Black August gs-10

by Dennis Wheatley

  What did he want? Why didn't he get off the line? They were expecting important news… It was essential that incoming calls should not be blocked… Kenyon rang off quickly, praying that he had not blocked a call from Rudd. In nervous exasperation he put through another. The wait seemed interminable, and he felt now as though he had been sitting beside the instrument for days. It was nearly seven o'clock before his call came through.

  'Rudd speakin', sir. Bin tryin' to get you this last 'arf hour. Miss C. come in at a'pars'six. Bin ter see 'er cousin in Muswell 'Ill, I gather, but 'er cousin weren't there; she's gone out again now… When'll she be back?… That's more 'an I can say. Gone out wiv Miss Girlie she 'as ter get a bit of food, I reckon.'

  'All right, I'll come right along,' said Kenyon.

  He dashed up to Veronica's room only to find that she had not yet come in. Downstairs once more he paced restlessly up and down the hall now furious with impatience to get away. Carter appeared, silent footed and efficient as usual with a cocktail shaker and glasses on a tray. He poured one out and offered it to Kenyon.

  'Can I help you in any way, milord?' he asked quietly.

  'Yes er thanks.' Kenyon swallowed the drink and seized gratefully of this offer of assistance. 'Get Lady Veronica's car and load it up; directly she returns bring her and Lucy down to 272 Gloucester Road; understand?'

  'Very good, milord.'

  'Right, and now come and give me a hand with the picnic basket and my own things. I'm going on ahead but I'll wait there until you turn up.'

  Directly his car was loaded he headed once more for South Kensington. Hyde Park Corner was still alive with people eddying slowly backwards and forwards in the evening light. Agitators were haranguing large sections of the crowd, but the police seemed to be in sufficient force to prevent any hostile demonstration. It took him twenty minutes to get through the press, but once he reached the top of Sloane Street he was able to slip away.

  A square grey motor truck stood outside 272, stacked with boxes, barrels, and every variety of tinned goods; Rudd was on top of it arranging a tarpaulin to cover the load.

  'She ain't got back yet, sir,' he called cheerily to Kenyon, 'but don't you worry, she won't be long.'

  'Thank the Lord for that!' As Kenyon got out of his car he glanced through the grocer's window. The interior of the shop looked as though a hurricane had swept through it; empty boxes, paper, and cardboard cartons littered the floor, while the shelves were practically denuded of their stock. Then he noticed that the name on the lorry had been blacked out, and just below the driver's seat a small W.D. with a short broad arrow, the mark of the War Department, stood out in fresh white paint.

  'Hullo!' he exclaimed, 'have they commandeered your stock?'

  'Yes, commandeered; that's what it's bin, sir!' With quick efficient fingers Rudd jerked tight the last knot; 'I should wait upstairs if I was you.'

  Kenyon took the hint and left him. In the sitting room he found the Pomfret’s peering excitedly out of the window at the doings of Mr. Rudd below.

  T do think we should do something about it, Hildebrand,' the woman said sharply.

  'My love, what can we do?' the lanky man protested.

  'Can't you go for the police?'

  'Good evening,' said Kenyon; 'what's the trouble?'

  Mrs. Pomfret turned on him and waved her small fat hand appealingly.

  'They've taken all poor Mr. Gibbon's groceries; really, they ought to be stopped.'

  'Why?' asked Kenyon. 'Surely the Government has the right to commandeer things in times of emergency like this?'

  'But it's not the Government; I'm sure it's not! Mr. Gibbon knows nothing about it, and the very moment he'd gone home they started to loot his shop. I wouldn't be surprised if that van they've got isn't stolen too!'

  'Really? But who are “they”. Are there others in it besides Rudd?' inquired Kenyon with astonishment.

  'Oh, its that Mr. Sallust, of course. Rudd only does what he tells him treats him like a kind of god though why I cannot think; a cynical, heartless man!'

  'My love, you are prejudiced on my account,' Pomfret said mildly.

  'Well, he could have got you some marvellous notices in his paper if he had wished, but he was positively rude when I suggested it!'

  'Not rude, my dear; he only said that fine work was always bound to make its mark, and that overworked reviewers were apt to become irritated if pestered for complimentary notices.'

