Dennis Wheatley - Mayhem in Greece

Stepping over what was left of the side of the kitchen, he tiptoed across it. As he did so, the fallen plaster crunched under his feet. Actually the sound it made was faint, but to him, in his state of acute tension, it seemed so loud that his enemies could not fail to hear it. At the doorway to the hall, he paused for a moment. Down its side showed a two-inch-wide streak of faint light. When he had first taken up his quarters in the house he had tried to shut this door, but the wood had swollen and it had jammed like that. The question that now faced him was—should he attempt to ease it open on the chance that he would not be heard, or should he wrench it wide and go bald-headed for Barak's watch-dog, if he were standing on the other side?

As Robbie stood there, he clearly heard a moan that came from upstairs. Spurred to action by this confirmation of his belief that Stephanie was being tortured, he pulled the door open. There was no one in the hall but next moment a dark figure showed up in the faint light, emerging from what had been the sitting room. Robbie raised his club high and rushed at it. The figure sidestepped so that the club, instead of striking it on the head, came down on the shoulder. At the same moment, a pistol flashed. The bullet struck Robbie in the upper part of his right arm, partially swinging him round. The club dropped from his nerveless fingers. He heard a clatter of feet on the stairs and realized that Barak was plunging down them. As he turned his head to look up at Barak the man who had shot him hit him hard under the chin, knocking his head back violently against the door post. The double blow made his head sing. The bitter thought that he had failed, and failed dismally, entered Robbie's mind then his knees gave, he slumped to the floor and passed out.

He was not out for long. When he came to, Barak and the other man were dragging him up the steep stairs. By the time they threw him down on the bedroom floor, his eyes were wide open and taking in everything round him; but his right arm was hanging limp, he had lost his club and he was miserably aware that Barak had him at his mercy.

As he sat up, his glance met Stephanie's. She was sitting in the folding canvas-backed chair she had bought for him. The cord he had bought only that afternoon, with the optimistic intention of using it to bind Barak, now bound her. Its ends secured her wrists to the two flat pieces of wood that served as the arms of the chair. Her hair was dishevelled, her blouse torn open, tears were streaming down her cheeks and a towel was over her mouth. Its two ends dangled behind her, so that it could be pulled tight to muffle her cries.

Suddenly, to his horror, Robbie saw that the two middle fingers of her right hand were bent back unnaturally. It was obvious that, while her wrist was tied, the finger tips had been raised and gradually turned over backwards, until the joints at her palm had broken, enabling the useless fingers to lie at an acute angle to the back of her hand, which was now dripping blood.

If Robbie had had the power, he would have killed Barak there and then; but, still half stunned and with his right arm useless, he could do no more than curse him. Barak only smiled at him with cynical satisfaction, then he said to his man:

'Keep him covered, Alexej. If he tries any tricks, put a bullet through his other arm. But don't kill him. I want to arrange his death myself.' Then he went round behind Stephanie, began to undo the cord that bound her, and added: 'We shall need this to tie him up.'

Owing to the collapse of the plaster partition at the time the house had been bombed, the back and front bedrooms on that side of it had become one. Only two stout, wooden posts which had given strength to the partition, and a heap of plaster on the floor, remained to show where it had been. When Barak had freed Stephanie, he said to Alexej: 'Get him up now. I want to tie him to one of those posts.'

Alexej gave Robbie a sharp kick and he stumbled to his feet. For a moment he contemplated striking out with his left fist, but he was still feeling very groggy and realized how futile it would be. Under the threat of Alexej's gun, jabbed against his left shoulder, he backed up against the post. Barak went round behind him and lashed him to it. When he was firmly secured, the Czech came round to the front, fingered his little hair-line moustache and said to him:

'I don't know exactly how you two turtle doves planned to get the better of me, because my wife is still reluctant to talk about it. But I guessed that you must be somewhere round and that by letting her open her mouth a little, while giving her the treatment, I should bring you running to the rescue. Anyhow, now you're both in the bag.'

He paused for a moment, then went on: 'This is a nice little hide-out you have here, Mr. Grenn. You could stay here for months without anyone being the wiser, couldn't you? And that is exactly what you are going to do. Presently, we will tear your towels and a few other things into strips and use them to tie my wife firmly to this other post. Then you can stand looking at one another until your eyes begin to pop and your swollen tongues stick out of your mouths from thirst. I'm told it takes quite a

time to die that way, and it's very unpleasant. But before-'

'You . . . you! My God, if I could only get my hands on you!' Robbie burst out, beside himself with mingled anger and terror. What Barak had said was so terribly true. Not a soul, other than those then in the room, knew about the hide-out; so, if

Barak left them tied up there, before anyone found them they might have become skeletons hanging from posts in loose bundles of clothes. Their only chance, Robbie realized, lay in his being able to shout loud enough to be heard perhaps by a passer-by on the water-front. He opened his mouth to yell for help. But Alexej was too quick for him. Guessing his intention, the thug hit him a sharp blow in the stomach.

As Robbie gasped for breath, Barak nodded. 'Good work, Alexej. I doubt if anyone would hear him, but we'll take no chances so you'd better gag him.'

Seeing that one of Robbie's side-pockets was bulging with something soft, Alexej put his hand into it and pulled out the very strips of stuff that Robbie had prepared for the purpose of gagging Barak. Before he could get his wind back, Alexej had forced one of them into his mouth and tied its ends behind his head.

'Now,' said Barak. 'As I was about to say when you so rudely interrupted me, I owe you something extra for this.' He gingerly fingered his broken nose. 'Before we leave you, I mean to do some carving on your face.'

Producing a long flick-knife from his pocket, he opened it and took a step towards Robbie. Stephanie had so far remained silent, her face a picture of pain and despair. Suddenly she jumped up from the chair, seized Barak's arm with her uninjured hand, and cried:

'No; no! Not that. We've lost! I know you mean to kill us. But at least have the mercy to do it quickly.'

Snatching away his arm, Barak turned and gave her a violent push that sent her reeling back into the chair. Then he said to Alexej: 'Get behind her. Hold her down by the shoulders if she tries to interfere again. When I've finished with him we'll tie her up to the post, then we'll go and have some supper.'

As he advanced again, Robbie began to struggle violently. The cord that bound him to the post was too strong and too tightly tied for him to have any hope of freeing himself; but the post was loose, both where it entered the floorboards and about two feet above his head, where it joined the rooftree that formed the apex of the ceiling.

Barak stood for a good minute, watching his futile struggle with amusement, then he said: 'I think your nose first. We'll see what you look like when I've slit it.'

At that moment, there was a sharp knocking on the front door of the house and a voice cried in Greek: 'Open up! We know you're there. We can see chinks of light round the windows.'