The Thousand Faces of Night (v5)

by Jack Higgins

  Marlowe opened the door without a word and walked across the clearing towards the wood. He plunged in without looking back and Butcher followed him. As they pushed their way forward, Butcher cursed and said, 'You would pick a place like this, Marlowe. I'm soaked to the skin already.'

  Marlowe pushed a large branch to one side and started to speak. 'I'm not very interested in how you feel, Butcher.' He let the branch sweep backwards into Butcher's face.

  He turned quickly, and as Butcher staggered back with a curse he flung himself forward and hit him across his throat with the edge of the hand. Butcher fell to the ground, choking and moaning faintly. Marlowe drew back his foot and kicked him savagely in the side of the head, and then, without stopping, he started back towards the mill, bearing slightly to the left.

  He came out on to the bank of the stream about thirty or forty yards above the mill. The flood waters rushed past him, brown and foam-flecked, bearing all before them. For a brief moment he considered the position, and then he lifted his trouser-leg and pulled the knife from its hiding-place. He held it securely in his right hand and grasping the branches of a small bush that drooped into the stream, slid down the bank and lowered himself into the water.

  For a moment he hung there, and then, as the current tugged at his body, he released his grip on the bush and was immediately carried away. At that point the stream was only three or four feet deep and as he was carried towards the mill, his feet scrabbled on the bottom as he tried to keep his balance.

  And then the water deepened and he was swimming, kicking strongly with every ounce of strength that he possessed. Quite suddenly he was carried over a concrete apron and fell four or five feet into a deep pool. As he struggled to the surface the great, lumbering mill wheel thundered above his head, churning the water into white foam.

  The current carried him relentlessly towards it and a terrible panic moved inside him. He thrashed his legs desperately and then a peculiar twist of the current came to his aid and swept him in behind the wheel against the moss-covered stone foundations of the mill.

  For several moments he stayed there, hanging on to a ledge of stone with his left hand and coughing up the brown river water. He found, to his surprise, that he still held the knife in his right hand and he renewed his grip on it with white, numbed fingers. The water was icy and now that he was not moving he was conscious of the coldness of it seeping into him, chilling him to the bone.

  He placed the knife carefully between his teeth, took a deep breath and sank down under the surface of the stream, his hands scrabbling at the rough stones of the foundations, pulling himself downwards. The great wheel revolved through the water alarmingly near to his body and panic moved again in him as an unexpected current pulled at his legs and one foot touched the wheel as it went round.

  He surfaced once for air and then dived again. There had to be an outlet to that pool inside the mill and he dragged himself along the stones, his eyes straining through the brown, cloudy water. And then he found what he was looking for. It was the entrance to a low, arched tunnel some three feet high and half-way down the wall.

  He decided to take a chance and pulled himself into it without surfacing for air. To his surprise he discovered that no more than the thickness of the mill wall separated the pool from the stream itself. He kicked forward and carefully surfaced through the green scum.

  He kept well in to the side and raised only his eyes and nose above the surface of the water. Harris and Faulkner were standing over by the half-open door, peering outside.

  'I don't like it,' Harris was saying. 'I never did trust Marlowe. He was always a tricky bastard.'

  'For God's sake shut up,' Faulkner said impatiently. 'They've only been gone a short time.'

  Very carefully Marlowe pulled himself over the edge of the pool and crawled towards the corner where Maria and the Jamaican were lying. As he approached, Mac turned his head and his face lit up. At the same moment Maria noticed him and she opened her mouth in an involuntary gasp.

  Marlowe burrowed into the hay and froze for several moments, but the two men at the door didn't notice and after a while he moved beside the Jamaican and quickly sliced through his bonds. 'Whatever happens don't make a sound,' he mouthed.

  As he crawled to Maria and started to free her, Mac said in a low voice, 'What do we do now?'

  Marlowe didn't get a chance to reply. At that moment Harris turned and idly glanced across to the corner. His mouth dropped and for a moment he was speechless. He found his voice and grabbed at Faulkner's arm. 'He's in here,' he screamed. 'The bastard's tricked us.'

