‘Hey! Make it faster than that. These guys mean business.’
‘I’ll fix it,’ he said and rung off.
I groped my way back to the other room. Lydia was standing against the wall by the window, looking out into the darkness.
‘The police are on their way,’ I told her. ‘They’ll be here any moment. Seen anyone out there?’
‘No.’
I could feel her trembling.
We waited, side by side, watching and listening. Suddenly her hand closed over my wrist. Her flesh felt cold.
‘Did you hear something?’ she whispered.
I listened, holding my breath.
Somewhere in the cabin a board creaked. In the silence it sounded loud and startling.
Lydia shivered, and her grip tightened.
‘Take it easy,’ I said, my lips close to her face. ‘Move as quietly as you can,’ and I led her across the room to the door. I stood her against the wall so that if the door opened she would be behind it.
Another board creaked outside, then I heard the door down the passage open.
‘They’re here,’ Lydia gasped.
‘Leave it to me,’ I said, not feeling anything like as confident as I sounded.
A soft scraping noise outside in the passage set my heart thumping. Then I heard the door handle creak as a hand closed over it. Stepping in front of Lydia, my finger on the trigger of the gun, I waited.
The door swung open, pinning us behind it. Lydia’s fingers were digging into my wrist. I hoped feverishly she wouldn’t panic and start to scream.
Through the crack between the door and the door jamb I caught sight of a squat, wide-shouldered shadow. For some moments Borg stood in the doorway, peering into the dark room, then he took two steps forward that brought him into the room. I was tense and waiting. I heard him cross to the window. His next move must be to look behind the door, and then it would be a question of who would shoot the faster. I wasn’t going to wait for that moment. The advantage was too much on his side. I pulled my wrist from Lydia’s grip, slid past her and out from behind the shelter of the door.
Borg had opened the window and was leaning forward to peer into the darkness.
With my heart in my mouth, I rushed him.
He was jerking back and turning as I reached him. I had the gun by its barrel and I struck at his head. He was badly placed, startled and off balance, but he did manage to shift his head enough to avoid absorbing most of the blow. The gun butt scraped down the side of his face, dazing him. His gun dropped out of his hand as he lurched into me, his great arms instinctively closing around mine. It was like being caught in the hug of a bear. I tried to shove him off, but I might just as well have shoved against the Empire State building. He was half a foot shorter than
I was, and he used that advantage to drive the top of his head, that felt like a slab of concrete, under my jaw.
The impact was like being hit with a rock and I felt my knees buckle. He tried the same dodge again, but this time I managed to get my jaw out of the way. I hooked my heel around the back of his leg and heaved forward. He lost balance, and we went to the floor with a crash that nearly brought in the roof of the cabin.
It was my luck I fell on top of him. The jolt sent my gun out of my hand and away into the darkness. The fall broke his hold. I was scrambling to my feet when a fist whistled out of the
darkness and caught me on my bicep. He could punch like a professional and the force of the blow sent me down.
Grunting he came at me. I swung up a foot, got it in the middle of his barrel of a chest, grabbed one of his arms and heaved. He went over me like a heaved sack of coal and crashed against the wall.
I got to my feet, grabbed up a chair and slammed it down on his head as he got up on hands and knees. He flattened out, heaved up again and caught me under the knees before I could hit him again.
I took a toss that beat most of the breath out of me, and he was on top of me by the time I got my head clear. I shoved my open hand into his face, holding him back, but I took a chopping blow on the side of my neck that turned me sick. I shoved him away and as he scrambled towards me again, I kicked him in the chest.
He rolled over on his back, but he could take any amount of that kind of stuff. He was getting to his feet as my hand closed around the leg of the bedside table. His head was outlined against the window, and it made a nice target. I hit him on the exact top of his head with the table which flew to pieces under the impact.
He flattened out and stayed out.
Panting, I bent over him, turned him on his back to make sure he wasn’t foxing. I felt as if I had been snarled up with a bulldozer. I looked across the room for Lydia, but I couldn’t see her.
‘Lydia!’
She didn’t answer.
I fumbled my way across to the electric light switch and turned the light on.
She wasn’t in the room.
As I ran out into the passage, shouting her name, I heard the sound of an approaching police siren.
III
I jerked open the cabin door and ran out on to the verandah. Away through the trees I could see the blaze of approaching car headlights.
A yellow flash of flame came from across the lawn, something zipped past my face and carved splinters from the front door. The crash of gunfire shattered the silence of the night, and I hurriedly ducked back under cover.
I had forgotten the second gunman, and he had nearly fixed me. I bolted down the passage into the back room for my gun. The sight of the empty room made my nerves crawl.
Borg had made a pretty quick recovery. He was either hiding in the cabin or he had left by the window. I snatched up the gun, jumped across the room and turned off the light.
Cautiously I made my way down the passage to the front door again.
I heard a car pull up with a screeching of tyres. Car doors slammed, then two policemen, guns in hand, came running down the cinder path. From across the lawn, behind the shelter of a cabin, there was a flash and a bang of gunfire.
The two policemen scattered like startled hens, diving behind trees. One of them fired at the cabin. There was a crash of glass and a woman screamed.
Lights began to flash up in the cabins, spilling through the windows on to the lawn.
I caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure, squat and thickset moving stealthily towards the trees. It was Borg. Lifting my gun, I fired at him. He broke into a run, but before he could reach the shelter of the trees, one of the policemen fired at him, and his shooting was more accurate than mine.
Borg went down on one knee, struggled up, then came slowly out into the open. The gun in his hand blazed. The two policemen both fired at him. Staggering back, he dropped his gun and spread out on the grass.
The second gunman made a dash for the cinder path. One of the policemen spun around, jerked up his gun and fired. The gunman dropped, rolled over, tried to get up on hands and knees, then slumped down on the cinders.
‘You’ve got both of them now,’ I shouted and moved out on to the verandah.
The two policemen came cautiously towards me, covering me with their guns.
‘I’m Sladen,’ I said, careful not to move. It struck me these two might be trigger happy.
‘Drop that gun!’ one of them rapped out.
I put the gun on the verandah floor.
‘Okay; now identify yourself.’
I gave him my press card and driving licence.
‘Okay, Mr. Sladen,’ the policeman said. ‘Looks like we turned up about right. Sergeant Scaife’s sending another car. It should I be here any moment.’
