Gunner Kelly

somewhere within the house—the echo of which both cut him off and roused them both out of their evident embarrassment.

Another boom, nearer now. Audley ... if it was Audley, they were both glad now, he could see it in their expressions—

But should he be glad? After believing that he was beaten, now he knew he was winning? Except that . . . even if Audley accepted the plain contact lenses in support of his explanation . . . that illegal Luger pistol tied him to the illegality of whatever they were doing, making him too hot to let loose, after all that had happened to him, in the pit and afterwards—

The latch on the door behind Kelly snapped as sharp as a pistol-shot, so that it was a credit to the Irishman’s nerves that he didn’t move a muscle, except to drop the discredited spectacle-case quickly into his pocket, as Dr David Audley came through the doorway like the wrath of God.

“What the hell’s happening?” Audley took in the three of them at a glance. “What’s he doing here?” The glance ranged back from Benedikt to Gunner Kelly, taking fire from what it observed. “For Christ’s sake—what’s that bloody cannon out for?”

“Oh, David—” began Miss Becky, and then stopped.

“We caught him in Number Two pit, in the spinney, sir. And he’s not after telling us why he was there.” Kelly swallowed. “An‘ the Police have been all round the village, the bastards—”

“I know that.” Audley gestured dismissively. “I stopped off at the Bells—”

“They didn’t get anything, sir,” cut in Kelly quickly. “The till was dummy1

open, an‘ the curtains closed—an’ the door locked, an‘ Davey knew the names an’ addresses of everyone that was drinkin‘ there, as was his guests after hours—we’ve taken no trouble from that, I swear.”

“No trouble? Christ, man—the Police weren’t born yesterday!

There should have been nobody there, with the ford covered—and Rachel should have been in her transparent nightgown to make them ashamed for knocking at her door.” Audley shook his head angrily. “I leave the Chase for a few hours . . . and every damn thing falls apart, as though I’d never been here. You’re not fit to take a punt from one side of the Cam to the other!”

Kelly drew a breath. “But sir—”

“Silence, Gunner Kelly!” Audley sniffed. “Small bloody wonder you couldn’t hold the stripe of a lance-bombardier from one pay day to the next—you wouldn’t have held any rank in my regiment either, that did the real work at the sharp end, where there were real Germans, by Christ!”

“Sir!” Doubt and outrage warred in Kelly’s objection.

“Don’t you dare sir me, with that souvenir, taken by a better man than you, in your hand! Christ, almighty! As if I didn’t know all I wanted to know about gunners—I should have my head examined . . . Becky now—my god-daughter, who’s no fool, so I’ve fondly believed until now, says you’re no idiot— you tell me . . . what’s supposed to be happening—if you can?”

Benedikt was much reassured by this outburst of anger, in spite of appearances to the contrary. Because . . . if the Kom-missar in dummy1

Wiesbaden had nothing to say about Gunner Kelly and Miss Rebecca Maxwell-Smith, it had had quite a lot to reveal about David Audley, if not who his god-daughter was; and nothing had been said about losing his cool, except for some very good reason, so there had to be a very good reason for this.

“David—it’s exactly as Michael says: when the Police crossed the water we went on the Yellow Alert. . . But until we get the walkie-talkie radios we can’t reach everyone—Blackie’s collecting them tomorrow—”

“Today,” corrected Kelly. “Today—promised, they are, and he’ll be there at eight-thirty to collect them . . . And then we’ll be ready for anything, begod, sir!”

“But. . .” Miss Becky blinked at Benedikt “. . . but then the warning went off, and that was the Red Alert, and Michael went out to check it—we weren’t expecting it so soon, of course, but he wouldn’t let me go—”

“Aaargh! And isn’t that the truth!” Kelly came to her rescue.

“Would I be lettin‘ her go—orders or no orders? Ye weren’t here, an’ it was dark as the pit—”

“Kelly . . .” Audley’s voice turned dangerous. “Don’t you dare play the bloody stage Irishman with me!”

“So to hell with that!” Kelly cut back at him in a new voice, different from all its predecessors. “He was in the trap and I wanted to have a look at him—so what? I know what I’m looking for better than you do, Dr Audley.”

Audley looked down over his big broken nose at the Irishman. “So dummy1

you do, Mr Kelly—so you do. And what did you find, then?

Someone you knew?”

The face-in-the-crowd was inscrutable, as anonymous as ever, but the eyes glittered with dislike. “No, Dr Audley—only someone you so kindly let me see from afar this afternoon, I grant you that. But it was a justifiable risk, nevertheless.”

“It was not a justifiable risk—it was unnecessary.”

Kelly shrugged. “Not in my judgement.”

“And since when has your judgement been worth a brass farthing?” Audley looked at Benedikt suddenly. “Do you know him?”

“No, sir.” Kelly squirmed uncomfortably. “But you were right about him, sir.”

“I was?” Audley continued to study Benedikt. “What has he told you?”

“He hasn’t told us anything. But now I’ve seen him close up ...