Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

“Maybe he’s only been winged, like you. Anyhow, we’ve knocked the guts out of this racket already, or I’m mistaken. How many do you reckon there were to start with?”

“Twelve, perhaps.”

“Right. Well, there was the big boob who tried to stop you coming through the roof — that’s one. The two bums I outed on my first visit makes three; then the chap with a head like an egg-shell who found the butt of my automatic — that’s four.”

“Simon shot one from the landing window.”

“Yep, that’s five.”

“There was the man I shot from the corner of the wall — I saw him drop,” added De Richleau.

“That’s six, anyhow, and we’ve had quite a few additional hits, according to the shouting,” Rex grinned. “I’ll say there’s not many of the bunch haven’t got sore spots some place.”

“The advantage of fighting upon interior lines,” De Richleau smiled in spite of his pain. “Or shall we say ’a demonstration of the superiority of the defensive when using modern weapons’.”

“That’s the idea. It’s good to hear you talking again like that.” Rex peered from the window. “I’d like to know what these birds are up to, all the same.”

After the almost continuous firing the silence was uncanny. “Perhaps,” De Richleau suggested, “they have gone for reinforcements; the air-park can’t be more than a mile away. They will return with machineguns and a searchlight!”

“It’ll be the end of the party if they do. I guess we’d better get out of this while the going’s good.”

“Yes, no good waiting to be shot like rats in a trap. Let’s try our luck!”

They moved towards the door. No sound came from below. De Richleau swore softly. “How these stairs creak.”

“Which way?” said Rex, when they reached the bottom. “Better go by the garden and see if we can’t pick Simon up.”

“No,” said the Duke miserably; “it’s useless. If he’s not dead or captured, he’ll have reached the cottage by now. There is more cover in front; we can work our way round by the outhouses.”

With the greatest precautions they stole along the passage to the big roofless hall, pausing a full minute before they crossed it. Not a sound met their ears; the great entrance door stood wide open.

“If we have to run for it, do you think you’ll faint?” whispered Rex. “Just put me wise if you think it’s likely. I could carry two like you; but don’t do it on me without warning.”

“I shall not faint,” the Duke assured him, “I’ve lost very little blood. If we’re separated we rendezvous on Marie Lou’s cottage, remember — but in no circumstances until we’ve thrown off the pursuit.”

“We shan’t be separated,” said Rex briefly. “All set?”

For answer De Richleau left the porch, and began to creep along in the deep shadow of the outside wall. On their other side they were protected by thick shrubberies; but for the stars above it was black as pitch. The bushes were a splendid screen, but had the disadvantage that they rustled at every movement.

The Duke suppressed an oath as he stumbled over the body of the man that Simon had shot from the landing window. He was quite dead. They passed the low brew-house where they had been held prisoner, and beneath the higher level of the wall behind which they had sheltered. With the wall the shrubbery ended.

They peered out from the last bushes, straining their eyes and ears for the least movement. If Leshkin had gone for reinforcements it seemed impossible that he had not left the rest of his men posted about the grounds to keep watch. Yet there was no sign of them.

Rex crept forward into the open, his automatic held ready for instant action. De Richleau followed, peering into the shadows on the right. The snow silenced their footfalls. They rounded the corner of the first outhouse.

Almost simultaneously Rex and the black shadow fired at point-blank range. The Russian pitched forward with a sharp cry. Rex crashed backwards, carrying De Richleau with him as he fell.

The Duke’s pistol went off with the impact, the bullet hissing through the trees. He rolled from under Rex, and covered the Russian from his position on the ground. It was unnecessary. The man lay, face downward, a pool of blood running from his head, staining the snow.

Rex lay where he had fallen. His groans were terrible. He writhed in agony on the ground. De Richleau asked no questions. He staggered to his feet, changed his pistol to his right hand, and, seizing Rex by the collar, dragged him back in the shelter of the bushes.

It took all his strength, and with the effort his wounded shoulder began to lose blood again. It was some thirty feet, and he accomplished it with only a few seconds to spare.

Shouts and running footsteps came from three directions. Leshkin’s voice could be heard yelling commands; a group of men gathered round the dead soldier. One switched on a torch. For a second De Richleau was tempted to fire into their midst. He lowered his weapon — it would have been madness — there were four of them beside the Kommissar. An angry order, and the torch went out; but there was time for the Duke to see that they were looking at the roof.

A sudden volley of shots in that direction confirmed his idea that they believed their comrade to have been shot from Rex’s old position at the window. There was a whispered consultation, and then Leshkin and his men withdrew.

What a golden opportunity to escape now, thought the Duke, if only it were not for Rex. He sighed. Rex had ceased groaning, and lay quite still. The Duke feared that he was dead. “Rex,” he whispered softly.

“Yes,” to his surprise came the reply.

“Thank God,” breathed De Richleau. “I thought they had finished you. Are you badly hurt?”

“It was a darned near thing,” Rex said, as he sat up slowly. “Another inch either way, and it would have been me for the golden shore.”

“Are you all right? Aren’t you wounded?”

“No, not a scratch. The bullet hit the steel buckle of my belt. Gosh, it was agony — like the kick of a mule, and every ounce of breath knocked out of my body. I’ll bet my tummy’s black and blue.”

“Can you walk — or run if need be? They believe us to be still upstairs.”

Rex got painfully to his feet. “O.K. Let’s quit this party. I guess we’ve had enough for one night”

“We will break right away from the house, then, this time,” whispered the Duke. “If we make a big circle to the left we should strike the road.”

As he spoke they left the cover of the bushes once more, creeping forward among the trees that bordered the drive.

They heard footfalls to their left, and stood stockstill; Leshkin had evidently posted a man there to watch the window. The steps moved away, and they proceeded stealthily. Another five minutes and they were able to break into a quick walk.

Guided by the stars, they made in the direction in which they believed the road to run, and a quarter of an hour later they came to it. Turning left again they walked quickly on, keeping a sharp look-out for the track that led to Marie Lou’s cottage.

They passed three other cottages on the way, but these were dark and silent. At last they found the path and struck off to the right along it.

“If only Simon’s there,” said Rex, breaking the long silence.

“If he’s not, it’s a thousand to one against our ever seeing him again.” The Duke seemed suddenly to have grown very old and tired.

The windows of Marie Lou’s cottage were shuttered, and only a crack of light showed through. With a sigh of thankfulness at finding their one refuge again, De Richleau thrust open the door.

Mademoiselle Marie Lou stood upon the threshold, clasping her little mother-of-pearl revolver, her big eyes wide with fear; but of Simon Aron there was no sign.