second later, two men moved out of the shadows at the side of the door and went after him.
“I don’t like the look of that one little bit,” Miller said, wrenching open the door. “Come on!”
He turned in through the gates, running hard, and from somewhere in the darkness of the car park there came a scream.
Duncan Craig had almost reached his car when he heard the rush of feet through the darkness behind and swung round. A fist lifted into his face as he ducked and he staggered back against the car, flinging himself to one side. One of his assailants raised an iron bar two-handed above his head and brought it down with such force that he dented the roof of the Jaguar.
A razor gleamed in the diffused light from the street lamps on the other side of the railings and he warded off the descending blow with a left block, and kicked the man sharply in the stomach so that he screamed in agony.
There was another rush of feet through the darkness and Miller and Brady arrived. The man with the iron bar started to turn and Brady delivered a beautiful right to the jaw that had all his fourteen stone behind it.
There was a sudden silence and Craig laughed. “Right on time. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
Miller snapped the cuffs on the man who was lying on the ground and hauled him to his feet. “Anyone you know, Jack?”
Brady held the other one against Craig’s car. “They’re not off our patch, that’s certain. Specially imported I shouldn’t wonder.”
Miller turned on Craig savagely. “Maybe you’ll listen to reason from now on.” He sent his prisoner staggering into the darkness in front of him. “Come on, Jack, let’s take them in.”
Craig stood there in the darkness without moving until the Cooper had driven away and then he unlocked the door of the Jaguar and climbed behind the driving wheel. He knew something was wrong the moment she refused to start. He tried several times ineffectually, then took a flashlight from the glove compartment, got out and raised the bonnet. The rotor arm had been removed, an obvious precaution in case he’d beaten them into the car. He sighed heavily, dropped the bonnet and moved across to the main gates.
It was only twenty past eleven and there were plenty of late buses about, but in any case, he would be able to get a taxi in City Square. He crossed the road quickly, head down against the driving rain.
Someone moved out of a doorway behind him, he was aware of that, and then the pain as a sharp point sliced through his raincoat and jacket to touch bare flesh.
“Keep walking,” Billy Stratton said calmly. “Just keep walking or I’ll shove this right through your kidneys.”
They turned into a narrow alley a few yards further along, Craig walking at the same even pace, hands thrust deep into his pockets. A lamp was bracketed to the wall at the far end and beyond, the river roared over a weir, drowning every other sound.
“A good thing I came along, wasn’t it?” Stratton said. “But then I have an instinct for these things. I knew something would go wrong just as I knew you were trouble from the first moment I clapped eyes on you. But not any more, you bastard. Not any more.”
Craig took to his heels and ran and Stratton cried out in fury and went after him. The cobbles at the end of the alley were black and shiny in the light of the old gas lamp and beyond the low wall that blocked the end, the river rushed through the darkness.
As Craig turned, Stratton paused, the knife held ready, a terrible grin splitting the white face, and then he moved with incredible speed, the blade streaking up. To Duncan Craig, it might have been a branch swaying in the breeze. He pivoted cleanly to one side, secured the wrist in a terrible
Stratton screamed soundlessly, his agony drowned by the roaring of the river. He staggered back clutching his broken wrist, mouthing obscenities, and as Craig picked up the knife and moved towards him, turned and stumbled away.
Craig went after him, but Stratton thundered along the alley as if all the devils in hell were at his heels, emerged into the main road and ran headlong into the path of a late-night bus.
There was a squeal of brakes as the bus skidded, a sudden cry and then silence. A moment later voices were raised and when Craig reached the end of the alley, passengers were already beginning to dismount, men crouching down to peer under the wheels.
“Oh, my God, look at him!” A woman sobbed suddenly and Craig turned up his collar and walked away quickly through the heavy rain.
CHAPTER 11
The disk shot high into the air, poised for one split second at the high point of its trajectory and disintegrated, the sound of the gunshot reverberating through the quiet morning.
The rooks lifted into the air from their nests in the beech trees at the end of the garden, crying in alarm, and Duncan Craig laughed and lowered the automatic shotgun.
“I’m not too popular, it would seem. Let’s have another.”
As Harriet leaned over the firer to insert another disk, Jenny came out through the French windows. “There’s a gentleman to see you, Colonel Craig. A Mr. Vernon.”
Craig paused in the act of reloading the Gower and turned to Harriet, who straightened slowly. “Does he now?” he said softly. “All right, Jenny, show him out here.”
Harriet came to him quickly, anxiety on her face, and he slipped an arm about her shoulders. “Don’t get alarmed. There’s nothing to worry about. Not a damned thing. Let’s have another one.”
The disk soared into the air and this time he caught it on the way down, a difficult feat at the best of times, snap-shooting from the shoulder, scattering the fragments across the lawn.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Vernon said and Craig turned to find him standing in the French windows, Ben Carver at his shoulder.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Vernon,” Craig said. “And to what do we owe the honour?”
Vernon nodded towards Harriet. “What about her?”
Craig smiled faintly. “Anything you say to me, you say to Harriet. She’s my right arm.”
Vernon took a cigarette from a platinum case and Carver gave him a light. “All right, colonel, I’ll put my cards on the table. I made a mistake about you, that I freely admit, but I know when I’m beaten.”
“I wish I knew what you were talking about,” Craig said.
Vernon obviously had difficulty in restraining himself. “Let’s stop beating about the bush. I’ve lost the Flamingo and my place up the York Road and then Billy Stratton meets with a nasty accident. You aren’t going to tell me I’m just experiencing a run of bad luck?”
“It can happen to the best of us.”
“All right — I’ll lay it on the line. You’ve had your fun — you’ve broken me, so I’m getting out just as soon as I can find a buyer for what’s left. I’m asking you to leave it alone from now on — all right?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Vernon,” Craig said softly. “Not in a thousand years. I’ll see you in hell first and that’s a very definite promise.”
“That’s all I wanted to know.” Far from being angry Vernon now smiled amiably. “You’re being very silly, old man. I mean it isn’t as if you’ve only got yourself to consider, is it? There’s Harriet here…”
He got no further. There was an ominous click and the barrel of the shotgun swung round to touch his chest. Craig’s eyes seemed to look right through him and the voice was cold and hard.
“If you even try, Vernon, I’ll shoot you down like a dog. In your own home, in the street — you’ll never know when it’s coming — never feel safe again.”
For a long moment Vernon held his gaze and then quite suddenly he nodded to Carver. “Let’s go.”
They walked across the lawn and disappeared round the side of the house. Harriet moved to her father’s