  Faulkner swung round, the Luger in his right hand, and Marlowe turned and ran crouching for the pool. As the first shot thundered at him he flung himself head first into the pool and dived for the outlet. His hands clawed fiercely at the stones and then he was outside and surfacing.

  There wasn't a moment to be lost and he released his grip on the wall and let himself drift out from under the wheel. The current swung in towards the bank, carrying him before it, and he clutched fiercely at a trailing branch from a tree and pulled himself out of the water.

  Beside him a stone outbuilding leaned against the great bulk of the mill, and a few feet above it the lower windows gaped like sightless eyes. He jumped for the flat roof of the outbuilding, his fingers gripping the edge securely, and pulled himself up.

  The sill of the first window was only three feet above the roof of the outbuilding and its glass was long since shattered. In a moment he was standing inside. He found himself in an empty, decaying room and he crossed quickly to a door and opened it. Outside there was a narrow corridor and another door hung crazily on one hinge in front of him. He could hear voices quite clearly and he tiptoed cautiously across the room towards the round window. He found himself looking down into the loft of the building he had just left so hurriedly.

  Faulkner was standing near the fire, the Luger pointed threateningly at Maria and the Jamaican. Harris was cursing at the top of his voice. 'He's tricked us,' he raved. 'He'd no intention of bringing the money.'

  'Shut your trap,' Faulkner said. 'And let me think this out.'

  Harris turned and his eyes lighted on Maria. He pulled his flick-knife from his pocket and started towards her. 'I'll make the bastard sorry,' he said viciously. 'He won't recognize his girl-friend when I've finished with her.'

  Mac jumped up and stood in front of Maria. 'You lay a finger on her and I'll kick your face in if it's the last thing I do on earth.'

  Faulkner turned the gun menacingly towards Harris and said, 'Don't be stupid, you little fool. That won't get us anywhere now.'

  Marlowe clambered through the round window and lowered himself gently on to the loft. The boards creaked a little and he crouched down and worked his way over to the edge on his hands and knees.

  Harris and Faulkner were arguing furiously and then, as Marlowe looked desperately about him for a possible weapon, there was the sound of vehicles drawing up outside.

  Faulkner ran quickly to the door and looked out. After a moment he turned, his face pale, and said tightly, 'It's the police. Superintendent Masters of all people.'

  Masters's voice was raised outside. 'Marlowe, are you in there?'

  Mac shouted at the top of his voice. 'Watch yourselves. There's a guy with a gun in here.'

  There was a short silence and then Alpin's voice was heard. 'If you've got any sense you'll throw that gun down and come out.'

  Faulkner started to laugh. He took out an elegant case and selected a cigarette and then lit it with a gold lighter. 'It's rather funny, really,' he said.

  Harris cursed. 'You're off your rocker. We've got to get out of here.'

  Faulkner shook his head gently. 'That's the trouble with your kind, Harris. You never know when it pays to give up. I do.'

  Harris stared at him in amazement and said furiously, 'What do you mean, give up? There's no need. We've got the gun and the girl as a hostage. We can walk out of here with no trouble.'

/>   Faulkner shook his head pityingly. 'It doesn't even work when they do it in the films,' he said.

  He turned and started to walk towards the door. Harris took a hurried step after him, the blade clicked open in his knife and he plunged it into Faulkner's back.

  As Faulkner crumpled to the floor several things happened at once. Maria screamed loud and long and the door began to shake as the police started to break it down.

  Harris snatched up the Luger, which had fallen from Faulkner's hand, and loosed a shot at the door. There was a line of white foam on his lips and he giggled horribly and fired two more shots through the door.

  The banging ceased abruptly and Harris drew a hand across his eyes and turned. His eyes fastened on Maria and the Jamaican and a terrible expression appeared on his face. As he started to raise the weapon, Marlowe shouted, 'I'm here, Harris!' And vaulted to the floor.

  The shock jarred his whole body and he bent at the knees and rolled over in a somersault. Harris turned and fired wildly. 'I've got you, you bastard,' he shrieked. 'I've got you.'

  As he fired again, Marlowe rolled over desperately and reached for the oil drum containing the fire. A bullet scoured a furrow along one shoulder and then his hands fastened on the oil drum and he turned, lifted it aloft and dashed it straight into the madman's face.

