'Sir—' his own voice came from far away.
'It's all right.' Audley swallowed painfully. 'We still outnumber you, sir,' he addressed the major.
'Tck! Tck! Don't be silly, boy.' The major injected a world of regret into the words. 'Your men are facing the wrong direction, and you've no idea how competent Sergeant-major Swayne is at close quarters—eh, Sergeant- major?'
'Sir!' The sergeant-major agreed.
'But you'll still lose, sir,' said Audley.
For a moment Major O'Conor didn't reply, and Butler had a vision of that dead eye staring fishlike at Audley beside him. Then the real world came into focus: the broad back of the American just ahead of him to his left, and beyond that Sergeant Purvis and Driver Hewett frozen like waxwork figures on the very edge of the pavement with the river behind them.
Somewhere behind him and to the left were the Frenchman and the German, but they didn't come into it.
Because before he could swing halfway through the full circle the sergeant-major would cut him down, and the American—aye, and probably Purvis and Hewett too, which was a fear already stamped on their faces. And if Second lieutenant Audley thought that would slow the sergeant-major down he was backing a bloody loser, he decided bitterly.
'Because of your French friends beyond the gate, do you mean?' the major said. 'You've never seen my lads in action, young man—they'll go through that rabble like a dose of salts, believe me. If you're relying on them then I'm afraid you're going to be awfully disappointed.'
Judging by the performance of the Communist partisans in the ambush it would be the major who was disappointed, thought Butler. But that would be too late for them. If they moved they were dead and if Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage
they surrendered they were dead, he had no doubt about that: the major had gone too far to leave any of them alive behind him. The only surprising thing was that they were still alive.
Audley shook his head. 'I don't mean that, sir'—he pointed to the hole in the wall—'I mean that,' he said thickly.
Again there was a slight pause.
'The payroll, you mean?' There was something different in the major's voice: it was hard to interpret the nuances of meaning in a man's voice when one couldn't see his face.
'The
'You haven't had time to look, then?' The major chuckled, and Butler knew what he had missed: the smile of triumph—the winner's smirk.
'But then of course the late lamented Colonel Clinton was rather security-conscious, I must admit—
strictly classified to field rank and above, his little secret.' Major O'Conor savoured the thought like a sugarplum. 'But don't tell me you weren't curious, young Audley— didn't you lie awake wondering about it? Of course you did, eh!'
'The payroll?' Audley still gaped at him.
'The sinews of war, my dear boy—and of peace too, by God! The last big payroll of the old British Expeditionary Force, no less . . . and as poor Clinton really doesn't need it any more, the sergeant-major and I—and the good Purvis there—we are going to draw it in lieu of back pay and allowances and demobilisation gratuities. Five years' devoted service in conditions of extreme discomfort and danger—
you can look on it as payment in full for a job well done, or you can look at it as a winner-takes-all lottery.' The major's tone sharpened. 'Last time I was a loser. This time I'm a winner, that's the sum of it, boy.'
'No—' Audley began. 'No—'
'
So do be a sensible young fellow and tell your heroes to put down their weapons quietly. We don't want any shooting—once it starts it's apt to become infectious—'
That was why, Butler realised suddenly: gunfire from within the chateau might spark off the confrontation at the main gate! The major's kindly concern for their survival was as false as his glass eye.
Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage
'—but if the sergeant-major has to shoot, believe me young Audley— he will shoot.' The threat at the last was as naked as a Windmill girl. 'And that will be just ten seconds from now, I'm sorry to say.'
'Lieutenant—' Winston tensed up. 'Lieutenant—'
'No, wait!' Audley's voice cracked with strain. 'He lied to you, Major—Colonel Clinton lied to you'—
he pointed into the hole wildly— 'there's no money in there. There never was any money in there—'
'What?'
'He lied to you—it was just a cover story—as Bullsblood was a cover for Chandos.' Audley's face twitched uncontrollably at the name. 'Chandos!' he repeated bitterly.
'Hold it, Sergeant-major,' snapped O'Conor. 'What d'you mean, boy—a cover? What d'you mean?'
Audley blinked. 'It wasn't—money, sir. There's no money.'
'You're lying, damn you—he told me . . .' The major's voice trailed off. 'He told me . . .' He choked on the words 'He told me. . . .'
