Dennis Wheatley - To The Devil A Daughter

Still keeping in the shadow of the buildings, they walked back to the fish restaurant. While they did so C. B. made Johnny repeat their programme, to make certain there should be no slip up. He had only just finished when they reached the car.

Knowing that C. B. disliked driving, and never did so if he could get anyone else to do it for him, Molly gave John's hand a quick squeeze, then slipped into the driver's seat.

C. B. said to him in a low voice, `Should anything go wrong, and you have to make a bolt for it, go round a few back streets then come to Henri's cafe. Your mother and I will be waiting there until Malouet turns up. Off you go, now. Good luck!'

With a nod and smile, barely glimpsed in the semi darkness John turned away, while C. B. got in beside Molly. He did not at all like the idea of letting the boy tackle such a dangerous business on his own, but had seen no way to prevent it. In the past he had on many occasions risked worse things than were likely to happen to John, but he was not his own master, and knew it to be unfair to his department to embroil himself in matters that had no definite connection with his job. He could only console himself with the thought that, as from the first John had shown a determination to stick his neck out, he had at least now been manoeuvred into doing it in a way that might, perhaps, prove well worth while.

Molly, meanwhile, was torn by conflicting emotions her confidence in C. B., which gave her assurance that any plan of his would combine the maximum amount of caution possible with a fair prospect of success, and her distress that her beloved Johnny must inevitably run considerable risks in carrying it out. For a few moments she watched him walking away, until he had disappeared beyond the beams thrown by the car lamps; then she started the engine and slipped in the clutch.

The timing was good, as when the car passed John, and he was momentarily thrown up in the glare of its headlights, he was still too far from the yacht to be noticed by anyone in her. He had just about halved the remaining distance when the car pulled up, and by the time he drew level with the yacht's stern C. B. already had the watchman engaged in conversation.

John's glance switched to the gulf that gaped between the quayside and the yacht's rail. For a second his heart contracted. It was much wider than he had expected. Poised there on the edge, he stared down at the oily water gurgling sinisterly ten feet below him. If he bungled his jump and fell into that dark crevasse it could easily prove a death trap. Wide as the gap appeared on the wharf level, it looked much narrower further down, and the horrid thought flickered through his mind that he might find himself jammed between the ship and the wharf with his head under water. Yet he knew that every second was now precious; so striving to suppress his qualms, he launched himself into space.

Those nervous fears lent extra strength to his muscles; so his leap would have carried him double the distance. His outstretched hands overshot the mark, and instead it was his stomach that came into violent contact with the top of the rail. The wind was driven from his body; his arms and legs flailed wildly. For a moment he was in acute danger of slipping backwards into the gulf before he could get a foot or hand hold. A desperate wriggle saved him. His head went down, his legs up, and he fell inboard on to the deck.

Alarmed at the noise he had made, he scrambled hastily for the nearest cover. It was a hooded wooden hatchway leading down to the deck below. Crouching behind it he wondered what he had better do next. The obvious course seemed to creep down and look for a good place in which to hide; but while leaping on to the rail he had glimpsed a thing which was inconspicuous from the level of the wharf. On either side of the long after deck there were three large sloping skylights, and the four nearest were all aglow, suggesting that the saloons below them were occupied. If he went down this after companionway it seemed highly likely that he would run straight. into somebody.

Peering round the side of the hatch, he saw that all was still quiet forward. It was darker up by the bridge; so it seemed probable that there were fewer people below decks there. Feeling certain that if he could reach the waist of the ship unobserved he would find another companionway, he left his cover, but at a crawl, so that he could instantly flatten himself out beside one of the skylights if he heard anyone approaching.

He took the starboard side of the deck, and on reaching the first skylight paused to peer down through it. Below lay the galley, bright with steel and copper fitments. In it two men were eating at a small square table. From their dress, one was obviously the chef and the other the steward. A bottle of wine stood between them, and it looked as if they were making a hearty supper from the planned surplus of a meal that had been served earlier in the dining saloon.

Wriggling on again, John peered through the next skylight. Below him now was the dining saloon. Although the light there was still on, the table had been cleared and the room was empty. He was just about to move towards the skylight further forward, from which no light showed, when he heard, faint but unmistakable, a laugh that he felt certain was Christina's. It had come from the skylight opposite, on the port side of the deck, which was open a little for ventilation.

Regardless of the fact that three minutes had already gone, so it was not to be expected that C. B. would be able to keep the watchman in conversation much longer,

John could not resist the temptation to slither swiftly across the deck and peep through the skylight from which the laugh had come. It gave on to the saloon, which occupied as much space on the port side as did the dining saloon and galley together on the starboard side. By holding his head at an awkward angle, John could see both Jules and Christina.

She was sitting in a corner with her legs up on the banquette that ran along the ship's side. Jules was ensconced opposite her in an armchair. Between them on a small table stood two squat, tulip shaped glasses and a bottle of Grand Marnier. No one else was present, and they were talking and laughing together like old friends.

Looking at them had a curious effect on John. He knew that he should have been pleased to find Christina safe, well and apparently happy, but he was not. Even making allowances for her change of personality after dark, it annoyed him to see her enjoying Jules' company. He now admitted to himself that, in spite of the additional danger in which it would have placed him, he would rather have come upon her in some difficult situation, from which there could have been no excuse for his not attempting her immediate rescue.

Even as it was, he began to play with the thought of endeavouring to get her away before the yacht sailed. The lights glowing through the four skylights had suggested that quite a number of people were down there in the compartments below the after deck. But that had not proved the case. There were only the chef and steward in the galley and Jules and Christina in the saloon.

John felt that if he could surprise Jules he would have quite a good chance of overcoming him. But what then? Even if Jules were swiftly rendered incapable of giving a general alarm, the sounds of the struggle might bring the two' servants from across the passage. And what of Christina? If she came willingly and at once they might gain the deck, race down it and across the gangway on to the wharf, before they could be stopped. But if she at first refused to budge if he had to waste precious moments trying to persuade her to come with him the steward and the chef would be upon them before they could even get up the companionway.

Reluctantly, John decided that he dare not chance it. He must stick to C.B.'s plan and stow away until the morning, when he would be certain of Christina's co operation. Stealthily he moved again towards the darker area of deck amidships.