when you arrive. You know all this as well as I do.”
“If Gissing’s had a warning, he would be ready for us and ready for you. And if you went alone, he would know we weren’t far behind,” Marino argued.
“Are we getting any place?” asked Lissa.
“We will do it my way,” said Marino. “Sorry, Roger, but that’s how it is.”
They drove on, the chauffeur apparently oblivious. Roger sat at the back, staring at Marino’s head, knowing nothing would move the man yet feeling sure that to raid the house as Marino planned offered risks that could be avoided. The truth was simple: Marino was sure that he had Gissing surrounded, thought that when Gissing knew the game was up, he would submit without a fight. He didn’t know Gissing.
Roger wished constraint had not fallen on all of them — a form of reaction because the end seemed to be near. Lissa didn’t look at him. He studied her lips, and remembered . . .
He turned his head, and then heard a car horn blare out It blared again, loud and shrill with warning. The driver swerved to one side, and a car flashed by, pulled in front of them and began to slow down. A man in the front passenger seat waved wildly. The driver put on his brakes, and looked at Marino.
“What’ll I do?”
“It’s Pullinger!” Lissa said. “Pullinger’s waving.”
“Okay,” Marino said to the driver.
“How much does he know?” Roger asked. The uneasiness he had felt at Webster’s house when Pullinger had been brought in, and which he had felt again at Wycoma, had never been stronger. “About the farmhouse, I mean.”
“Nothing,” said Marino. He was frowning at Pullinger, who had climbed out of the car ahead and was running towards them. “We didn’t tell him. He didn’t do a very good job with you in New York, Roger, but we haven’t checked his story yet. I thought he was in Wycoma, he was told to stay there and go through the Webster house, pulling it apart.” He wound down his window as Pullinger came up, breathing heavily. His eyes glittered, as if he couldn’t fight down excitement. “Hi, Ed,” said Marino smoothly. “How come?”
“Tony, have I got news for you!” Pullinger paused, as if for breath. “I found plenty at Webster’s house. The address of the farm.” He jerked his head backwards, and paused again. “I called the office, and they told me you had an address already.”
“So what’s news, Ed?”
“This is news,” said Pullinger. He pulled a gun from his pocket, and his grin was from ear to ear. “Big news. Ready for more. I told the office you’d got the wrong farm. I had the cordon moved, no one is round Gissing’s place now. How do you like the news, Tony?” He was still grinning.
The driver of Pullinger’s car was standing at the other side of the Lincoln. His back was to passing traffic, but Roger could see his gun.
“You want to drive on, and have a talk with Gissing?” Pullinger invited.
• • •
Tony Marino didn’t answer. Lissa leaned back, with her eyes closed; Roger had never seen her look tired before. In the bright morning two cars passed, drivers and passengers looking curiously at the old Lincoln and the Chevrolet in front of it. A big truck and trailer ground its way towards them, and Pullinger’s man pressed closer to the car, to make sure there was room.
This answered many questions, but Pullinger had not doped the milk, had never been in England.
“You don’t have to drive on,” Pullinger said. He looked absurdly young. “But if you’re not at the farmhouse in twenty minutes, the Shawns won’t have a son named Ricky. Just imagine what that will do to David Shawn. Guess how much use he would be to you after that, Tony. Gissing might make a visit worth your while. Why not come along? Lissa and my old pal Roger can get into the Chevy, I’ll keep you company. You want to get out, Lissa?”
He opened the rear door with his free hand. He didn’t look evil, as Gissing could look, but just a fresh-faced, eager boy. He was taking a desperate chance. Traffic wasn’t thick here, but there was traffic.
“I’ve grown to like Ricky,” he said. “No one can blame the kid, can they? And you can’t do anything to help now, Tony, unless you talk to Gissing. Why not try it?” Behind his airy brightness the strain was beginning to show. T said twenty minutes, and Gissing gets impatient.”
Roger couldn’t see the expression in Marino’s eyes, but he could imagine it. Lissa had opened her eyes, and her hands were clenched in her lap. Roger moved slightly, his side pressing against her leg; she must feel the gun which he had in the pocket, which she could get more easily than he. If there was a chance, it was now. Marino was holding Pullinger’s gaze, Pullinger showing greater signs of strain.
Lissa noticed nothing, or preferred to pretend that she didn’t.
“So you’re on the other side, Ed,” Marino said softly. “You’re a traitor. I didn’t think it could happen to you.”
Pullinger laughed, and the sound wasn’t free.
“You can guess,” he said. “You can guess wrong, too. It’s time Lissa and my old pal from Scotland Yard got moving. And you’re an important guy, Tony, I don’t want anything to happen to you either.” He gave the laugh again. “Get moving.”
“Do what he says,” Marino said slowly.
Pullinger exclaimed: “That’s my boy! Take it easy, Lissa. Don’t try to pull anything, West.”
“Don’t try to pull anything,” Marino confirmed. “We’ll see what Gissing has to say.”
“That’s one thing about Tony Marino, he’s full of good sound sense.” Pullinger was exultant as yet another car was waved past by his companion, who was still standing on the Lincoln’s off side. He held the rear door wide open, and Lissa got out, Roger followed, his gun knocking against his side, twice. It didn’t have a chance to do that a third time, for Pullinger slipped his hand into Roger’s pocket and took it; he dropped it into his own pocket, and