  Harris gave a ghastly scream and staggered back, the gun falling from his hand. He got to his feet and ran towards the door, his clothes ablaze, beating at the flames with his bare hands. He pulled the locking bar from its socket, wrenched open the door and disappeared outside into the rain, still screaming.

  Maria ran forward and threw herself into Marlowe's arms. 'Oh, thank God, Hugh. Thank God,' she cried and broke into passionate sobs.

  Marlowe winced as he gently touched her with his hands. Great blisters were beginning to show on his palms and some of the skin was blackened and raw. He handed the weeping girl over to Mac and turned to Faulkner.

  Faulkner's breathing sounded bad and as Marlowe dropped on one knee beside him, a trickle of blood oozed from one corner of his mouth. He grinned faintly and said, 'You clever bastard, Marlowe. I always did say you were a little brighter than the rest of us.'

  Faulkner closed his eyes, a spasm of pain moving through his body and Marlowe shook him gently. 'Faulkner, who told you I was hiding out in Litton? Was it Masters?'

  Faulkner opened his eyes and a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. 'Good God, no,' he said. 'It was an acquaintance of yours. A white-haired girl called O'Connor. I was having breakfast in a restaurant in Shaftesbury Avenue the other morning when she came up to me as bold as brass and asked me if I knew you.'

  Marlowe was conscious of movement beside him and he looked up into Masters's face. He shook his head. 'He's had it,' he said.

  As he turned back Faulkner shook his head several times and smiled faintly. 'Poor Hugh. I told you never to trust women, but you always were tender-hearted underneath that surface toughness.' He started to laugh. 'It's damned funny, really.' He choked suddenly and blood rushed from his mouth in a bright stream as his head lolled to one side.

  Marlowe got to his feet slowly, his mind seething with conflicting emotions. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to gaze into Mac's troubled eyes. 'He was lying, Hugh,' Mac said. 'He must have been. Miss Jenny wouldn't do a thing like that.'

  Marlowe shook his head. 'He wasn't lying, Mac. A man doesn't lie when he's dying. Nobody's that sure of where he's going.'

  He slipped a hand round Maria's shoulders and helped her towards the door and Masters walked beside them. 'I'm sorry about this, Marlowe,' he said. 'It's a case of cry wolf, I suppose. We just didn't believe you until you took off without the money. Then Alpin looked at the map and found the circle you'd drawn around Garvald Mill. He called in a few reinforcements and we thought we'd take a look.'

  'What about Harris?' Marlowe said.

  Marlowe shrugged. 'He's in a bad way. They've taken him away in a car.' He shook his head. 'Those burns looked pretty bad.'

  Marlowe shrugged. 'I'm not sorry. He stabbed Faulkner in the back and he was going to finish off Mackenzie and the girl. I had to do something pretty drastic.'

  Masters sighed. 'Yes, I suppose you did. You always do seem to end up doing something drastic to somebody, don't you?'

  They reached the two police cars that were parked on the edge of the clearing and Alpin came up, a lugubrious expression on his face. 'Well, you've given us a little action for once.' His eyes fastened on Marlowe's wounded shoulder and he clicked his tongue. 'We'd better have something done to that. I want you to survive till you've answered all my questions.'

  Maria and the Jamaican got into the back of one of the cars and Marlowe stood against the door, the rain beating into him, while a young constable fastened a pad of cotton wool over the groove in his shoulder with surgical tape from a first-aid box.

  As the constable dabbed iodine on Marlowe's hands, pain ran through him in great waves, but he was hardly conscious of it. His mind could only concentrate with a terrible burning force on one thing only. That Jenny O'Connor had played him false. That she had tricked him all along the line. That she was responsible for the death of Papa Magellan and he knew, with a terrible sureness, that he was going to kill her.

  12

  Marlowe stood in the porch and watched the last of the police cars turn out of the gate into the main road. The sound of its engine dwindled into the distance and he lit a cigarette awkwardly, because of his heavily bandaged hands, and stepped out into the driving rain.