  'He did not mean that kindly, Hildebrand; it was a sneer. But can we do nothing to prevent him stealing all those things?' She looked hopefully at Kenyon.

  Sorry,' he said. 'I'm only waiting for Miss Croome, and directly I've seen her I must get away.'

  There was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs. Griselda Girlie poked her head round the door and then came in. Ann was behind her.

  'My dear!' exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret as Ann pulled off her hat, 'where have you been? You look half dead!'

  'I am,' she said wearily. 'I must have walked twelve miles and all for nothing; I've had a filthy day. The book's not out, I suppose?'

  'No; isn't it infuriating? Hildebrand went down to his publishers this morning but they were shut.'

  'What rotten luck for you.' Ann sensed the tragedy of the thing for this struggling couple by the hunted look in the man's eyes, but the next moment she had caught sight of Kenyon standing half hidden behind Griselda and the open door.

  'Good evening, Ann,' he said. 'Can I talk to you for a moment I mean alone?'

  'No! How dare you come here after last night?'

  'I'm sorry.' Kenyon was horribly embarrassed by the presence of the Pomfret’s and Griselda. 'Look here,' he hesitated, 'I only came to find out what you are going to do?'

  'That does not concern you in the least!' The other three moved over to the window.

  'Why, here's that awful woman again!' exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret.

  'What woman?' asked Griselda.

  'She came here yesterday; the most vulgar, ill bred person I have ever…' Mrs. Pomfret broke off suddenly, remembering that Ann was in the room.

  Kenyon had overheard her. Mrs. Pomfret might well apply such a description to Veronica. A swift glance out of the other window confirmed his guess. There she was, seated in her car with Lucy beside her, and Carter, bored but dignified, clasping the most unsuitable of headgear, a bowler hat, upon the dicky. She saw him and waved a greeting as he turned back to Ann.

  'Look here,' he repeated, 'there are no trains running from Liverpool Street you know that and you must get out of London somehow. How do you propose to set about it?'

  She stared at him angrily. 'I don't. I shall probably stay here lots of people will have to!'

  'You're mad! and I won't have it.' All Kenyon's pent up anxiety from his long day of worry was coming out with a rush.

  'You!' she snapped. 'You won't have it?'

  'No. Since you are incapable of looking after yourself I'm going to do it for you! I refuse to leave you here.'

  She laughed then shook her head. 'I'm afraid you'll have to this isn't Grosvenor Square and you can't take me by force!'

  'Can't I? I can and I will!'

  Ann drew quickly away from him, a little scared by the hard light in his blue eyes. 'Go away!' she said. 'Go away!'

  'No,' he gripped her by the arm, 'not without you don't be a fool, Ann. It's madness to stay here. If you had other plans I wouldn't interfere, but you haven't so you've got to come with me.'

  'I won't Oh, Mr. Pomfret Griselda stop him!' Ann cried as he pushed her towards the door.

  'May I ask… Pomfret stepped forward while the two women beside him stood with wide, excited eyes.

  Kenyon dropped Ann's arm and advanced on the novelist with a threatening glare. 'You go to hell! Keep out of this, do you hear? unless you want to get hurt.'

  Pomfret backed hurriedly away, but Ann had seized the opportunity to rash out of the room, and the door crashed to with a resounding bang. Kenyon tore it open and dashed after he
r across the landing. She had slipped through the further door, but he threw his shoulder against it before she had time to lock it on the other side, and she was sent flying to the floor while he came sprawling on top of her.

  'Now!' he panted, seizing her again, 'we've had enough of this.'

  'And so have I,' cried an angry voice. It was Gregory Sallust, a bricklayer's trowel in one hand a large brick in the other.

  Kenyon stumbled to his feet and looked round with amazement. Sallust's room presented an extraordinary spectacle. The bed had been moved out of a large alcove, and in its place were stacked hundreds of books, boxes, bundles; apparently all the worldly possessions which Gregory Sallust could not carry with him, but held dear. He was busy bricking them up and a three foot wall already separated the alcove from the rest of the room. Rudd stood nearby mixing mortar on a board, and the two big shiny pistols which Kenyon had seen earlier in the day reposed behind him on the abandoned bed.

