Night Train to Memphis vbm-5

by Elizabeth Peters

  The sound I made was wordless, more like a bird’s squawk than anything human, but John must have recognized my voice. His head lifted alertly and his face was set in a scowl.

  ‘You again,’ he said, without enthusiasm.

  ‘What . . .’ His face was unmarked except for a swollen lip. I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘What did they . . .’

  ‘It’s called “The Death of a Thousand Cuts,” or something equally picturesque. Lower percentages are employed for purposes of discipline or persuasion.’ The scowl became even more pronounced. ‘The primary subject of the interrogation was your present whereabouts. I ought to have told them not to bother, because you’d be sure to turn up before long. Christ Almighty, Vicky, wasn’t one encounter with that ghastly woman enough? I have been trying for two days to get you out of here, and you keep coming back like a – a bloody boomerang!’

  ‘You’re the nastiest, most ungrateful bastard I have ever – ’ I began.

  ‘If you’re going to shout, at least close the door!’

  ‘Oh.’ I closed the door.

  ‘Dare I flatter myself that you came after me this time?’ John inquired in his most poisonously polite voice. ‘Very good of you, I’m sure. All right, let’s try the escape bit again. If we keep practising we may get it right one day. I trust it occurred to you to bring along a weapon? Possibly even a knife? If you didn’t, there’s one on the table.’

  I had already seen it and was trying hard not to look at it. The blade was dark and clotted. Hoisting my skirts, I whipped out my own knife. I had wrapped a cloth around it as a makeshift scabbard.

  A look of apprehension replaced John’s scowl as I wobbled towards him. ‘Do please watch what you’re doing. There are several essential arteries running down the extremities and your knowledge of anatomy – ’

  ‘I don’t suppose it’s as expert as hers.’ I had no doubt who had used that knife. His shirt was open and I could see some of the cuts, arranged in patterns as neat as cross-stitch.

  I managed to free his ankles without slashing an artery and then crawled around behind the chair. When the knife touched his bare arm he made a profane remark and I snapped, ‘I’m trying to slide it down between your wrists. The rope is pretty tight.’

  ‘Oh, is it really?’

  ‘If you don’t stop twitching and complaining it will be your own damned fault if you end up with a spouting artery.’

  After the last of the ropes had fallen away John rose briskly to his feet and immediately dropped to his knees. Instinctively I reached for him. He flinched away from my touch.

  ‘No. Just . . . give me a minute.’

  I stood looking helplessly down at him as he fought to control his ragged breathing. Sweat had darkened his hair and his wrists were ringed with ridged flesh.

  ‘John,’ I whispered. ‘I, uh . . . I . . .’

  ‘Well?’ He didn’t look up, but his shoulders straightened as if in expectation.

  ‘I . . . I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re sorry,’ John repeated.

  ‘Well, uh . . . It was very nice of you to lock me up in the wardrobe and . . . and all the rest. Of course if you had taken the trouble to mention at an earlier point in time that Mary was one of the gang and a closet sadist, none of this would have happened.’

  ‘Oh, well done,’ John said. ‘For a moment there, I feared that the Vicky I know and love had gone soft.’ He fumbled in his pant pocket. His hands were still numb; he managed to extract a small tin, but it slipped through his fingers when he tried to open it.

  ‘Let me.’ I picked it up. ‘Though I think you need something a little stronger than aspirin.’

  ‘That is something a little stronger than aspirin. One of the white and two of the yellow, please.’

  I didn’t like the look of those pills. If they weren’t illegal they were dangerous. Maybe both. This didn’t seem an appropriate time for a lecture on drugs, however. ‘Can you swallow them without water?’

  ‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’

  After he had forced them down I said, ‘Maybe we’d better get moving.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more. Perhaps we ought first to discuss the method of escape you have in mind. I trust you do have a method in mind?’

  ‘I hadn’t gotten that far,’ I admitted.

  ‘Hadn’t you?’

  We were both kneeling. When he turned his head his eyes were on a level with mine.

  Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then he said, ‘Unless you were planning to tuck me under one arm and make a break for it, you’ll have to contain yourself for . . . say, ten minutes. It will take that long for those pills to kick in. Until they do I might manage a slow crawl.’

  ‘Did they say when they’d be back?’

  ‘No, they were not so considerate as that. Have you been here all this time? Not in the wardrobe, surely.’

  ‘No, I left. Thanks to Max. He knew I was in the wardrobe.’

  That shocked him into relative alertness. ‘What? How do you know?’

  ‘We had a long talk. He sent Hans and Rudi out of the room before he spoke to me, and he obviously meant to let me get away, but he refused to tell me where they were taking you even after I . . . I . . . uh.’

  ‘You seem to be suffering from a speech disability,’ John remarked. ‘You, uh, what?’

  ‘Are you ready to – ’

  ‘No. What did you do or say to poor old Maxie? Burst into tears? Tell him you . . . Oh, Christ,’ John said, reading my face as only he could. ‘You didn’t! You didn’t really give Max – Max, of all people! – the old Romeo and Juliet routine? Did you threaten to perch on my tombstone and drink poison? Did you promise you’d follow him to the ends of the earth and stab him before throwing yourself off the battlements, à la Tosca? I’m immensely touched that you should perjure yourself for me, darling, but my opinion of your intelligence has been sadly shaken. You’d have stood a better chance of softening a rattlesnake than that cold-blooded, cynical – ’

  The door opened just far enough to admit a man, and then closed as quietly. The man was Max.

  ‘Ah,’ he said softly; ‘I thought I’d find you here.’

  My skirts were bunched up under me. I had to stand before I could get at my gun. Max watched interestedly while I fumbled in my pockets. John didn’t move a muscle. His mouth was still open and his eyes were glazed. Finally I got the gun out and pointed it at Max.

  ‘Don’t call for help,’ I said.

  ‘My dear Dr Bliss, I had time to recite an entire sonnet while you were trying to locate that weapon,’ Max said. ‘Something by Shakespeare or Mrs Browning, perhaps? I am not as familiar with your English poets as I would like to be.’

  John closed his mouth and cleared his throat, but he was not yet capable of speech. I said, ‘Turn around, Max.’

  ‘So you can strike me unconscious with the butt of the gun? I think not, Dr Bliss. It would be painful for me and counterproductive for you.’

  John got unsteadily to his feet and took the gun from me. He squinted at it, and then slipped it into his belt. ‘Would you care to elaborate on that, Max?’

  ‘My meaning should be clear,’ Max said. ‘I am going to help you escape.’

  Chapter Eleven

  IT WAS FORTUNATE John was too petrified to argue or make long-winded, sarcastic speeches. Time was running out on us. The meeting had broken up; people were dispersing, to dress for dinner – and for other purposes.

  Max was waiting for Mary. He had told us what we were to do, but he wouldn’t answer my questions. There was no time, he had said, and when I heard that shrill, arrogant voice outside the door where we stood listening, I understood. He had expected she would want to amuse herself for a while before she changed.

  ‘Get out of my way, Max.’

  ‘No, I forbid it. You have done enough already.’

  ‘You have no authority over me!’

  ‘Then I will appeal to someone who does.’ His voice hardened. ‘He will
not allow you to endanger the entire enterprise.’

  She spat out a string of nouns and adjectives. I thought she was applying them to Max until he replied dryly, ‘I have no fondness for Tregarth either, but business must take precedence over personal resentment. He cannot be forced to carry out his part of the plan unless we hold a hostage as surety for his compliance, and he will be unable to carry it out if you go on playing your little games with him. I have locked the door and I will keep the key, so don’t bother coming back after I have gone.’

  She stormed off, using language no lady should employ, and I heard the reverberation as she slammed her door. Max moved away without speaking to us. He’d already given us our instructions, and I couldn’t blame him for minimizing the risk to himself. They probably kept Mary happy by letting her play with traitors and other expendable individuals before disposing of them. Her brother had been fond of knives, too.

