Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

“See,” the Duke went on, “this window will serve us admirably; from here we can survey the front. I shall fire one shot into those bushes there. You take the right-hand flash as they reply; aim for it and fire three rounds, then duck. I shall fire as I choose, but the right-hand flash is yours; you understand? And no more than three shots. Are you ready?”

“Um,” said Simon, nodding in the dark. “Go ahead.”

De Richleau fired; a burst of shooting answered him at once; eight men at least must have been lurking in the shadows below. One was almost directly beneath the window, less than ten feet away. Simon let fly at him, leaning out to do so. There was a scream of pain at his second shot — then the Duke wrenched him back by the neck, so that his third shot went into the air.

“Are you mad,” De Richleau shouted, “to lean out so?”

“Sorry,” said Simon humbly; “I got him, though!”

“You did,” said the Duke dryly; “it is only by the providence of Heaven that he did not get you! Have you never been in a fight before?”

“Ner,” said Simon nervously. “Ner — never.”

A sudden thud sounded in the room above, accompanied by a fresh burst of firing from the garden. “Rex,” said De Richleau quickly; “let us go up.”

The stairs creaked and groaned as they reascended; the Duke paused on the upper landing.

“You all right, Rex?” asked Simon, stepping forward.

The Duke jerked him back.

“I’m fine,” came a reassuring voice from the lesser darkness by the window. “Thank God,” said the Duke, releasing his grip on Simon’s arm. “For a moment I feared it might be one of them. Mind that infernal hole.”

“Great stuff you gave ’em just now,” Rex went on. “I got across without so much as a farewell wave.”

“Listen,” said the Duke. “I propose that we should try the garden at the back — the stairs are free.”

“That’s O.K. But where’ll we make for when we get there?”

“To Marie Lou. Did she get horses? Are they at her cottage?”

“She did not. Her hick farmer friends had been given the wire about us; they wouldn’t sell.”

A sudden spurt of bullets on the ceiling made Rex duck his head.

“No matter,” De Richleau went on quickly, “we can only go one at a time, and her cottage is the only place that we all know; it is the only place to rendezvous.”

“Can’t we all beat it together?” Rex suggested.

“You know we cannot,” said the Duke sharply, “they would follow us. One of us must run while the others cover his retreat from the window. Simon is to go first.”

“Why me?” said Simon. “You want to get rid of me!”

“Don’t be a fool — you waste time talking. In any case, you have only two shots left in that pistol. Rex, watch that side window while I speak to Simon.”

“Listen.” De Richleau’s voice dropped to a lower, more persuasive tone. “It is a big risk you run; there may be men already at the back of the house. There soon will be. Marie Lou has failed to get horses. Well, then, someone must go to her — at once, she is our only hope — and she is a brave child. I take responsibility for this. Ask her to show you somewhere where we can hide. We will give you half an hour’s start; but when we arrive, be ready. Go now, every moment counts.”

A shattering crash came as Rex fired into the darkness at a moving shape on the roof.

“All right; that’s different,” said Simon.

“That’s better. Good-bye, my son.”

“Missed him,” said Rex from the window, “but I guess he won’t try that cat burglar stuff again for a bit!”

“Lord be praised that we’ve got that boy out of this,” sighed the Duke, as Simon could be heard making his way down the stairs.

“Think he’ll make it?” said Rex.

“Why not? There has been no sign of movement in the garden up to now. Fire again from your window to show that we are still here.” As he spoke De Richleau watched the terrace and lawns below him. He tapped his foot impatiently. “They will be round here in a moment. They must know that this room looks out on the back!”

Simon came out on the terrace. He looked quickly to right and left, then darted down the stone steps. The Duke watched anxiously as he ran across the first lawn. “Fire again, Rex,” he said nervously, “fire again; don’t let them suppose that we’re not here.”

Simon took the second terrace at a jump. To De Richleau he was now only a faint blur against the whiteness of the snow. The Duke breathed more freely. There had been no sign of the enemy, and the darkness swallowed Simon up.

A bullet sang through Rex’s window, and thumped into the wall. Someone was firing from a new angle, but De Richleau did not heed it; he was watching the distance into which Simon had disappeared. Suddenly there was a spurt of flame somewhere in the bushes by the lower lawn, and then a sharp cry.

“Good God,” the Duke groaned, “they’ve got him.”

Another flash, some way to the left, speared the darkness for a second. De Richleau leaned out of the window in his excitement and anxiety. “Don’t shoot,” he yelled at the top of his voice, “he can see you by the flash.” But even as he called his warning there came two more spurts of flame from opposite directions, about fifteen feet apart, and another cry. The Duke gripped the window-sill in his agony. He feared that Simon, already wounded, had used his last shot. At the bottom of the garden all was silence once more.

“Did they get him?” Rex asked in a strained voice.

“God knows — I fear so; they had a man in the bushes by the gate. Never shall I forgive myself if I have sent that boy to his death. I will go down.”

“You’ll stay right where you are,” Rex replied promptly, “and for the land’s sake come away from that window — they’ll pot you where you stand.”

The Duke drew in his head, but he remained staring gloomily into the darkness.

“You couldn’t help it,” Rex tried to hearten him; “you just thought it would be an easy get-away for him; ’sides, I’ll bet little Simon’s all right. Almighty difficult to hit a running man in the dark; he can take care of himself better than you think. I’d back Simon against any Bolshie that ever lived.”

“You mean it kindly, but you’re talking nonsense, Rex. Simon would be as helpless as a child against one of these men, and he’s gone to his death through my foolishness.”

A pistol cracked from the terrace below — De Richleau staggered back, dropping his gun with a clatter on the floor as Rex caught him.

“Steady,” said Rex in a whisper, “steady — tell me you’re all right?”

“Don’t worry,” he managed to gasp, “they got me in the shoulder.”

“Hell’s luck. I was just beginning to think that we might get out of here. Is it bleeding much?”

“No, don’t worry — watch the roof.” De Richleau leant against the wall. After a moment he spoke again. “Bone’s scraped, not broken, I think — bullet’s in the ceiling.”

“Can you use your gun?” Rex asked anxiously.

“Yes. Mustn’t use right arm; bleed too much. I can fire left-handed.”

Rex groped for the pistol on the floor. “I’ll reload it for you,” he said quickly, slipping out the magazine.

“Thanks. A bit quieter, isn’t it? I don’t like it,” said De Richleau suddenly. “They’re up to some mischief.”

“I should worry,” Rex laughed. “Keep clear of that garden window and we’ll be O.K.; they can’t rush us except from the roof or the stairs — and they’d just hate to try either.”

“Yes, we’re safe for the time being, I suppose — if only poor Simon were still with us,” the Duke groaned.