  'Gregory!' Ann ran forward, clutching at the mason's arm, 'stop him! Oh, don't let him, please?'

  Sallust shook himself free impatiently. 'Let him what?'

  'Take me away! He's trying to force me to go to the country with him against my will!'

  'Is that true? Sallust looked sharply at Kenyon.

  'Yes, more or less but if she stays here she'll starve.'

  'That's so. I'm clearing out tonight. Why don't you want to go, Ann?'

  'I won't! not with him. Gregory, if you're going, take me with you please?'

  'Sorry, my dear it's quite impossible.'

  'But why why?'

  'Because I'm too old a soldier to want to have a woman hampering my movements at a time like this.'

  'Don't be a brute, Gregory. You can drop me directly we get into the country. I'll manage somehow then.'

  'Don't you be a stupid little fool. If Fane is ass enough to want to take you let him! and thank God for giving you such damn fine eyes!'

  'Thanks,' Kenyon cut in. 'If ever we meet again I'll stand you the best magnum of champagne we can find for giving her that sound piece of advice. Come on, Ann!'

  'Gregory please?' she begged.

  'Oh, shut up, and get out I'm busy. And for God's sake keep what you've seen to yourselves, otherwise someone will come and break this wall before I get back.'

  She turned on Kenyon, her eyes blazing. Im not going with you I won't!'

  'You are,' he said, 'and now!' Then stooping suddenly, he picked her up in his arms. She kicked and fought, but it was useless. In stature she was hardly taller than a well grown girl of fifteen, and still struggling ineffectively, he carried her down the stairs.

  'Darlings!' shrieked Veronica as they appeared on the pavement. 'Romance at last! How too thrilling!' She flung open the door of Kenyon's car while Carter and Lucy, now seated side by side in her own, endeavoured to hide their interest and astonishment under masks of gravity.

  Kenyon dumped his burden in the centre of the car. Veronica slipped into the near side, and slammed the door while he ran round to the driver's seat.

  Ann wriggled into an upright position as Kenyon touched the accelerator. 'Let me get out,' she cried fiercely. 'Let me get out! Help!'

  'Shut, up, damn you,' snapped Kenyon. He was furious that he should have let himself in for such a scene, but determined now to go through with it. The car slid forward.

  'Help!' shouted Ann again, while the residents who remained in Gloucester Road began to fling up their windows to learn the cause of the excitement; but Veronica put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

  'Listen, my sweet,' she said firmly, 'if the police or anyone stop us now I'm going to tell them you are loopy. Your poor little baby died last night and the shock has temporarily turned your brain, so your nice kind cousin Veronica is taking you to the country. I've got away with worse stories than that in my time, so you needn't think they won't believe me understand?'

  'Yes,' sobbed Ann. 'I believe you'd get away with murder!'

  'I would,' said Veronica, 'if it was for anyone I was fond of!'

  ?8

  Nightmare Night!

  Ann let herself relax into a more comfortable position between them, realising suddenly that she had been acting like a fool. All day she had been striving to leave London, really frightened now as to what might happen in the capital, and here was a heaven sent opportunity. If it had not been for Kenyon's high handed treatment of her the previous night if he had only tried persuasion instead of bullying and if she had not been so wretchedly tired after her long and disappointing day, she would have come quite willingly. He could not prevent her leaving him at the journey's end if she wished.

  Kenyon was angry with Ann, and with himself. If only she had been reasonable the night before this ridiculous scene would not have occurred, but he ought, of course, to have been more patient with her actually to kidnap her was pretty stiff it was the impulsive nature which went with his red hair, he thought ruefully, which led him into scrapes like this. Anyhow, the thing was done, and he had her safely beside him in the car, which meant a lot. He turned his attention to the best way of getting out of London.

  'Why this gaiety by night?' asked Veronica. They were coming into Grosvenor Place, and the sound of many voices raised in a swinging chorus came to them from the direction of Piccadilly.

  'Sailors in the Green Park, I expect,' muttered Kenyon, 'looks as if they had bonfires going too,' he added glancing eastwards at the red glare that lit the dying twilight.

  'Poor Queen Elizabeth all her nice furniture at Buck House going up in smoke.'

  'Oh, no, I don't think so,' he disagreed as he swung the car in the direction of Victoria but Veronica was already thinking of other things.

