The fence! That was it. I’d just said the word myself. The fence—
No. It was insane—a coincidence. I glanced at the French teacher. He was talking to someone else, but his eyes were fixed on me. And there was a cruel smile tugging at his lips.
And then suddenly it all made sense. Palis was the Fence. It couldn’t have been anyone else.
When Snape had first come to visit me, he had told me that the Fence could be hiding behind an ordinary occupation—a banker or a shopkeeper, for example. He could also have been a teacher. In fact, with their afternoons off and long vacations, what better cover could there have been? And Snape had probably suspected him from the start.
The thought hit me like a bucket of ice. Why else would he have chosen me of all people to do his dirty work? He’d guessed that Powers would break out of Strangeday Hall. He’d hoped that I’d go with him. That was why he’d been there so coincidentally the night of the escape. I would recognize the Fence when I saw him. And if the recognition killed me, it would only prove that Snape had been right all along.
Palis . . .
Piece by piece it all fit together. Right at the start, in Woburn Abbey, I had been surprised by how much the French teacher had known about art and antiques. But of course, as the Fence, that had been his profession.
Then there was his flat—the expensive flat in Chelsea. I’d wondered how he could afford it. And the paintings! I’d seen what I’d assumed to be copies of Picassos on the wall. But I’d been wrong. They were the real thing!
I’d blown it from the moment I walked in there. Palis had rescued me from the police because he thought I was on his side. And once I was in the flat he’d been about to tell me everything.
He’d been about to tell me that he was the Fence, but before he could speak I had ruined everything. I had told him I was working for the police and had sealed my own fate.
No wonder he’d been in a hurry to leave Wapping the next morning. He’d known about the bomb because he’d telephoned Powers the night before. I’d even heard the tinkle of the bell in my dreams. Poor old Tim had been dragged out of his bed on my account. Palis had cold-bloodedly arranged it all. He’d driven me there knowing that it was the last journey I’d ever make . . . at least, in one piece.
Palis . . .
The thud of closing books and the slamming of desks brought me back to the present. I glanced at the clock. It was three-thirty, the end of the last lesson. Already people were running down the corridors as the school emptied.
What was Palis planning? Did he know that I knew? I looked at him carefully. There could be no doubt about it. He had handed me that sentence as a challenge. He was finished and he knew it. But he planned to take me with him.
“That is all for today,” he was saying now. “
There was a groan of disappointment from the class—fake, of course. Nobody would be really disappointed if he fell off a cliff.
“You can go now,” he went on. “All except Simple.” He dropped the three words like daggers.
My fingers tightened on the desk. Everyone else had gotten up and begun to shuffle out. Palis slid his hand into his jacket. It was a casual movement but I had no doubt what he was holding on the inside. What could I do? If I tried to make a break for the door now, he would start shooting—and he wouldn’t be too fussy about who he hit. But once I was alone, I wouldn’t have any chance at all. By the next day I’d be back in the newspapers again. In the obituaries.
There was just one chance. He had more or less told me that he was the Fence. He knew that I knew. But did he know that I knew that he knew that I knew? Work it out. It made sense to me.
I walked forward innocently and stood in front of his desk. A pile of exercise books were stacked between us. I rested my hands in front of them. There were only seven or eight people left in the classroom, grouped around the door.
“Is it about the French translation, sir?” I asked.
“No.” He blinked at me, wondering if I was more stupid than he thought. That was what I wanted him to think.
“I did do all the extra work you gave me, sir,” I went on.
“It’s not about that.”
I pretended to scratch my nose, using the cover to look out of the corner of my eye. The doorway was clear.
“Mr. Palis . . . ?” I said.
At the same moment I jerked both my hands upward. He was already pulling out the gun but I’d taken him by surprise. The books flew into his face, knocking him off balance. At the same time I ran for it. I’d reached the door before he’d recovered. Even so, there was a sudden crack and the frame splintered as I passed through.
I was out. But I wasn’t away.
Palis had a gun equipped with a silencer. Nobody had heard the first shot. Nobody knew anything was wrong. I looked left and right. The main entrance was blocked by a crowd of people, milling out into the yard. I went the other way, skidding along the corridor and crashing into a fire extinguisher. The second shot hit the extinguisher with a loud clang. I spun around a corner, colliding with Mr. Roberts as he came out of one of the classrooms.
“Simple . . . !” he began.
Palis fired again. The bullet drilled through six volumes of the
I came to a staircase and took the steps three at a time. I’d reached the first floor when a photograph of an old school cricket team seemed to blow itself off the wall just above my shoulder. With a fresh burst of speed I carried on to the second floor and then to the third.
Even as I went I was asking myself one question. Where was Snape? If he suspected Palis, he had to be somewhere near. It almost seemed as if the chief inspector wanted me dead as much as the Fence did.
The top floor of the school was given over to the biology and physics laboratories. The classes must have finished earlier because the rooms were empty now. There was no way out from here and no witnesses. Palis knew that. He was moving more slowly, his feet heavy on the stairs. I tiptoed through a pair of swing doors and into the biology lab, hoping he would miss me. A dissected rat stared at me from a glass case. A skull grinned beside a Bunsen burner.
Palis found me. There was another muffled cough and the skull disintegrated as his bullet hit it right between the eye sockets. I threw myself behind a counter. The Fence walked into the room.
Fortunately the blinds had been drawn in the room and there wasn’t much light. I crouched behind the bench, moving forward on my haunches. The bench stretched almost the whole length of the room. As I went one way, Palis walked the other. I could hear his footsteps but I couldn’t see him. I didn’t dare to look.
There were shelves under the bench, close to the floor. Each one was lined with bottles, filled with liquid of different colors. I took one and pulled out the stopper. The smell made my eyes water.
Palis stopped. He was breathing deeply. I reckoned he was only a few feet away, standing on the other side of the bench. I straightened up. And there he was, right in front of me. He fired.
I threw the bottle.
His bullet hit me in the arm, spinning me into the wall. My bottle hit him in the face, splashing its contents all over him. He screamed and rammed his hands into his eyes. A wisp of smoke curled out from underneath them. Pressing my own wound with one hand, I staggered out of the laboratory.
Another door stood open opposite. Still clutching my arm, I ran through it and up another flight of stairs. I didn’t know where I was anymore. I just wanted to put as much distance between myself and Palis as I could. God knows what I’d done to his eyes. What had been inside the bottle? Sulfuric acid? Nasty . . .
