and fed to a fierce blaze, still he shivered every few moments and rubbed his hands together. The cold was in his soul, he realized, and his voice rose a little as he grabbled on.
Dirk Courtney did not speak, made no comment nor exclamation, asked no question until he was done. He spun the pistol, two turns and the butt snapped into the palm of his hand. Two turns, and snap.
When Peter Botes finished, Dirk cocked the hammer Of the pistol and the click of the mechanism was unreasonably loud in the silent room. Hobday, my father, his wife, young Anders, and yourself. The only others that know. And the Zulu. And the Zulu, Dirk agreed, and dry-fired the pistol. The hammer cracked against the pan. How many copies of the statement? One, lied Peter. In the iron safe of the General's study. Dirk nodded and re-cocked the pistol. All right. If there is another copy, you have it, he said. But we don't lie to each other, do we, Peter? It was the first time he had used his given name, there was a familiarity and a threat in it, and Peter could only nod with a dryness in his throat.
Again Dirk dry-fired the pistol, and smiled. It was that warm and charming smile, that frank and friendly smile that Peter knew so well. We love each other too much for that, don't we! He kept smiling. That's why you came to tell me this, isn't it? Because we love each Other? Peter said nothing, and Dirk went on, still smiling, And of course you are going to be a rich man, Peter, if you do as I ask. A very rich man. You will do as I ask, won't you, Peter?
And Peter nodded again. Yes, of course, he blurted. I want you to make a phone call, said Dirk. If you speak through a handkerchief, it will sound as though it's long distance, and it will muffle your voice. Nobody will recognize it.
Will you do that? Of course, Peter nodded. You will phone my father's house, speak either to him or his wife. I want you to pretend that you are the Superintendent of Addington Hospital, and here is what you will tell them Dirk Courtney sat in the darkened cab of the truck, and listened to the rain as he reviewed his plans and preparations carefully.
He did not like having to move in a hurry, without time for careful planning. It was too easy to overlook some vital detail.
He did not like having to do this type of work himself. It was best to send another. He did not take personal risks, not any more, not unless there was no other way.
Regrets and misgivings were vain and wasted the moments which still remained before action. He turned all his attention back to his planning.
They would use the Rolls, and there would be three of them, the General and his Jewish whore, and that arrogant scheming puppy Anders.
Dirk had picked the spot with care, and the farmyard truck was loaded with fifty sacks of horse-feed. Three tons of dead weight. It would give it irresistible momentum.
Afterwards he must do two things, firstly he must make sure of them. He had a length of lead piping wrapped in hessian packing. It would crack a skull without breaking skin. Then he must take the General's keys. The key of the safe was on the bunch, and it was on his watch chain.
The thought of plundering his father's dead body did not cause him even a tremor. His only concern was that the keys were retrievable, that there was no fire and that the Rolls was not submerged in the roaring torrent of the Baboon Stroom.
if that did happen, he must rely then on the General not having changed his habits of twenty years before. The spare key had been kept in the wine cellar then, on the rack above the champagne bottles. Dirk had discovered it there when he had used the cellar in a boyhood game, and he had taken the key twice for his own ends, and returned it secretly. The General was an old dog, a creature of habit.
It would still be there. Dirk was certain.
All right, then, the safe. Two keys. If neither was available, then it was an old safe, but he did not want to use force on it. He must hope for the keys. Anyway, he was content that he could open it one way or another.
The statement was his, to be carefully burned, and that left Hobday. Probably in one of the guest rooms, sedated, helpless. The lead pipe again, and then an overturned paraffin lamp.
it was a big house of old dry wooden beams and thick thatch. It would burn as a pyre, with Hobday lying in it like a Viking chieftain.
That left only Peter Botes, Dirk glanced sideways at him.
The situation was containable, it was no worse than fifty others he had survived. It needed only swift, direct action.
He spoke encouragingly to Peter. Don't worry, he said. After tonight, a new life awaits you. I'm going to take you with me along the paths of wealth and power, Peter. You'll never regret this night, I swear it to you. He squeezed Peter's upper arm, a comradely gesture in the darkness. Of course, he had a copy of the statement, Dirk thought, but afterwards there would be time, plenty of time to find it and to be rid of the pompous little prig. In a year or so, when the excitement had died down, another little accident, and it would all be over. Have you got the pistol? he asked, and Peter gulped nervously, clutching the bulky military model Smith Wesson with both hands between his knees.
u are not to use it, Dirk warned again. Except as the very last resort. We don't want bullet holes to explain. You do understand? Yes, I understand. You are insurance, that's all. Final insurance. And out in the darkness, through the slanting arrows of rain a light glowed and faded and grew again higher up the slope. Here they come, said Dirk, and started the engine of the truck.
Mark spun the wheel hard right, and thrust the accelerator pedal flat against the floor-boards, trying to ride off the collision and beat the great roaring vehicle to the threshold of the bridge.
Behind him Ruth Courtney screamed shrilly, but Mark thought he had made it, he thought for an instant that the sudden acceleration had forged the Rolls ahead, but the truck slewed hard, swinging viciously, and he felt the crack of impact in every bone of his body.
It struck at the level of the rear wheels of the Rolls, and the big heavy car snapped sideways, tearing his hands from the steering-wheel and hurling Mark against the door. He felt bones break in his chest like dry twigs, and then the world turned end over end as the Rolls cartwheeled. A shower of bright white sparks flamed like the tail of a meteor in the darkness as steel brushed murderously against steel. There was another jerk as the Rolls crashed through the guardrail of the bridge and then they were dropping free, plunging silently into black space.
