The Thousand Faces of Night (1961)

by Jack Higgins

  He ran forward into the barn and knelt down by the Jamaican. There was a trickle of blood down one temple and when his fingers gently explored the scalp they encountered a fast rising bump.

  Maria dropped on her knees beside him. 'Is he all right?' she demanded, anxiously.

  Marlowe nodded. 'Just a nasty knock on the head.' He lifted the Jamaican in his arms and walked out of the barn back towards the house. He kicked open the door of the living-room and placed his burden on the old-fashioned settee.

  Maria dropped on her knees beside him with a damp cloth and gently washed away the blood. After a moment Mac groaned and opened his eyes. 'Hallo there, man,' he said to Marlowe. 'Somebody sure cracked down on my skull.'

  Marlowe nodded. 'What happened?' he demanded.

  Mac tried to sit up and Maria gently pushed him down. 'I was tightening a nut on the engine cowling when I heard a footfall behind me,' he said. 'As I turned round someone swung at me. I figured it was the trucks they were after so I hurled the spanner I was holding through the window.'

  'That was a bright idea,' Marlowe told him. 'It frightened them off before they could do any damage.'

  Mac tried to get up again. 'I'll have to be moving,' he said.

  Marlowe pushed him down. 'Nothing doing. You couldn't drive five miles in your present state.'

  He moved towards the door and Mac said, 'But what are we going to do?'

  Marlowe grinned. 'I'll have to go for you.' As Mac started to protest, he added, 'It's the only possible thing. Don't worry. Nobody's going to stop me getting there.'

  He crossed the yard to the barn and went inside. He opened one of the tool cupboards at the back of the workbench and took out the shotgun. He broke it and examined the barrels. They were in perfect condition. He tore open the box of cartridges and loaded the weapon, then he put a handful of cartridges into one of his pockets and replaced the box in the cupboard.

  As he walked back to the truck, Maria came in carrying a thermos flask and a tin containing sandwiches. She paled at the sight of the gun. 'What are you going to do with that?' she demanded.

  He opened the door of the cab and placed the shotgun along the rear of the bench seat. 'That's my ace-in-the-hole,' he said. 'If they try any funny business this trip they'll find they've made a big mistake.'

  She shook her head. 'Guns are bad business,' she told him. 'When you start that sort of thing who knows where it will end?'

  He took the coffee and sandwiches from her and stowed them under the seat. 'Don't worry,' he said gently. 'I'm not going to kill anybody. I won't need to. It's amazing how quickly the average thug deflates when he finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun.'

  He smiled reassuringly and patted her cheek and then he climbed up behind the wheel and started the engine. As he eased off the handbrake she ran forward and said desperately, 'I'm sorry, Hugh. I'm sorry for the way I've treated you today.'

  'That's all right, angel,' he said and pressed his foot on the accelerator. The roar of the engine filled the barn and he was unable to hear the next thing she said. Her mouth worked desperately and he nodded and smiled and took the truck forward out into the darkness.

  As he dropped down the hill into Litton he wondered what she had been trying to say to him and he remembered Papa Magellan's words and sighed. Perhaps things were working out for the best after all. Perhaps it would be a good idea if he took advantage of this trip to London to wrap up his own business. Afterwards he could leave the Magellans and their problems far behind. He had done enough.

  He reached inside his shirt and pulled out the length of string which hung around his neck. On the end of it was the key to the safe deposit box. He slipped the key back inside his shirt and a feeling of elation swept through him. Yes, everything was happening for the best after all. The safe deposit firm probably opened at nine or nine-thirty. He could be driving out of London again by ten o'clock. He lit a cigarette and leaned back comfortably in the seat.

  After he had been driving for about an hour it began to rain. He cursed softly and switched on the windscreen wipers. He turned on all his headlights and settled back again into his seat. At that moment the truck lifted over a small hill and the powerful beam of his headlights picked out a green Jaguar parked about thirty or forty yards along the road. A figure stood at the side of the car flagging him down.

  Marlowe grinned savagely and started to depress the accelerator and then he frowned and slammed his foot hard against the hydraulic brake. The truck skidded to a halt and he cut the engine and looked down into the pale, rain-soaked face of Jenny O'Connor.

