,’ said Brian. He paused, and then went on doggedly: ‘If there was any way in which we could get word to Drusilla and warn her of what’s happened I wouldn’t make a point of it. But apparently there isn’t, and someone has to get word through. We can’t telephone, we’d have to say too much.’
They watched him untie the skiff and start down river. Obviously there was no room in the small craft for Stefan as well as Brian, and the Russian had no choice but to stay behind.
‘It is very difficult to change Brian’s mind when it is made up,’ reflected Stefan softly. ‘He almost makes me wonder whether we were right to discourage him, it might make him act more violently than he would otherwise. Is there any way I can get into Orlanto by road, comrade?’
Smith grinned at him.
‘We’re both going in by road, old boy. Can’t leave him on his own, after all. What?’ The man spoke more jerkily even than was his wont. ‘Much better to let him go alone and believe he is alone. If he knew we were behind him he’d tell the world, the very look in his eyes would give it away. Ingenious fellow, Debenham. Good fellow, too. Come on.’
Knowing nothing of what was being said and planned on the house-boat, Brian pulled down river without taking too much out of himself. He was less riled than puzzled at the attitude of the others, but quite sure that he was doing the right thing. It would have given him a great feeling of confidence, he admitted, had he felt that the others were following on, but that was unimportant compared with getting word to Drusilla.
Were Stefan and Palfrey right when they took it for granted that the danger in the city would be greater because of what had happened twenty miles away? Was it not at least possible that the fighting had sharpened their awareness of danger? It would be different if they had been fighting the police or the military, but the Guarda Nationale was an outlaw organisation, and there was surely no need to fear authority’s hostility.
Of course it was difficult for them to apply, now, for police protection. In any case they did not want to be followed everywhere by the police.
Arriving in Orlanto he moored the skiff to a landing-stage where there were several other craft, and then walked past a long, low boat-house where people were sipping coffee or tea – or what passed for coffee and tea in Catania.
He was about to turn away from the river and mount a flight of steps leading to a road, when he stopped abruptly. He heard a sound which was some distance off, and yet was familiar – a sound which had been echoing in
his mind for a long time. It was a faint chattering, like badly-played castanets.
He stiffened, and backed towards the trees lining the river bank. The crowd passed to and fro, and the thronged river grew yet more crowded.
Then he saw a small yacht, sailing upriver. It carried at least half a dozen men, all clad in coloured shirts, with handkerchiefs as gaudy and gay tied like skull-caps about their heads. An air of leisureliness hovered about the yacht, and he saw that the name painted on its side was ‘da Silva’.
Perched on the boom, chattering swiftly to a heavily-built man who held the tiller, was the grey monkey.
Brian began to move along the river in the same direction. His mind worked swiftly, reaching the obvious explanation of da Silva’s presence there: it was going to the house-boat. He made a quick estimate of the character of the men on board. They could do a great deal of damage at the river rendezvous, and, of course, there was a chance that they would not be without reinforcements.
Tension increased in Brian as he followed the course of the yacht. He had to stop it, but it was easier to contemplate than to do.
‘I’d give a fortune,’ said Brian, sotto voce, ‘for one hand-grenade. Just one little hand-grenade.’
He had to walk faster, for the yacht was making fair progress, getting clear of the small boats and skiffs. The crew – or passengers – lolled lazily, as if thoroughly content with their lot.
‘If I could stove in a couple of planks,’ thought Brian, ‘it would be good enough.’ He glanced about him, seeing a path leading to the river from a field on the outskirts of the town, and catching a glimpse of a man moving beyond a hedge. He did not see more than the top of the man’s head, but he thought the other was crouching low. He felt a sudden flare of alarm, lest this heralded an attack, and put his hand to his hip-pocket. A voice came from behind the hedge, saying: ‘Brian, walk straight on.’
‘Stefan!’ exclaimed Brian.
Involuntarily he glanced towards the Russian, and caught a glimpse of him half-hidden by the bushes. Then he looked straight ahead of him again. He did not know whether he had yet been observed by the da Silva, but his heart was beating fast at the realisation that he had support near at hand.