“Which suits me just fine.” Suddenly there was iron in his voice. “No more arguments. Just get Harriet out of here.”
Miller shrugged and said evenly, “All right, if that’s the way you want it. I might point out that the first thing I shall do is contact the County Police.”
“Good luck to you. There’s a village bobby at Culler’s Bend two miles up the road — Jack Berkley. He’s fifty years of age and it takes him all his time to get on his bicycle.”
“They do have such things as patrol cars.”
“Fair enough — it’ll be interesting to see just how efficient they are.”
“He isn’t worth it, Craig,” Miller said desperately. “He isn’t worth what it would do to you.”
“He murdered my daughter,” Craig said calmly. “He wasn’t even fit to tie her shoes, but I’m still giving him his chance, Nick. God help me, but I can’t play the game any other way.”
“Which means only one thing in the final analysis. That you won’t be able to kill him,” Miller said. “Can’t you see that? It’s the essential difference between you and Vernon.”
Craig didn’t reply and Harriet simply stood there, white and terrified. Miller sighed and took her arm. “All right. Let’s get going.”
When they reached the clearing, he helped Harriet into the passenger seat of the Cooper, climbed behind the wheel quickly and started the engine. He slid back the window and leaned out.
“For the last time, Duncan — please.”
Craig smiled strangely and leaned down. “Thanks, Nick — for everything. Now get her out of it, there’s a good chap.”
Miller moved into gear and took the Cooper back along the track and beside him Harriet started to sob bitterly.
“Oh, Nick, I’m so afraid,” she said. “He isn’t like Vernon — not when it comes down to it. He’s going to die. I know he is.”
“Not if I can help it.” Miller said and braked violently as a Ford station wagon appeared from the mist.
The two cars were not more than twenty feet apart. For one horrified moment they stared at Max Vernon and Carver and then Miller slammed the stick into reverse and took the Cooper back along the track.
Vernon jumped out of the Ford, the Luger in his hand, and fired twice, his second shot punching a hole in the Cooper’s windscreen. It slewed wildly and went half over the edge of the track.
As Miller got the door open Duncan Craig appeared on the run. He dropped to one knee and fired once in the direction of the Ford.
“You two all right?”
Harriet nodded shakily. “I think so.”
“Get her down into the reeds,” he told Miller briskly. “I’ll lead them off. As soon as they pass, get her out of here.”
He scrambled to his feet before Miller could argue and ran through the mist towards the Ford.
Vernon waited, the Luger ready, and Carver crouched on the other side of the Ford, a Smith & Wesson revolver in his hand.
“Do you think it was Craig who fired that shot, Mr. Vernon?”
Craig answered for himself, his voice drifting mockingly out of the mist. “So you got here, Vernon? All right, then. Let’s see how good you really are.”
For a brief moment he appeared from the mist and turned and ran and Vernon went after him, cold with excitement.
They reached the Cooper half-blocking the track and Craig called, “This way, Vernon! This way!”
As they disappeared into the mist, Miller emerged from the reeds pulling Harriet behind him. They ran back along the track and paused beside the Ford. The key was missing from the dashboard, but he reached underneath, wrenched out the ignition wires and looped them together quickly. A moment later the engine roared into life.
He turned to Harriet. “Can you get this thing out of here?”
“I think so.”
“Good — I noticed a telephone box about a mile up the road on the way in. Ring through to Grant — he’ll know what to do. The County boys would probably wonder what in the hell you were talking about.”
“What about you?”
“You don’t think I’m going to let him cut his own throat at this stage do you?” He shoved her into the car. “Go on — get out of it!”
As the Ford reversed away, a pistol shot echoed across the marshes that was answered by the blast of a shotgun. Miller turned and ran along the track in the direction of the sound.
Duncan Craig turned off the path to the left, ran across an expanse of coarse marsh grass into the shelter of the mist and doubled back on his tracks. He paused and listened intently. The only sound was the lapping of water and further along, geese lifted into the sky, voicing their annoyance at being disturbed.
By all the rules he should now be behind Vernon and Carver and he moved out of the shelter of the mist and approached the path cautiously. Somewhere to the right, there was the sound of running footsteps and as he crouched, shotgun ready, Nick Miller ran out of the mist.
“Over here!” Craig called softly and Miller paused on the edge of the raised path and looked down at him, chest heaving.
“Thank God — I didn’t think it would be this easy.”
There was a sudden cold laugh and Max Vernon scrambled onto the path from the other side about twenty yards to the left. “It never is,” he called harshly and his hand swung up.
The bullet caught Miller in the upper arm, knocking him back off the path into the soft earth as Craig fired his shotgun in reply. Max Vernon had already slipped back into cover and Craig reached down and dragged Miller to his feet.
“Can you still run?”
Miller nodded, his face white with shock. “I think so.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
They stumbled across the rough ground into the mist, two more bullets chasing them on their way, and suddenly the water was knee-deep and the reeds lifted to meet them.
Another bullet echoed wildly through the mist and Miller crouched instinctively, stumbling to one knee. Craig pulled him to his feet and they moved on through a thick glutinous slime covered by water, which in places was thigh deep.
Miller was conscious of the pain in his arm as the first shock wore off, of the coldness of the water as it ate into his flesh like acid, and struggled for breath.
Suddenly Craig disappeared with a startled cry, the water closing over his head. Miller lurched forward, reaching out, and followed him in. It was a terrible sensation as the filthy, stinking water forced its way into his mouth and nostrils. His feet could find no bottom as he struggled frantically and then an iron hand had him by the collar. A moment later, he was on his hands and knees amongst the reeds and breathing again.
Craig crouched beside him. He had lost his red beret and his face was streaked with black mud and slime. “All right?”
Miller coughed and brought up a little marsh water.
“What about you?”
“Lost the shotgun, I’m afraid. If you think you can keep on the move, we’ve a chance of circling round to the houseboat. There are a couple of sporting rifles and an extra shotgun there.”
Miller nodded, getting to his feet, and they moved forward again. A couple of minutes later the reeds started to thin and a dyke lifted out of the mist. They scrambled up out of the water and Craig started to run at a jogtrot,