  Max had given me the key and told me to lock the door. My hand was clenched so tightly John had to pry my fingers loose one by one before he could take it from me.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I demanded in a hoarse whisper. ‘He told us to stay here.’

  ‘He told us not to attempt to leave the house for an hour,’ John corrected. ‘I’d prefer to wait elsewhere. I don’t entirely share your blind faith in Maxie.’

  ‘Why is he doing this then?’

  ‘God knows. But you can be certain it isn’t because his heart was touched by an appeal to sentiment, of which he has none. Possibly he’s come to think of you as a kind of mascot or good-luck charm. He’s frightfully superstitious – look at those ghastly silhouettes of his. They aren’t a hobby any longer, they have become an obsession.’ He unlocked the door and then turned to look at me. ‘Do you want your gun back?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then get the knife. You left it on the floor by the chair. And don’t put it in your pocket! Keep hold of it. Stay close behind me. If we’re spotted and I tell you to run, do it, without one of those interminable arguments of yours, and without looking back. Is that clear?’

  I nodded. His orders had been perfectly clear. Whether or not I would follow them was another matter.

  ‘Come on, then.’

  Either he had explored the house more systematically than I had had the opportunity of doing or he had stayed there before. Instead of heading for the main stairs he turned in the opposite direction. We had to pass several of the bedrooms, including Mary’s, and if I had not reached a state of total emotional paralysis I would have dropped in my tracks when I heard a crash and an inarticulate shriek from her room. The cry had been one of rage. She must be relieving her feelings by smashing lamps, vases, and other fragile objects.

  John’s long, even stride didn’t alter. He was moving more easily now. The end of the corridor was in shadow, there were no wall sconces near it. What I had taken to be a dead end turned out to be a door, painted the same neutral colour as the wall. When he opened it I saw a landing with narrow, uncarpeted steps leading down, and another flight going up. It was lighted by a single bulb on the ceiling. I ought to have known there would be a separate staircase for the servants. Not that the knowledge would have helped. There would be people in that part of the house too.

  I felt somewhat easier after John had closed the door, but when he sat down on the topmost step I said nervously, ‘What are you waiting for? The servants will be coming this way.’

  ‘No, they won’t. Not for a while.’ leaning back, supporting his weight on his elbows, he went on in the same subdued voice, ‘It’s obvious that you have never seriously contemplated a career in crime. If you do, bear in mind that strict attention to schedules is vitally important. Human beings are creatures of habit, and the older they get, the more they insist on regularity. Blenkiron always dines at seven-fifteen. The servants will be preparing dinner for the guests and eating their own; they don’t come upstairs to turn down the beds and so on until the guests have retired to – ’

  ‘John, if you don’t stop lecturing and start answering questions I am going to scream.’

  ‘Ask a sensible question, then.’

  ‘How did you get involved with – ’

  ‘No, no. That is a reasonable question, I admit, but under the present circumstances it is less relevant than a number of others, and the answer would involve a prolonged explanation which you probably wouldn’t believe anyhow. Try again, keeping in mind that our primary concern at this moment – ’

  ‘All right! Are we going to stay here until eight o’clock?’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Seven-fifteen.’

  ‘How time flies when one is enjoying oneself,’ John murmured. ‘For the next half hour this is as safe a place as any. I’ve a little errand to do before we leave. You wait here while I – ’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It may be a bit tricky – ’

  ‘No. I’m not letting you out of my sight.’

  John studied me speculatively. I scooted back, out of his reach. ‘Oh, no, you don’t. Not another sock on the jaw, for my own good.’

  ‘It’s a tempting idea. But in this case it might do more harm than good. Besides, you’d probably hit me back. Come along, then. And don’t forget what I told you.’

  The stairs ended at another closed door. When John eased it open I started; the voices sounded as if they were only a few feet away. They were. The room to our left was the kitchen. I could smell cooking and hear pots and dishes rattling.

