James Chase - This Way for a Shroud

“Has she said anything?”

“Oh, no. But I’ve watched her. She’s having quite a time, trying to make up her mind about something. She broods an awful lot. I think she is wavering, Paul. A little more persuasion might bring her down on our side. She’s very worried about Weiner. She keeps asking me if I think he’s safe.”

“Oh, he’s safe enough,” Conrad said impatiently. “It’ll be when I take him to the court-house that the trouble will start. They are certain to have a go at him

between here and the court-house. It’s their only chance.”

He slowed down as the massive gates came into his headlights.

Five policemen, each armed with a riot gun, were standing by the gates. One of them came up to the car as Conrad pulled up.

“All okay?” he asked through the open window.

“Yes, sir. Nothing to report.”

“There’s a storm coming up. Keep your eyes open tonight. Have you all got slickers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stay out here even if it rains stair-rods,” Conrad said. “Two of you will be enough. The other three can keep under cover, but I want two of you out here all night.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. I’m going down to the road-block now.”

The policeman saluted and walked over to open the gates.

Conrad drove down the long narrow road until they came to the road-block. He spoke to the guards, warned them to keep on the alert, satisfied himself the search-light was working and there were no absentees, then he swung the car on to a dirt track that led to the cliff head.

Half-way up the track, he came to another guard post, and leaving the car, he walked with Madge up the steep path that brought them to the top of the perpendicular cliff.

There were three sentry-box huts on the cliff top, about a hundred yards apart. Guards were patrolling the cliff, and one of them came over when he caught sight of Conrad in the failing light.

Leaving Madge, Conrad walked the length of the cliff head with the guard.

“Watch out tonight,” he cautioned. “It’s going to be bad, and it’ll be on a night

like this they might try to reach the lodge, if they’re going to try.”

“They won’t come this way, sir,” the guard said. “I’ve done a bit of mountain climbing myself. No one could climb up here. I’ve looked it over pretty thoroughly. It’s impossible to climb.”

“All the same, keep your eyes skinned. Your lights all right?”

“All checked and correct, sir.”

As Conrad joined Madge, he felt a little puff of hot wind against his face.

“Did you feel that? The storm can’t be far off now.” He looked up at the dark sky. The great black clouds were piling up and beginning to move. “Let’s get back. We don’t want to get wet.”

“They must be safe,” Madge said, speaking her thoughts aloud as they drove back to the hunting lodge. “No one could get through to them, could they, Paul?”

“Don’t worry,” he returned. “I’m satisfied it’s all right. I don’t think an attempt will be made so long as they remain here. Maurer will try to get them when they come into the open. That’s the time we shall really have to be on our guard.”

Thunder was rumbling in the distance as Conrad put the car into the garage, and walked with Madge back to the lodge. Every now and then he caught a glimpse of one of the guards, a police dog at his heels, moving through the trees.

“It’s still some way off,” he said, as they mounted the steps to the verandah. “I’d better grab a slicker before they all go.”

“You won’t be going out again tonight, will you?”

“It’s the only way I can be sure the guards keep on their toes. If they thought I wasn’t going to show up, they’d take cover as soon as it started to rain.”

Conrad saw a dim, shadowy figure sitting on the verandah.

“Is that vou. Tom?” he asked.

“Yeah,” O’Brien said.

“I think I’ll turn in,” Madge said. “Miss Coleman’s gone up. There’s a light in her room. Good night, Paul. Good night, sergeant.”

Conrad wandered over to where O’Brien was sitting and flopped into a chair beside him.

“Phew! It’s close.”

“Going to be a storm,” O’Brien said. There was a flat, uneasy note in his voice that made Conrad prick up his ears.

“It won’t reach us for another hour yet. What’s the time, Tom?”

“Quarter to ten. It’s coming up a damn sight faster than you imagine. I bet you it’ll be right over the house in ten minutes. Hark at that,” he went on as thunder crashed suddenly. “Coming up fast.”

“All okay your end, Tom?”

“I guess so.”

The flat, uneasy voice had a disquieting effect on Conrad.

“Are you all right, Tom?” he asked, trying to see O’Brien in the darkness.

“Of course I’m all right,” O’Brien snapped, and heaved himself out of his chair. “I guess that punk wants his bath now. It’s coming up for ten o’clock.”

“I’ll come with you,” Conrad said, still a little worried by O’Brien’s apparent edginess. “I want to make the rounds before I turn in.”

“Are you going out again?”

“Yes, about three, I guess.”

A flash of lightning lit up the verandah, and Conrad was startled to see how pale O’Brien looked.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Tom?”

“Hell, yes! Maybe the storm’s given me a headache, but there’s nothing the matter with me,” O’Brien said, and wiped his glistening face with his handkerchief. “I never did like thunderstorms.”

The crash of thunder that came while he was speaking shook the hunting lodge.

“Phew! It sounds overhead already,” Conrad said.

O’Brien walked into the hall where a guard sat nursing a riot gun.

Conrad joined him and together they walked up the stairs.

“Hot enough to fry eggs,” Conrad said, taking out his handkerchief to mop his face.

O’Brien didn’t say anything. He was wondering if Ferrari had got inside the bathroom yet. His mouth felt dry, and he was aware the muscles in his legs were fluttering and his heart was pounding.

They walked along the lighted passage where another guard sat facing the head of the stairs.

“Hark at that: rain,” Conrad said. “Well, you were right. There must be quite a gale blowing.”

They could hear the rain hammering on the roof. Conrad paused a moment to peer out of the window on the landing. A solid sheet of water streamed down the window pane, sending a white mist of spray as it cascaded down the sloping roof. Jagged flashes of lightning lit up the rain-soaked trees and lawn.

Thunder rolled and crashed in a deafening crescendo.

O’Brien opened Pete’s bedroom door.

Pete was in his dressing-gown, a towel over his arm. He stood by the window, looking out.

Two of his guards were playing gin rummy at a table away from the window. The third guard nursed a riot gun and watched Pete’s back with bored indifference.

At the sound of the door opening, Pete looked around. The two guards at the table stiffened, their hands moving to their hip pockets. The guard with the riot gun got to his feet.

“Okay, relax,” Conrad said, coming in. He was pleased to see how alert everyone was. “Some night, huh?”

“I’ll say,” the guard with the riot gun returned.

Conrad noticed Pete was looking past him at O’Brien, and there was an alert, quizzing look in Pete’s eyes. Conrad looked quickly at O’Brien. He was surprised to see how white and hard O’Brien’s face was, and there was a savage gleam in his eyes Conrad had never seen before.

“Well, come on,” O’Brien said, and he seemed to be speaking through clenched teeth. He walked out of the room and Pete followed him.