  'What on earth are you doing here?' he demanded.

  She seemed to have difficulty in speaking and there was desperation in her eyes. There was complete silence except for the rain drumming hard against the canopy of the truck and Marlowe smiled and reached for the shotgun as the dark shadows rose from behind the Jaguar and moved forward.

  Monaghan pulled the girl out of the way and reached for the door handle. 'Right, you bastard,' he said. 'This is where you get yours.'

  Marlowe pushed the double barrels of the shotgun out through the window. An expression of complete fury appeared on Monaghan's face. 'You wouldn't dare,' he snarled.

  'Wouldn't I?' Marlowe said gently and he thumbed back the hammers.

  The other three men were strangers to him, but they bore the mark of hired bullies. One of them said savagely, 'Here, you didn't tell us it was going to be like this.'

  Marlowe raised the gun very deliberately and pointed it at them. 'Maybe you haven't heard about a shotgun and what it can do. I'll tell you. It spreads. If I fire it now all three of you'll get it right in the face. If anyone's kicking after that I still have another barrel.'

  The three men moved back hurriedly and Jenny clutched at the window and said desperately: 'They made me come, Hugh. They knew you would stop for me. It was my uncle who forced me to come.'

  She started to cry bitterly, the tears coursing down her face and mingling with the rain and Marlowe said, 'Go round to the other door and get in. You told me you could drive a truck. Now you can show me how good you are.'

  As Monaghan opened his mouth, she darted round to the far side of the cab, wrenched open the door, and scrambled up behind the wheel. In a moment the engine roared and she moved into gear as competently as any truck driver Marlowe had ever seen.

  Monaghan gave a roar of rage and reached for the door handle. Marlowe rammed the barrel into the Irishman's stomach. As the truck moved away he looked back and saw Monaghan huddled over in the road, his three bravos standing around him.

  As he stowed the shotgun behind the seat he said, 'How did they know I'd be going to London tonight?'

  She spoke without turning her head, her eyes concentrating on the road ahead. 'My uncle sent someone round to buy produce from some of the market gardeners Mr Magellan deals with. He found out that you'd been round already today and guessed you'd be trying for London again.'

  Marlowe grunted and lit a cigarette. 'Somebody paid us a call tonight and laid Mac out cold. Who was it? Monaghan and his pals?'

  She nodded and glanced briefly across at him. 'I was outside in the lane in the car with my uncle. They meant to put your trucks out of commission, but you arrived on the scene too quickly.'

  'They seem to be using you quite a lot at the moment,' he said.

  She turned the heavy truck into a difficult bend with the skill of a racing driver. 'My uncle doesn't trust me any more. He was furious about what happened the other night. Monaghan's two friends are still in bed. One of them has a broken arm.'

  'Who were those characters he had with him tonight?' Marlowe asked.

  'They arrived from Birmingham this afternoon.' She shuddered. 'Revolting men. My uncle forced me to go with them. They thought you would stop when you saw me and my car.'

  He reached for the thermos and poured himself a cup of coffee. 'Well, their little scheme didn't work. Thanks to my ace-in-the-hole.' As he put the flask back under t
he seat he added, 'You can pull up now and I'll take over.'

  When they had halted she sat silently at the wheel for a moment. After a while she turned and said, with something like horror in her voice, 'You wouldn't have used that gun, would you?'

  Marlowe looked surprised. 'What the hell do you think I brought it for?' He laughed harshly. 'Don't start telling me it isn't proper behaviour. I suppose you'd have preferred to stand by and watch Monaghan and his pals use me as a football?'

  She sighed. 'No, I suppose you're right in a way.'

  She slid from behind the wheel. As he moved over and took her place he said, 'I'm damned sure I'm right. With a certain kind of man you have to use the first thing that comes to hand and Monaghan's that kind.'

  He rested his hands on the wheel. 'Well, next stop London as far as I'm concerned. You can come all the way or I'll drop you off at the first big town if you like.'

  'I'll come all the way if you don't mind.' She leaned back into the darkness of the corner and as he reached for the starter said, 'Hugh, you don't love me, do you?'

