Алистер Маклин - The Lonely Sea

‘Riordan and Sellers,’ I said unemotionally. There was no fear in me at the moment: but I knew it would come later.

‘None other, sucker,’ the tall man agreed. ‘I’m Riordan, he’s Sellers. Into the car and start driving. You’ve a couple of back-seat passengers.’

‘There’s no back seat. It’s a Land Rover.’

‘All the better. Get in.’

Even if I hadn’t known who he was, there was something in that voice that made for unquestioning obedience. I got in, while Riordan clambered over the two seats to my left and Sellers scrambled over the tailgate and through the back screens. Both had guns, and one gun was on me all the time.

‘On your way. But take it easy. I want to talk to you.’

Carefully, without any fumbling but like a man in a dream, I started the Land Rover. Riordan’s voice reached me above the sound of the engine as we moved off.

‘Name, mister?’

‘Cartwright.’

‘You seem a pretty cool customer, Cartwright. Not thinking of doing anything clever, are you?’

‘No.’

‘What’s your job?’

‘Vet – veterinary surgeon.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Lipscombe.’

‘About four miles from here?’

‘About that…What are you going to do with me?’

‘Shut up.’ His voice was expressionless. ‘How far is Tarnmouth beyond that?’ Tarnmouth was a tiny fishing village.

‘About the same again. Four miles.’

‘That’s where we’re going. All of us.’

I said nothing. I was trying to think desperately of what I might do, but the fear was beginning to well back and thought, constructive thought, wouldn’t come. All I could think was that I had two ruthless murderers behind me, murderers with guns and an utter disregard for human life.

‘Why are you going to Tarnmouth?’ I asked. My voice was no longer steady.

‘To catch a boat, Mr Cartwright.’

And then I remembered. Riordan was an Irishman, a Kerryman. He had friends, the police knew that, but they didn’t know he had friends of that kind – willing to take the risk of rendezvousing with him and slipping him across the St George’s Channel at night. And once in the hilly wilds of Cork and Kerry…That was as far as that line of thought got when another, and dreadful one, supplanted it. They could never let me live and give this information to the authorities. As sure as the sun would rise next morning, they were going to kill me.

Riordan was speaking again.

‘How long have you lived here, Cartwright?’

‘Seven years.’

‘And a vet, eh? Everyone knows you?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Fine. You’re our safe conduct, Cartwright. Nobody will ever suspect the good healer. But remember this, and remember it good. If we’re stopped, you’re not to mention any place or person whatsoever by name. Understand?’

‘I’m afraid I…’

‘Look, Cartwright. If the police stop you and you volunteer the information that you’re going to Timbuctoo Farm or been to see Mr Smith the Grocer and there’s no Timbuctoo Farm or Smith the Grocer, they’re going to get very suspicious, aren’t they? So as little as possible – and nothing I can’t check on.’

He was shrewd, all right, Riordan. The thought had never even occurred to me.

‘What are all these sacks for, Cartwright?’ Riordan was speaking again. ‘Vets usually carry these?’

‘Quite often. For sick animals and…’

‘All right,’ he interrupted. ‘They’ll cover us fine. You’re carrying sick animals, if anyone asks. Remember, if we’re stopped, I can see every flicker of expression on your face in the driving mirror. And the point of the gun is three inches from your back.’

The third set of level-crossing gates were closed, to let through the evening train. As I braked, John Howarth, the station master, came hurrying up.

‘I thought it was you, Peter. Mary’s coming off this train. Will you take her home? It’s a filthy night, and with these two damned murderers around I…’

‘Of course, I will,’ I said. ‘Tell her to wait in the bus shelter on the other side.’

‘Thank you, boy.’ He looked closely at me. ‘You’re looking a bit under the weather, you know. Too much – sorry, here she comes.’ He hurried off, and we could hear the train approaching in the distance.

‘Mary, eh?’ Riordan murmured from under the sacks. ‘Friend of yours, hey?’

‘Yes,’ I said shortly. ‘And I’m not going to pick her up.’

‘You are, you know.’

‘Do you think I’m going to let you two damned murderers…’

‘You said you would. If you don’t, after promising, they’re going to be as suspicious as hell when she tells the station master.’

‘I don’t give a damn. You can’t make me do it.’

‘Of course, she doesn’t have to tell the station master – by the way, is he a friend of hers too?’

‘Her father.’

‘So. Well, Mr Cartwright, where’s this bus shelter?’

‘A hundred yards or so beyond the line.’

‘And buses this time of night?’

Like a fool I answered: ‘No’.

‘So the shelter’s deserted,’ Riordan said softly. ‘I’ve got a silencer and she could lie there for hours. No suspicions.’

Three minutes later I pulled up by the shelter. Mary came running out, pulled open the door of the Land Rover and jumped inside, tendrils of dark wet hair clinging to her neck and cheek, but cheerful and smiling as always.

‘Hullo, Peter! Am I glad to see you tonight! The thought of walking home…’ She broke off and peered at me. ‘Why, whatever in the world is the matter, Peter?’

‘Move over to the middle seat, Mary.’ Fear for her had driven all fear for myself, and my mind was working at last. I thought I saw a glimmer of hope, no more than a desperate chance: but then I was a desperate man.

She moved slowly across, staring at me.

‘I’m afraid 1 have a bad shock for you, darling,’ I said. I put my arms round her slender shoulders, felt them stiffening under my pressure, sensed rather then saw the widening of the eyes. ‘You’ve heard of Riordan and Sellers?’

She nodded dumbly.

‘They’re right behind us, darling – and they have guns in their hand.’

She said nothing, just turned slowly in her seat then put her hand to her mouth to stifle a frightened shuddering sigh as she saw the gun, the pale gleam of a face in the gloom.

‘No screaming, young lady,’ Riordan said quickly and quietly. ‘This is a gun. Drive on Cartwright – and don’t blame your friend, lady. If he hadn’t stopped…’ He explained briefly, then went on thoughtfully: ‘Darling this, darling that, darling the next thing. She really does appear to be your friend, Cartwright.’

‘Damn you to hell, Riordan,’ I said savagely. ‘She’s my fiancée and now you’ve…’

‘Your fiancée, eh? Well, well, well.’ His voice changed. ‘How do I know she’s your fiancée?’

‘What the devil does it matter…?’

‘It matters a lot. I never trust anybody or anything. Engaged? Ring?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s it like?’

‘Emerald, four diamonds.’

Riordan stretched his hand. ‘Show me.’

Wordlessly, Mary struggled to get it off her finger. God, I thought, she was behaving magnificently. She passed the ring back to Riordan, who struck a match, glanced at it and handed it back.

‘Well, well,’ he said softly. ‘Love’s young dream. The perfect set-up, eh, Sellers. Who’s going to question love’s young dream?’

There was a police block at the entrance to Lipscombe. Again there were red swinging lamps with, in the background, a truck across the street as a roadblock. On either side of the road I could see two policemen, strangers to me, mounted on their red-painted 100mph Thunderbird Twin Triumphs. They had that indefinable look of all motor cycle policemen – medium height, lean, very tough, very competent. But it was Sergeant Wynne who approached me. With the possible exception of Ainsworth, the young Vicar, Wynne was my best friend in Lipscombe.