together, eh?' And he dug his elbow into Chavasse's ribs.
'I wouldn't know about that.'
In spite of Crowther's unctuous smile an indefinable air of menace hung around him and danger crackled in the air like electricity. Chavasse waited, tense and ready for anything that was to come, uncomfortably aware of the dull ache from his stitches, knowing that, to all intents and purposes, he might as well be one-armed.
Crowther leaned forward and winked in a conspiratorial fashion. 'There's summat you might find very interesting out back, summat I wouldn't show to everybody. Seeing as how we're alone, this might just be the time.'
He turned, walking ahead along the passageway and Chavasse followed him out through the kitchen. He led the way across the yard and opened a gate leading into a small courtyard. The only thing it seemed to contain was an old well surrounded by a three foot circular brick wall. Billy stood beside it, a stupid fixed grin on his ugly face, his great hands curved slightly as if he was waiting for something.
'Let's have it off then, Billy, lad.' Crowther chuckled. 'Nothing like a piece of female flesh for splitting the opposition. Mind you my Molly's no oil painting, I'll grant you that, but she's got the necessary and after five years inside Mr. Youngblood's not going to be too choosy now, is he?'
The barrel of the shotgun jabbed Chavasse in the back and, as the cover came off the well with a crash, he pivoted sharply, his left arm trapping the barrel against his side, the edge of his right hand slashing Crowther across the side of the neck so that he cried out in pain and staggered back.
Chavasse pulled the shotgun from under his armpit with his right hand, thumbing back the hammers awkwardly as he ran for the gate. As he started to turn, Billy gave a cry of rage and lurched forward.
He was like some primeval beast lumbering in for the kill, the nightmare face contorted with rage, great hands outstretched to rend and tear. Chavasse didn't even let him get close. He swung up the shotgun one-handed, resting the barrels across his left arm and fired. The first shot caught Billy in the chest, stopping him dead in his tracks, the second blew away half his face, scattering blood and brain across the cobblestones, driving him back against the well. He hit the wall, jack-knifed and disappeared without a cry. There was a single splash and then silence.
Crowther lay on his face moaning softly and Chavasse dropped to one knee beside him and searched his pockets. He found a handful of cartridges and reloaded the shotgun, then he gave Crowther a kick in the ribs and stood back.
'On your feet.'
Crowther scrambled up, backing against the wall of the courtyard. Chavasse moved in and rammed the muzzle of the shotgun under the man's chin.
'Saxton and Hoffa, they're down there, aren't they?' Crowther hesitated and the muzzle dug painfully into his flesh. 'Aren't they?'
Crowther nodded fearfully. 'That's right.'
'How many more?' Again he hesitated and Chavasse thumbed back the hammers of the shotgun.
'For God's sake, don't shoot!' Crowther cried. 'Four-that's all.'
'That's all,' Chavasse said in disgust, fighting back the inclination to pull the trigger. 'Then other people were passed through safely?'
'That's right. I was only obeying orders.'
'I bet you were. The people you passed on? Where did they go to next?'
'I wouldn't know.' The barrel of the shotgun was raised menacingly and he cried out in alarm. 'It's the truth, I tell you. I used to drop them ten miles from here at a crossroads to be picked up by someone else.'
There was the sound of running feet and Youngblood called through the rain from the house. 'Drum-where are you?'
'Out here!' Chavasse replied.
Youngblood arrived a moment later and paused in the gateway. 'What happened here?'
'They thought I might be more comfortable down the well, but Billy decided to try it instead. You'll be interested to know that's where Saxton and Ben Hoffa are.'
Youngblood crossed to Crowther. 'You dirty bastard.'
Very slowly, but with infinite menace, he searched the older man, tossing the contents of his pockets carelessly onto the cobbles. He found a wallet which appeared to contain fifty or sixty pounds and nodded to Chavasse.
'This should be useful. What's he told you?'
'Everybody didn't end up down the well. Most of the clients were passed on.'
'Where to?'
'He doesn't know. Says he drops them at a crossroads about ten miles from here to be picked up.'
Youngblood turned on Crowther and laughed harshly. 'Are you trying to tell me you never hung around to see what happened, never followed anybody? In a pig's ear, you didn't.'
He sank his fist into the pit of Crowther's stomach so that he screamed and doubled over, falling to his knees. A foot caught him a glancing blow on the shin and he fell over backwards.
'Now try him,' Youngblood said.
Chavasse dropped on one knee beside Crowther and raised his head. 'He means business-I'd talk if I were you.'
Crowther nodded, a dazed expression in his eyes and wiped blood from his cheek. 'All right, I'll tell you. I did follow clients twice.'
'What happened?'
'They were picked up by a furniture van and dropped off on the outskirts of Shrewsbury.'
'Then what?'
'They waited on a certain bench and were picked up by the same person each time-a blind woman with a guide dog. Her name's Hartman-Rosa Hartman and she lives at Alma Cottage, Bampton. She's some sort of a clairvoyante.'
At that moment, the girl arrived, panting and out of breath, her face flushed. She poised in the gateway and looked around her wildly.
'Are you all right, Harry?'
Youngblood turned and went towards her. 'If I am, it's no thanks to you, you rotten little bitch. I could have been at the bottom of that well by tonight and no questions asked.'
She was crying, her face looking uglier than ever and pawed at his chest. 'I didn't know, Harry. I didn't know.'
'Do you think I came over on a banana boat or something?' Youngblood said and he grabbed her hair viciously, wrenching back her head.
Chavasse moved across the courtyard in three quick strides and pulled him away. 'Leave her alone, Harry. She'd nothing to do with it. All she ever had were suspicions and if she hadn't mentioned those, I probably wouldn't be here now.'
Behind them, Crowther saw his chance and ran for a gap in the wall where the brickwork had crumbled. Youngblood turned with a cry of alarm, but he was too late and Chavasse grabbed his arm to hold him back as Crowther ran for his life through the undergrowth on the other side of the wall.
'Never mind him-we've got to get out of here.'
They went out into the main courtyard and the girl plucked at Youngblood's sleeve. 'You'll take me with you, Harry?'
'Do me a favour,' Youngblood said and pushed her away violently.
'But you can't leave me,' she pleaded. 'Not now.'
'What's she talking about?' Chavasse demanded.
'How the hell should I know?' Youngblood said impatiently. 'I'll get some food from the house and we'll get moving. I suppose we'd better take the Ford.'
'Please Harry!'
The girl was crying bitterly and Chavasse looked at her, a frown on his face. He didn't like leaving her, if only because Crowther might return. On the other hand she would be nothing but a hindrance.