  He turned and looked straight at her. 'I don't love anyone.'

  She nodded. 'Yes, I thought so.'

  'Do you still want to go all the way?' he demanded.

  He couldn't see her face in the darkness but she answered in a steady voice, 'Yes, I'll still go all the way with you.' He pulled the starter and a moment later they were moving again.

  It was almost seven-thirty when they reached Covent Garden due to carburettor trouble on the way which had taken Marlowe over an hour to diagnose and put right. The main rush of the day was already over at the great market, but to his surprise, Marlowe found no difficulty in disposing of his entire load. The first wholesaler he tried came straight out, examined his load and gave him a cheque for one hundred and sixty pounds on the spot. What was even better, he asked for another load of the same quality to be delivered on the following day.

  Jenny O'Connor looked surprisingly well considering the way in which she had spent the night. Her skirt was of such excellent material that it had creased little and she produced a ribbon from a pocket of her suede jacket and tied her flaxen hair in a pony tail.

  'Even by London standards you look pretty good,' Marlowe assured her as he stopped the truck on Shaftesbury Avenue, not far from Piccadilly.

  She smiled. 'I don't know about that, but it makes me feel better, anyway.'

  He offered her a cigarette. 'What are you going to do? Come back with me?'

  She shook her head and said slowly, 'No, I don't think so. I'll return by train. I want to take my time. I've got a lot to think over in view of what's happened.'

  'Are you all right for money?' he said.

  She smiled and laid a hand on his arm. 'Yes, I've got plenty. I may even decide to stay for a couple of days.'

  At that moment Marlowe glanced casually through the windscreen at a black limousine which had pulled into the kerb a few yards in front of the truck. There was something vaguely familiar about it. The door opened and Faulkner, dapper and correct in an elegant grey flannel suit and Homburg hat, got out and turned to speak to someone who was still in the car.

  Marlowe ducked rapidly, a hand to his face and Jenny said, 'What is it, Hugh? What's the matter?'

  'That man standing by the limousine,' he told her. 'An old acquaintance I'd prefer not to meet.'

  Faulkner straightened up and the limousine moved away from the kerb. He seemed to look directly at the truck and then he turned and crossing the pavement, entered a restaurant.

  Jenny O'Connor squeezed Marlowe's arm. 'You can look up now. He's gone into that restaurant.' She opened the door, jumped down to the ground and said urgently, 'Go on, Hugh. Get moving.' She merged into the crowd and he moved into the main traffic stream. He looked back once and caught a glimpse of her flaxen hair and then she was gone.

  His business at the safe deposit took him precisely ten minutes. They opened for business at nine-thirty and he was waiting on the doorstep, key in hand. As the clerk opened the small safe he said pleasantly, 'It's been a long time since you last called, sir.'

  Marlowe smiled. 'Yes, I've been out of the country.'

  Inwardly his stomach was churning and as the clerk talked, his words became a meaningless mumble. The safe door opened and he took out the shabby, old-fashioned Gladstone bag. He was still talking as they went upstairs, but Marlowe didn't hear a word.

  Outside the pavement seemed to move beneath his feet and the bright, early morning sun dazzled him. The truck was parked in a side street and he almost ran towards it. He scrambled up into the cab and slammed the door. He placed the Gladstone bag on the seat beside him and lit a cigarette with trembling hands.

  For a long time he just looked at the bag and he was conscious of sweat trickling down from his armpits and of a sudden dryness in the throat. With a muffled curse, he reached for the bag and wrenched it open.

  The money was there, all in neat little bundles, most of it as crisp and clean as the day it had been drawn from the bank. For a moment or two he looked at it. Twenty thousand pounds, he thought, and it's all mine. I sweated for it and I earned it. Every penny of it.

  He closed the bag and pushed it under the seat. A moment later the truck was moving northwards through the main traffic stream and he was grinning all over his face like a little boy.

  9

  The truck lurched across the cobbles of the farmyard and rolled to a halt inside the barn. Marlowe switched off the engine and checked the time. It was almost two o'clock.

