The Return of Captain John Emmett

honest. He had emptied himself out. So I told him Harry was my son. I wanted to tel somebody at last.'

'What did he say?'

'He asked me to forgive him.'

Laurence felt numb. It was so simple.

'I told him there was nothing to forgive,' said Somers. 'It was war.'

'But you didn't forgive the others?'

'The others didn't ask.' He paused.

'Emmett told me that at the last minute he realised that he knew my son. He'd actualy met him once. They shared a deep love of poetry. Harry's last words were supposed to have been, 'For God's sake shoot quickly and get it over with,' but when he fel to the ground he was only injured. Refused a blindfold.'

Pain was unmistakable on Somers' face. His speech slowed.

'He had blue eyes, like his mother.'

He wiped his forehead, hesitated.

'Emmett just stood there. Frozen, he said. Harry tried to speak. Emmett had his gun in his hand; everybody waiting for him to do his duty. He said Harry was uninteligible. Then Sergeant Tucker, who hadn't marched the men away but left them gawping, quit the line, came forward, cool as you like, took the gun from Emmett, who put up no kind of resistance, and he shot Harry straight in the face.

Chapter Thirty-seven

The two men looked at each other. Both started to speak at once, then stopped. It was as if al the chaos of murder, adultery, suicide and ilegitimacy had been reduced to mere social awkwardness.

Finaly Laurence said, And now? What do you intend to do?'

'I imagine if you leave here you'l go straight to fetch the police?' Somers looked up. At last Laurence could hear Gwen Lovel move at the back of the house.

'I just didn't realy think...' Laurence began. Did Somers intend to let him go and if not, what would he do?

'Oh, you think,' said Somers. 'You're a brave man. Brave and dogged. An excelent officer. Acting major. Twice mentioned in despatches and holder of the Military Cross. How does the citation go? 'For conspicuous courage under fire. Leading an attack against considerable odds, in which the battalion sustained heavy losses, he returned to retrieve the injured at considerable risk to himself.' You think, Captain Bartram. You think very carefuly and you act decisively. If you didn't count on my finding you, you certainly knew it was a possibility you would find me.'

He was trying to heave the dead weight of Pollock, pitiable, fat Pollock, back across the churned- up terrain. Bent half double, he strained to drag him by the legs. Pollock's weight made a trough in the mud and as Laurence leaned forward he could smell the urine soaking through the soldier's trousers. He hoped the man was unconscious—the body kept lurching to the side and every time he managed to move him more than a few inches, Pollock made a wet, wheezing sound and red froth came out of his mouth. The front of his tunic was black and tarry. Laurence hadn't dared open it in case it was all that was keeping Pollock's guts inside his body. Suddenly the ground fell away and they were both tumbling into a crater of mud and water. The tremendous weight of the injured man landed on top of him. For a minute he lay winded and nauseated, then panicked and struggled furiously to get a purchase on Pollock's jacket. At last he tore himself free but his legs had lost all feeling. He sat in the slime holding the man's head in his lap. There was faint sunlight now, piercing the smoke, as the water around the soldier turned reddish brown and strings of pink saliva congealed between his bloody teeth. He sat and stroked Pollock's cold face until someone came and found them.

Somers was stil talking.

'Did you realy believe you were the only one capable of a bit of detective work? It's not hard to find a man's records, you know. To talk to a few people.'

He was getting up as he spoke. He returned to the bureau and opened a different drawer. Laurence wondered what he was about to show him. Somers rifled through some papers and turned round. He was holding a gun.

'Believe it or not, I regret the need for this,' Somers said. 'But, you see, Brabourne contacted me a day or so ago asking what had happened to the photograph he'd given me. Emmett stole it from my house, of course, after I showed it to him. I never even noticed its absence. I gather it came home with his effects? I had to improvise, say there'd been a burglary. But it wouldn't do. I knew you'd come back to Gwen sooner or later and now the journalist was suspicious too. He asked me if I had known Mulins. If I knew that Emmett was dead.'

He sat down, stil holding the gun. It was hardly different from the Webley that Laurence had used in the war.

'Did John take anything else?' Laurence thought Somers hesitated but realised the man was simply tiring. Somers shook his head and carried on talking.

'Gough. He was the ultimate arbiter. He had my son's life in his hands. I simply want him now. After that, I don't care. What difference does it make to me? I'l hang, Gwen wil be disgraced either way. If I shoot you now, I might get Gough and we might just get away. I have tickets for Gwen, Catherine and myself to sail to Canada in January. I chose the anniversary of Harry's death. By then it al needs to be finished.'

He looked at Laurence almost questioningly as if asking for his approval.

'I can't let you stop me before I've dealt with Gough.'

'I think there would be a difference to you in kiling me,' Laurence said steadily.

The Webley looked wel maintained. Was it loaded? Somers was not yet pointing it at him, but held it by his side. Laurence was surprised to find just how much he wanted to live. He wondered what Mary would feel if he died.

'As you say, it al depends on motive,' he continued, amazed that his voice was steady. 'In war there's little