Dark Side of the Street

and Chavasse gave Molly a violent push to one side that sent her tumbling down the slope and ran.

A bullet chipped bark from a tree to one side of him, two more sliced branches over his head and he zigzagged desperately. He stumbled and fell and another bullet kicked dirt in his face and he rolled to one side, screaming in sudden agony as stitches tore loose in his left arm.

He staggered forward, head down, aware of the sound of rushing water somewhere ahead and burst through a final screen of bushes to find himself on the banks of a small stream of clear water that brawled its way down to the sea over a bed of smooth stones.

Two more shots sounded, flat and sinister on the damp air and his right leg doubled up suddenly as if kicked and he went headfirst into the water.

He turned over, aware of the blood drifting in a brown cloud from the hole in his leg and tried to get up. He was too late. There was a tremendous crashing in the undergrowth and Vaughan emerged on the bank above.

His face was very pale, ice-cold, intent only on the job in hand. He said nothing, simply raised the revolver and took careful aim. The hammer clicked on an empty chamber. Without a word, his eyes never leaving Chavasse for a moment, he slipped the revolver into one pocket and produced the flick knife from the other. As the blade jumped out of his hand, he stepped into the water and waded forward.

Chavasse's right hand fastened over a large round stone in the stream bed and he brought his arm up and round, hurling it into Vaughan's face with all his remaining strength. It caught him high on the right cheek and he cried out sharply and staggered back, the knife flying from his hand.

It fell into the water a yard or two away, plainly visible on a bed of pebbles and Chavasse rolled over and grabbed for it desperately. He got to one knee, turning just in time to meet Vaughan's forward rush, splitting him cleanly on the razor sharp blade.

Vaughan poised on the edge of eternity, a look of blank amazement on his face and then he actually smiled.

'Well I'll be damned. So the old bitch was right after all.'

Blood erupted from his mouth in a sudden bright stream and he turned, took a single hesitant step forward and fell on his face in the water.

Chavasse waded forward and crawled up the bank. He paused to examine his leg and found two holes in the rubber diving suit indicating that the bullet had passed clean through.

It wasn't painful until he stood up and tried to walk and then the pain was bad-really bad, flowering inside him like fire, sweat springing to his forehead. There wasn't much bleeding which was one good thing and he staggered forward, clutching at the pine trees for support as he passed, calling Molly's name aloud.

He was almost at the edge of the wood when he found her huddled under a bush, soaked to the skin. She got to her feet and ran to meet him.

'Thank God. Paul, are you all right?'

'Only just.'

'Where's Mr. Smith?'

'Face down in a stream a little way back.'

The words meant nothing to her and she clutched at his arm excitedly. 'We'll have to hurry if we're going to get down to the jetty in time.'

He stared at her blankly. 'The jetty? What for?'

'They'll be leaving soon and taking Harry with them. We've got to stop them.'

Chavasse held her arms lightly and tried to find the words. 'He's going because he wants to go, Molly. He's agreed to take Stavru to Portugal in the boat. In return he gets his freedom and his money.'

She laughed-for the first time since he'd known her she laughed. 'But that doesn't make sense.'

'He left us, Molly. He left us behind to be executed. You never at any time had even a remote prospect of a place in his future.'

'You're lying,' she said in a low desperate voice. 'I don't believe a word of it.' She struggled to free herself. 'Let me go. If you won't help him, I will.'

'No one on top of earth can help Harry Youngblood now.'

She went completely rigid, caught by the gravity of his words and Chavasse held up his wrist so that she could see the time.

'The limpet mine, Molly. I didn't switch it through to neutral like I said. I left it on maximum timing-twelve hours. It's the only thing that's kept me going for the past hour.'

Her head moved slightly from side to side and there was an expression of real horror on her face.

And then she exploded into action. She kicked at his shins, fingers hooking at his eyes and suddenly his leg doubled up beneath him. As he fell, she turned and ran.

He lay there for a moment or so, his senses swimming and then forced himself to his feet and staggered after her, dragging his wounded leg.

The rain still hammered down remorselessly, but the mist had cleared a little so that when he went over the edge of the hollow on the other side of the house, he could see the tiny harbor below, the boat tied to the jetty, Stavru and Youngblood standing in the prow watching Gledik lash half a dozen drums of petrol together.

Molly was halfway down the hill and running as she had never run in her life before. There was no chance on earth of catching her, but Chavasse gritted his teeth and started down the path.

She called Youngblood's name once, high and clear and the three men turned to look up towards her and then she was at the bottom of the path and ran forward, shouting and waving her arms.

As she put foot on the jetty, the Pride of Man blew up with a tremendous bang that echoed from the cliffs like thunder. A second later the fuel tanks went up with a rush and great fingers of fire lashed out in all directions, pieces of the hull drifting through it all in a crazy kind of slow motion.

Chavasse ducked as small pieces of debris whistled through the air above his head, rattling against the stones of the hillside.

Incredibly, he started to run, all pain forgotten, sliding down the slope in a shower of earth and stones, picking himself up at the bottom and running into the dense pall of black smoke that enveloped the jetty.

'Molly!' he called. 'Molly, where are you!'

But there was no reply-only the crackling of the flames and the stench of burning oil and petrol. The Pride of Man had vanished completely taking the three men with her, only the incredibly twisted pieces of steel and superstructure bearing witness to the fact that it had ever existed at all.

But Molly was there, lying face down half way along the jetty. There wasn't a mark on her, that was the strange thing, but she was just as dead and he turned her over gently to her back and slumped down beside her.

For her it was over, all doubts resolved, all passion spent, but not for him. There were people who had to be taken care of-Atkinson, the Principal Officer at Fridaythorpe, for one and somewhere in the organisation of the Bureau or of the Special Branch at Scotland Yard, there was a weak link-the person who had leaked his identity to Stavru. He would have to be found and he would have to be dealt with, but not now-not now.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear the sound of engines, probably the MTBs Mallory had promised to lay on coming in fast to see what all the fuss was about, but it didn't seem to matter any more and he looked down at the dead girl who stared past him into eternity, a look of faint surprise on her face.

'Poor ugly little bitch,' he said aloud and for no reason he could ever satisfactorily explain to himself afterwards, took her hand and held it very tightly as the first torpedo boat swept in towards the jetty.