  He pulled the Gladstone bag from beneath the seat and jumped down to the ground. For several moments he stood, weighing the bag in one hand, his eyes searching the barn for a suitable hiding place. At the far end of the building a rickety ladder lifted to a loft and he walked towards it, eyeing it speculatively.

  The ladder creaked and swayed as he mounted it. He paused at the top and surveyed the loft. It was crammed with the accumulated junk of years. A smile crossed his face and he put the Gladstone bag down beside several old suitcases and pulled the corner of a decaying cricket net half over it. The Gladstone bag looked perfectly at home and he climbed back down the ladder, satisfied.

  He paused in the entrance of the barn to light a cigarette. The farm rested quietly in the damp warmth of the afternoon and he saw no sign of anyone as he approached the house.

  There was a fire on in the kitchen and the table was laid for one. On the plate he found a hastily scribbled note from Maria telling him his dinner was in the oven and that she and Mac had gone to pick up another load of produce.

  Marlowe grinned, screwed the note into a ball and flicked it into the fire. He left the kitchen and went up the back stairs. He opened the door to Papa Magellan's room cautiously and peered in. The old man was propped up against the pillows reading a book. He turned quickly, a smile of welcome on his face. 'Come in, son. Come and tell me what happened.'

  Marlowe closed the door and sat on the end of the bed. He took the cheque he had received from the Covent Garden wholesaler and flipped it across to the old man. 'That's what happened,' he said.

  The old man examined the cheque incredulously and pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. 'A hundred and sixty pounds. That's wonderful.'

  'That's not all,' Marlowe told him. 'They want another load for tomorrow morning.'

  Magellan started to laugh and then he broke into a paroxysm of coughing. When he finally managed to catch his breath, he wiped tears from his eyes and said weakly, 'I feel a hundred per cent better already. I'd like to have O'Connor in front of me right now so that I could wave this cheque in his fat face.'

  There was the sound of a car entering the yard. Marlowe went to the window and peered out as a large black saloon pulled up. After a second or two the door opened and O'Connor clambered out.

  'Who is it?' asked Papa Magellan.

  Marlowe frowned. 'You're about to have your wish granted.'

  The old man looked bewildered. 'O'Connor?' he said. 'But what
on earth can he want here?'

  Marlowe shrugged. 'Perhaps he wants to make a deal. I'd better go and find out anyway.'

  When he opened the porch door O'Connor was standing with his back to him looking out across the farmyard to the greenhouses and the fields beyond. He turned slowly and took a cigar from his mouth. 'It's a nice piece of property,' he said. 'Very nice indeed.'

  'We think so,' Marlowe told him.

  For a few moments they challenged each other and then the fat man's face creased into a smile. 'Aren't you going to ask me in?'

  Marlowe shrugged and stood to one side. 'Why not?' he said. 'We can always disinfect the place afterwards.'

  O'Connor's smile faded, but he forced it back into place. 'Where's the old man? He's the one I've come to see. Not the hired help.'

  Marlowe took a single step forward and the fat man backed hurriedly away. 'I don't want any trouble,' he gabbled in a frightened voice. 'I just want to make a straight business proposition to the old man.'

  Marlowe looked him over coldly. 'I don't like you, O'Connor,' he said. 'It wouldn't take much to make me break your fat neck. Remember that.'

  He turned abruptly and led the way upstairs. When he opened the door to Magellan's room the old man was waiting impatiently, an extra pillow behind him, his back as straight and unyielding as an iron bar.

  O'Connor came into the room breathing heavily and flopped down into the chair by the window. It creaked ominously and he took out a handkerchief and ran it over his face. He seemed to find difficulty in breathing and fanned himself vigorously with his hat. After several moments he said, 'My heart isn't what it used to be.' He gulped and ran the handkerchief over his face again. 'Those stairs are damned steep.'

  Papa Magellan said in a voice of iron, 'You won't get any sympathy here. Say what you've come to say and get out.'

  O'Connor's smile slipped. 'All right,' he said. 'I'll come straight to the point. You're in my way, Magellan. I want you out of here. I'll give you three thousand pounds for this place, trucks included, and I'll settle your mortgage as well. You wouldn't get half that price on the open market and you know it.'