  John went the other way, moving as soundlessly as if he too were barefoot. I hadn’t been in this part of the house and I had no idea where we were or where we were going, so I stayed close on his heels. When he opened the next door I did know where we were, and that encouraging old adage about the frying pan and the fire came back to me. Ahead was the main hall of the house, lighted like a stage by the hanging brass chandelier and a dozen sconces. The open archway to my right led to the parlour. Lights blazed from that room as well; in another forty minutes, give or take five minutes, Larry and his ‘guests’ would be entering it. On my left was the staircase. I’d have preferred to stay in the illusory safety of the shadows cast by that massive structure, but John didn’t pause. He walked unconcernedly past the foot of the stairs and entered the corridor that led to the library and Larry’s study.

  Apparently he had been right about the household schedule. We met no one. When we reached the study John’s fingers pressed a switch and prodded a button, both concealed in the carving of the frame, before he turned the knob. So, I thought, this wasn’t the first time he had enjoyed Larry’s hospitality. He was one of the world’s most efficient snoops, but even he coudn’t have discovered so many usefal details in two days.

  It was at this point that John’s theories failed. I suppose it was something of a compliment to me that Larry had taken the precaution of stationing a guard in his study. Or, to look at it another way, it was something of an insult. Had he really believed I’d be foolhardy enough to return? Well, he had been right. And if I had been looking for evidence of guilt, this was where I’d have looked first.

  The guard was the man I had known as Sweet. He was eating his supper off a tray, and he must have assumed his visitors were members of the household, familiar with the security system. That moment of misapprehension, brief though it was, saved our necks. Dropping his fork, he reached for his shoulder holster, but he was too slow. John had him covered.

  ‘Get his gun,’ John said. ‘Go round behind him. Far around, if you’ll forgive me for pointing out the obvious.’

  Sweet’s expression didn’t live up to the nom de guerre he had chosen. His eyes, unblinking as those of a reptile, followed me as I sidled to one side, giving him a wide berth. I was not looking forward to coming within arm’s reach of him but I didn’t have to. As soon as I had reached a point at which Sweet had to turn his head to follow my progress John hit him, not with the gun, but with his left fist.

  ‘I didn’t know you were ambidextrous
,’ I said, removing my Girl Scout neckerchief and winding it around Sweet’s wrists.

  ‘I’m not. Bloody hell! That hurt.’

  ‘Stop complaining and help me. I need some rope.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m fresh out.’ Removing his belt, he used it to bind Sweet’s ankles.

  ‘We need a gag. Where’s that nice, clean white handkerchief a proper gent always carries?’

  ‘Never mind the gag.’ John went to the fireplace and began running his hands over the panelling next to it. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Seven twenty-five.’

  ‘Not much time. I hope to God I haven’t forgotten . . . Ah. That’s done it.’

  A section of the panelling slid aside under the pressure of his hands. I could see lights behind it; they must have come on automatically when the door was opened. ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘I’ll fetch the unwanted baggage.’

  ‘Larry’s quite a romantic, isn’t he?’ I remarked, starting down the stairs the open panel had disclosed. ‘Secret passages all over the place.’

  ‘There’s a good and sufficient practical reason for this bit of romanticism.’ John followed me, towing ‘Sweet’ by his feet. I am as a rule a tenderhearted person but I did not wince when I heard his head bounce from step to step.

  There was no door at the bottom of the stairs. They opened directly into a large windowless room.

  No wonder I hadn’t been impressed with Larry’s collection of antiquities. Here was the real collection – his own private collection, hidden away from all eyes but his. The room was softly lit and carpeted. The air was cool, the temperature and humidity carefully controlled to preserve the exhibits. They stood along the walls and rested in velvet-lined cases. The cases were open, so he could touch and fondle to his heart’s content.

  My eyes moved in dazed disbelief from one masterpiece to another. The lovely little statuette of Tetisheri in the British Museum was a fake, all right. The original was here. So was the Nefertiti bust – not the painted bust in Berlin, but the other, even more beautiful, that was – was supposed to be – in the Cairo Museum.