Soldier No More

No,' said Roche. 'You're quite wrong.'

Audley looked at him again, sidelong, one eyebrow raised, which seemed to split his expression into two, half of it curious to know why he was wrong, the other half contemptuous of that possibility.

'They want you back,' said Roche. 'That's why I'm here.'

The raised eyebrow dropped back into position, but otherwise the man's face suddenly became blank, as though shutters had been lowered behind his eyes.

'They want you back,' repeated Roche.

Audley took two or three more paces, and then stopped so abruptly that Roche's own stride carried him on down the hillside for two more, and he had to check himself and swing round.

'Oh yes?' said Audley, and his voice was as blank as his expression. 'Third time lucky.' Roche was reminded of what Oliver St. John Latimer had said about Audley; and then it occurred to him that although he had been thinking of the man in Jekyll-and-Hyde terms, perhaps only now was he witnessing the true Hyde metamorphosis. 'Oh yes?' Audley looked through him.

Latimer was right, yet he mustn't let that daunt him. It was the Hyde-Audley he wanted, not the Jekyll-Audley or the self-pitying show-off from last night.

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But he couldn't afford to jolly the Hyde-Audley—that had been an error. He must take the whip to the Hyde- Audley.

'Does the name Avery mean anything to you?'

Avery?'

'Sir Eustace Avery.'

Audley shook his head. 'Never heard of him.'

Clinton, then?'

Audley studied him for a long moment, then he relaxed his mouth into some sort of smile. Stage Two with Audley would be when he realised that to show no expression at all might be identified as a sign of weakness, and although he couldn't control his eyes he could do something with his lips.

'Colonel-Frederick-Clinton.' Audley worked on his face to give it back to Jekyll. As with Genghis Khan, that name wasn't just ringing one bell, but a tocsin strong enough to shake the bell-tower. 'Yes, I remember him. He was one of the organ-grinders . . . and I was one of the monkeys. I remember him—yes. 'Audley nodded. 'I remember him. . .

rather well.'

Good. Now—'

'You are one of his monkeys, is that it?'

This wouldn't do at all, to have Audley remembering the dark past when he should be rejoicing in the happy present and the exciting future.

'There's a new department being formed, Audley. I'm here to offer you a place in it. A senior place. In fact—'

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' You. . . are saying that he . . .wants me. . . back?'

'Sir Eustace Avery—'

'Bugger Sir Eustace-bloody-A very! Clinton wants me back?'

It had been a mistake to let the big man get above him on the hillside; with the extra couple of inches he had on the level he towered over Roche now. Roche set his teeth. 'I told you.

There's a new department starting up—'

Bugger the new department too! You asked me if I remembered Colonel Frederick Clinton—Colonel Frederick J.

Clinton—J for Joseph— Joseph of the coat-of-many-colours, that's what I remember. So ... why does he want me?'

The trouble with that, thought Roche, was that it was a very fair question. 'He scares you, does he?' He recalled Genghis Khan's sarcasm.

'Yes. He does.' Audley brushed the gambit aside.

'You've changed your tune since last night. If I recollect correctly—'

“No! I haven't moved an inch. Last night Mahomet wanted to go to the mountain. But now the mountain has come to Mahomet. And Mahomet mistrusts miracles, Captain Roche

—that's all.'

Roche lost his last doubts about David Audley, and about Clinton and Avery at the same time. Last night had made it a little too easy, like another miracle—which he also ought to have mistrusted. But Clinton had known, even in knowing that Audley was wide-open for recruitment, that it wouldn't dummy5

be so easy.

'Or, shall we say ...' Audley started, and then trailed off '...

shall we say that I'm beginning to put things together?

Things . . . and people?'