  'What sort of a reception would they have a Banners?' she was wondering. 'It was one thing to arrive there according to their plan of the previous evening with Ann as a willing adjunct to the party. Juliana Augusta might prove a little awkward, but Veronica had prepared a story to fit the case, and at the time she had counted on Ann's cooperation in putting it over. Now it was a very different matter. This small, pink wildcat with the tawny eyes was apparently guaranteed to blow up on the slightest pretext. What asses they would look if Ann spilled the beans about her forcible abduction!'

  By the tram terminus at Victoria there was a considerable gathering of people. The trams, like the tubes and buses, had now ceased running altogether, but the crowd appeared to be waiting there on the off chance that something might happen. A news van drew up just ahead of the car and the people swarmed towards it, so they were compelled to pull up, while bundle after bundle of the thin sheets were distributed to eager hands. The man on the van would give no change. 'No time,' he kept on repeating and many a shilling or half crown reached his ready palm in addition to the coppers of the multitude, which seemed to grow every moment. Within four minutes the van was empty and the disappointed members of the throng sullenly dispersing.

  Kenyon had no chance to secure a copy, but a bystander gave him the leading items of news from the single sheeted edition which he held.

  The Government had resigned… the Communist minority in the House had made a bid for power, but the Committee of Imperial Defence had temporarily taken over the control of the country… there was a stirring appeal by the Prince for fair play and the maintenance of law and order. All loyal citizens were asked to refrain from hoarding food, and adding to the difficulties of the police by congregating in the streets.

  The crowd thinned, and Kenyon was able to proceed slowly through it. Soon they were running at a good pace down Victoria Street, which was almost deserted; long lines of shuttered shops, gloomy and lifeless in the shadows, for there had been more trouble at the power stations and only one side of the street was lighted.

  At Westminster there were crowds again also apparently waiting for something to happen. The great bulk of the Parliament Houses loomed up grim and silent, deserted after the last momentous session. The strong iron gates were closed, and police mounted gu
ard at the entrances. In the yard, which is habitually the parking place for Members' cars, Kenyon saw groups of soldiers sitting about or leaning on their rifles.

  By sticking close behind a police van, he managed to get through the square without difficulty, and round the corner to Westminster Bridge, but to his surprise he found the bridge head guarded. A large tank stood in the middle of the road, chains had been drawn across from side to side and detachments of police stood on either pavement. An inspector came forward.

  'Can't I go through?' asked Kenyon.

  'No, sir. I'm sorry, but this bridge has been closed to traffic and pedestrians.'

  'But why?'

  'Well, it's not that we mind people going south, sir, but to prevent them coming over from the other side. If we took the barrier down they might rush us.'

  'Good gracious, who?' smiled Veronica looking at the empty bridge.

  The inspector grinned. 'You'd soon see, miss, if you was on the other side. That's where the real barrier is; this is only a sort of second line. They're a real ugly lot over by the County Hall tonight.'

  Kenyon nodded. He had meant to avoid the worst districts on the south side by going out of London via Brixton and Herne Hill, then through Bromley into Kent. Now he would have to rearrange his plans. 'Are all the bridges closed?' he asked.

  'No, sir, it's just the Houses of Parliament and the Government offices round Whitehall that we're anxious about at the moment. It's important that there should be no trouble round here.'

  'I want to get on to the Maidstone Road,' Kenyon confided, 'but I thought it would be a bit risky to take the ordinary way.'

  'It's a pity you didn't go yesterday, sir. So much has happened these last twenty four hours, and in some places the people are a bit out of hand we can't be everywhere at once you see. I'd cut back as far as Putney Bridge if I were you, and make a big circle you'll be out of all the trouble then.'

  Kenyon frowned. The plan was a good one, but he was anxious now about his supply of gas. He had not been able to fill up to capacity the previous day, and had used a lot in the last twelve hours. A circuit by Putney Bridge would increase his mileage enormously and if his pressure failed they would be stranded by the roadside. It occurred to him that if he telephoned to his Party headquarters they might be able to tell him of a place in the neighbourhood where he could pick up some more, so he nodded to the Inspector and backed his car. 'There's a call box in the Underground Station, isn't there?' he asked.