Dennis Wheatley - Contraband

How those three hours drifted by neither of them knew and both began to believe that the Limper had forgotten how time must be passing. At last he stood up and gave a curt order. The men came in and dragged them out of the scullery into the living room again.

Their ankles were untied and they scrambled to their feet. The Limper produced his automatic. 'Understand now,' he said. 'The sands will swallow up a dead body as quickly as a live one. I'll be behind you while we're walking to the boat and if there's any attempt at breaking away I mean to shoot you.'

They were led out of the cottage and round the corner to its other side. Beyond, through the grey half-light that precedes the dawn, they could see a deep gully with muddy banks. In its bed a narrow stream was ebbing swiftly. They crossed it a little farther down by a plank bridge and came again on to the grassland, up a bank, and across the broad main road from Sandwich to Ramsgate. It occurred to both the condemned men to make a dash for it there. If they were shot down, well better death that way than what awaited them; yet such is the instinct of all humans to cling to life up to the last possible moment that both hesitated, knowing the odds to be so terribly against them. Before either had decided to t kicking out they were across the road and had been pushed down the far embankment; to a place where the river red again having made a hairpin bend.

Here the channel was deeper and the stretch of water wider.

Swiftly and silently it raced towards the sea in an endeavour to keep pace with the outgoing tide.

They were led along to a little wooden landing stage, running out above the mud, at the far end of which a stout looking rowing boat was moored. Another moment and they were hustled into its stern. Two of the men took the oars while the other two and the Limper crowded into the seats which ran round its after part.

The Limper sat in the middle with his pistol drawn, Gregory and Wells on either side of him, and beyond each of them one of the other men, holding them firmly by the back of their collars in case they attempted to jump overboard.

The ex pugilist, in the bow, cast off the painter and, without any effort on the part of the oarsmen, the boat was carried by the swift current towards the sea.

Dawn had broken and, as the boat emerged from between the two banks into Sandwich Haven on the southern portion of the bay, the captives saw the vast area of sand stretching before them. The river continued; its deep channel twisting and winding between the flat stretches which, at high tide, would be covered by the sea. Only the quiet splash of oars now broke the silence of the early morning. Not a soul was to be seen across all the wide expanse, or upon the steep cliff over a mile away to the northern extremity of the bay although Gregory and Wells both searched them with frantic glances.

Another few moments and they reached the spot where the river met the outgoing tide. It was rippling gently along the golden sand, yet running out with such speed that every little wavelet broke ten yards farther to the seaward, leaving a fresh stretch of damp, faintly shining sand exposed to view.

The men pulled vigorously and the boat began to heave a little on the gentle swell. Wells's face was now a mask of whiteness in the early morning light while Gregory's eyes were deeply sunk in his face on which the tan showed unnaturally grey.

The Limper produced a pocket compass and, steadying it as well as he could, took a rough bearing of Fairway Buoy which was just visible, a black bobbing patch in the far distance slightly to the right. Then he took a bearing of Bur Buoy; just as far away but almost directly upon the course which they were making.

'Turn her,' he said. 'We must do the job about fifty yards to the left from here.'

The men plied their oars again. The tide was now only a distant ripple so that its rapid approach was hardly perceptible. A few more agonising moments passed for the prisoners then the Limper jerked his head in Wells's direction.

'Undo his hands,' he said. 'If the sands shift and they're washed up later it'll look as though they were caught by the tide.'

The man obeyed while the Limper thrust his gun within two inches of Wells's mouth. 'Make a move,' he said, 'and I'll blow your head off.'

Gerry Wells's arms were free. His impulse was to lash out but his hands had been tied behind his back for over five hours. His muscles were cramped and stiff and when he tried to move he found that the effort only resulted in agonising pain.

The Limper gave a quick glance round. No boat was to be seen. There was no one on the shore. Full dawn had hardly come and the faint, still lingering, twilight must obscure their actions from any distant casual watcher.

'Over with him,' he grunted.

Too late Wells wrenched his arms forward. The man beside him stooped, placed a hand beneath his knees, and tipped him backwards over the gunwale.

The oarsmen were dipping their oars, keeping the boat more or less in position, so that it drifted only very slightly. The Limper jabbed his automatic against Gregory's face while the man beside him loosed his hands and pulled the cord away. Like Wells, his arms were almost paralysed from having been tied behind him for so long, but he jerked himself to his feet, his eyes wide and staring.

'I'll make it ten thousand he gasped.

The Limper only showed that he had heard by the sneer which lifted his upper lip and an added pressure from the muzzle of his pistol on Gregory's cheek.

For an instant Gregory's right leg twitched under him. If he could only knee the Limper in the groin, flashed through his mind, but the pistol would explode automatically with the contraction of the Limper's finger upon the trigger and the bullet would shatter his face into a bleeding mass of pulp.

He decided to duck and take the risk, but the man who had held him, and the other who had dealt with Wells, came at him simultaneously, pushing him violently upon the chest and shoulders so that his knees gave beneath him and he went overboard with a loud splash.

Spitting and choking he came up with his mouth full of sea water; shaking the drops from his eyes he glanced wildly round. The boat was already heading back towards the river mouth; its crew pulling lustily. Then he saw Wells, a dozen yards away, floundering about in the shallows.

It was a matter of seconds only before his feet touched the sand. He tripped upon it, regained his balance, and stood up. The water was only up to his middle, but instantly he stood he felt the sand giving beneath his feet, so that he was in to his ankles before he could pull them out again.

He flung himself flat and began to swim out to sea, knowing that his only chance lay in reaching deeper water, but the tide was ebbing with terrifying swiftness. As he lunged out his toes kicked the bottom; interfering with his stroke so that his hands swept downwards and his nails scraped on the sand below him.

Gerry Wells was staggering from side to side, trying to fight his way towards the shore, but at every step he took the sand gave like oozy mud under his feet and he felt himself sucked down.

'On your face you fool,' shouted Gregory desperately. 'Try and reach the deeper water, then we'll swim for it.'

'I can't!' gasped Wells. 'I can't swim. But the tide's running out! If I can reach firm sand I'll get those devils yet.'

The depth of the water had now decreased to a couple of feet. Gregory floundered on but at every stroke he took the sand was churned up by his feet behind him.

Wells stuck. He could advance no farther. He stood there in the shallow water waving his arms wildly as he endeavoured to fling himself forward, but his feet had sunk right in and the sand had him in its grip up to the calves of his legs.