don't. I daren't. Your mistakes were all provided for. Look. The fact that you picked girls up shows you weren't my agents. Then there's the money you took from the safe. That shows you were both crooks.'
'And Ashford?'
'Ashford was just a man who stumbled on something too big for him. He loved somebody who was trying to do his country in. He found out-and it was too much for him. It killed him. When we get down to arguing the toss, our people will admit he had tried to contact British Intelligence, and we'll say he had every right to. We won't admit we contacted him. The other side'll know it, but they won't be able to prove it.
'Anyway, they're most of them decent men. Algeria's a madhouse for them with the door wide open. And they're trying to shut it. The trouble is, some of the madmen are pretty well placed-well enough to protect St. Briac and his kind; if it hadn't been for that, we'd have asked for his removal long ago. But the madmen wouldn't hear of it; and they're strong enough to bring down the government. Now he's dead and they can't do a thing about it- except ask for you. And if you're Craig you're dead, and if you're Reynolds you don't exist. We can prove it.'
'What about Inspector Marshall's bright idea?'
'It's been dropped,' said Loomis. 'We're ignoring it.'
'And Duclos and Pucelli?'
'They ought to be in prison by now,' Loomis said, 'if that chum of yours-Turner-is as rich as he says he is. Anything else?'
'You said you know why I make mistakes.'
Loomis said, 'It's easy. You've been alone too long. All these years you've lived sealed off from everyone- trusting nobody but yourself. And now you're trying to get back, to rely on other people; have them rely on you. That makes you vulnerable, Craig. It also makes you human.'
Craig nodded. 'I'm not grambling,' he said. 'It's better the way it is. How's my wife?'
'No change,' said Loomis. 'But she's hardly likely to recover-not now.'
'We used each other all the time,' said Craig. 'And it was my fault, most of it. I could have changed her if I'd tried. I didn't want to try.' He stood up. 'I'd like to see Tessa,' he said.
'Of course,' said Loomis. 'We've had her moved. She's in a flat in Regent's Park. You get on up there. We'll call you when we need you. Here's your address.' He handed Craig a piece of paper. 'You had it rough, son,' he added. 'I realize that. People like St. Briac know how to hurt. And I'm certain you didn't tell them anything either. If you had, you wouldn't have come back here. I'm grateful to you for that.'
Craig nodded and went out.
'He's a good man,' Loomis said.
'The best,' Grierson agreed.
'Liked him, did you? I'm not surprised. He does a good job. It's too bad we didn't meet him years ago. It's too late now. He doesn't want to be alone any more, and that's the way he has to be if he's going to be any use to us.'
The flat in Regent's Park was big, airy, and furnished with an expert's calm good taste: the right rugs on the hardwood floor, the right blend of furniture, traditional and modern; the television set discreetly shuttered away; copies of three prescribed paintings-Van Gogh, Claude, and Canaletto-hung to the best advantage. When Craig got there, it was empty. He looked in cupboards and closets and saw how neatly his clothes had been stored, he admired the tranquil view of the park, the stern efficiency of the kitchen, poured himself a drink, and settled down to wait. It didn't take long.
There was the sound of a key in the lock, and Craig sat where he was, sipping his drink, smug and content. High heels tapped into the kitchen, the door of the refrigerator slammed, there was the sound of tap water running into a kettle. When Tessa came in at last, she looked tall and elegant in a dark blue suit, a shopping bag of white straw over her arm, and when she saw him the bag fell softly to the floor, her elegance vanished.
'My God,' she said. 'Oh my God.'
She ran to him as he rose to greet her, and he crushed her to him, bent to kiss her, but her face was burrowing into his shoulder, and she would not look up at him until he cupped his hand under her chin and tilted back her head.
'Tessa,' he said, 'what's wrong?'
'I thought you were never coming back,' she said breathlessly. 'I thought it was all over. And you've hurt your finger. What happened? Have you been in an accident? Darling, you should look after yourself better. And please forgive me. We had a fight-don't you remember? I know it's stupid but I feel so embarrassed and I can't help it.'
He had forgotten everything, except that he needed her, and she must live. When he kissed her, her lips were hard and thin and unyielding, but they softened at last, and her tongue fluttered between his teeth. When he let her go, she leaned back in the circle of his arms.
'I'm sorry,' Tessa said. 'I know I was being stupid, but oh darling I'm so happy, and what on earth have you got under your coat?'
She loosed its buttons and the coat feff open. He was still wearing the Woodsman. 'Oh,' she said.
Craig removed his coat, loosed the straps of the soft leather holster and took it off, then opened the gun and looked down the barrel. It needed cleaning. Then he searched her face, and saw the agony of fear and love im her eyes.
'All right,' he said. 'I used it. That's what I went away for. You know that.' 'Did you-kill somebody?'
He nodded. 'Somebody was trying to kill me. He very nearly did.' He put the gun down on the table. 'You knew all that. I warned you myself. This was the only chance I had, Tessa. For both of us. It was either that or wait for him to find me.' Still she was silent. 'Look,' he shouted. 'There were four of us involved in a deal- selling guns to Arabs. The other three are dead. Bang. Bang. Bang. Because of him. My wife's dying, my brother-in-law's dead. Because of him. He caught me for a while. You'd better know that, too. I was nearly drowned, over and over again, I was beaten, and burned, and my finger was broken. Because of him. Everything because of him.'
With his good hand he ripped open his shirt, showed her the crisscross of bandage on his chest and back. 'He did all this to me-and then he tried to kill me-but he slipped up-just once-but once is enough. And now he's dead. Do you think I care? He very nearly killed you, too. He put the bomb in your flat-remember? Or he told somebody to do it. What's the difference? He's dead now. They'll leave us alone-both of us.'
She came to him, her hands gcntie on his torn body, and was all sweet willingness and care. And Craig loved her completely, with a tenderness he had never known for any other woman, so that when they had done she wept, and there were tears in his eyes too, for wonder that two people should so possess each other, so intertwine their hearts' and bodies' needs. He kissed her very gently, wondering that he should ever have thought that he had pitied her. Where there was such a need as his, there was no room for pity.
For Tessa, the next twenty-four hours were by far the best in her life. She knew, knew beyond doubt, the depth of his love for her, knew too that the risks and agonies he had taken had been, in part at least, for her. And now he showed his love for her in every possible way. He took her to a restaurant, a jeweler's, a furrier's, buying for her any and everything that came into his mind, as if each new thing should be another symbol, not of purchase, but of trust. In the evening he took her to the theater, then a restaurant, and a club. He even asked her if she'd hke to go back to the Lucky Seven, the most foolish and therefore the most wonderful offer that he could have made, and when she said no, he took her instead to the most expensive places, one after the other, and when they were home, made love to her all over again, and it was more wonderful even than before, and afterward they lay in the dark and whispered softly about where they would go, and he told her about the Greek island that he knew, and how happy they would be there, and fell asleep in the telling, his head on her naked breast, and Tessa lay very still, and stroked his harsh brown hair, and wondered if twenty-four hours could cancel out, just like that, ten years of drifting misery.
CHAPTER 20
Mrs. Craig died and Marshall willed himself to see Brady. The visit had to be made, but Marshall knew it wouldn't be easy. It would look better if he took Hoskins too, and in any case Hoskins was entitled to go, he'd been on the Craig case all along, and Marshall was not the man to ignore that sort of etiquette. Nevertheless, he dreaded