  As he walked down to the barn, he heard his name called from the house and Mac came out of the porch and ran towards him, splashing through the many pools. Marlowe kept on walking and was entering the barn as the Jamaican caught up with him. Mac pulled at his arm. 'Hey, man, where are you going?'

  Marlowe jerked away from him and went over to the work-bench. He pulled open various drawers and searched through them. After a moment or two he grunted with satisfaction and took out a pair of heavy leather driving mitts. 'I can just about get these on.'

  Mac frowned. 'What is this, Hugh? You've been acting kind of strange since we got back.'

  Marlowe shrugged impatiently. 'I'm all right,' he said. 'Don't worry about me. How's Maria?'

  The Jamaican smiled. 'She's in the kitchen making a meal. Man, she's really come out of all this well. Most girls would have been flat on their backs after what she's been through.' He nodded his head. 'There's a lot of good stuff in that girl.'

  Marlowe stared into the middle distance and eased the gloves over his bandaged hands. 'Yes, she's a good kid,' he said. 'She'll make some bloke a fine wife.' He shook his head as if he was dazed and continued, 'Listen, Mac, have you any idea where Monaghan lives?'

  Mac nodded. 'Sure, he hangs out in a pub called the Grey Goose. It's in Dover Street not far from the main square.' He frowned. 'What do you want to know for?'

  Marlowe bared his teeth and clapped him on the shoulder. 'Nothing important,' he said. 'I just want a word with him.'

  He turned to the truck and Mac grabbed him by the arm. 'Is he the only one you're going to have a word with? You sure you're not going after Jenny O'Connor?'

  Marlowe swung on him savagely. 'You listen to me,' he said, 'and listen good. Papa Magellan didn't fall asleep at the wheel like we thought. His brakes were fixed. As far as I'm concerned that means he was murdered. O'Connor may have been running things, but she was working with him all along, making a sucker out of me. She must have known what O'Connor intended to do. That makes her just as guilty.'

  He pulled himself up behind the wheel and slammed the door. As he started the engine, Mac clambered up on the footboard and said desperately, 'If that's true, it's a police job. You should have told those coppers.' He shook his head. 'You can't go taking any private vengeance, man. They'll hang you just as high as they will her.'

  Marlowe pushed him in the chest, sending him staggering back against the wall. 'Sorry, Mac,' he said. 'This is my affai
r and I'll handle it in my own way. Look after Maria.' He gunned the motor and roared out of the barn before the Jamaican could argue any more.

  It was growing dark as he entered the outskirts of Barford and the heavy rain made visibility even poorer. He found Dover Street without difficulty and an illuminated glass sign swinging over the pavement in the rain, indicated the Grey Goose.

  As he approached he saw a familiar yellow van parked outside and Monaghan in the act of getting in. The van moved quickly away from the kerb and Marlowe increased speed and followed it.

  He wondered where Monaghan was going. Perhaps to meet Jenny O'Connor, but somehow he didn't think so. It was more likely the Irishman was deserting the sinking ship while the going was good.

  The van turned into another square and halted in front of the railway station. As Monaghan was getting out of the cab Marlowe parked behind him and jumped down from the cab. 'Going somewhere, Monaghan?' he said.

  The Irishman was taking a suitcase out of the cab of the van. He turned and looked at Marlowe in alarm and his jaw dropped. 'What do you want?' he said.

  'I want a few more facts from you, Monaghan.' Marlowe spoke softly. 'Mainly about Jenny O'Connor.'

  The Irishman threw the suitcase at Marlowe's head and turned and ran for the station steps.

  Marlowe ducked and went after him. Monaghan disappeared into the entrance and when Marlowe followed him in, he found that the booking hall was quite crowded. He glanced about him hastily. There was no sign of the Irishman.

  He walked over to the ticket barrier and saw, from a notice chalked on a blackboard, that the next train was the London express leaving in five minutes. He quickly bought a platform ticket and passed through the barrier.

  The train was standing at a platform on the far side of the track and as he passed over the footbridge, he caught a glimpse of Monaghan getting into a compartment about half-way along the train. He quickly descended the steps leading to the platform and hurried along, peering in through the windows of the compartments. As he reached the end of that particular coach, he saw Monaghan settling in a corner seat.