Redfalcon, page 4
There was no trace of a Welsh accent now. Instead he sounded like a Londoner imperfectly imitating the diction of a country squire.
‘Your name?’ I pressed him, and clenched a fist to show that I meant business.
‘My name’s Peregrine Fowler,’ he declared swiftly, pulling his chin back out of the firing line. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’ve never heard of me, but I played at Stratford once. My Osric was highly praised in the local press.’
There was something so pathetic about that last assertion I hadn’t the heart to menace him any further. Lowering my fist, I said, ‘Well, you’re not playing in Hamlet now. What on earth do you think you’re up to?’
‘I was hired to do a job, that’s all. There not being much work around, I’d be a fool to turn down fifty guineas. I thought it was all supposed to be a lark, nothing more than that.’
‘Hired by whom?’ I pressed.
The actor shrank back even further, his hands fluttering nervously. ‘He said his name was Ralston, for whatever that’s worth. Now I think back on it, there was something shifty about him. He had a funny accent.’
The mention of an accent seemed to confirm that this deception had been planned by the German agent Stannix had warned me about. ‘So tell me, and be straight about it, where is the real Professor Owen?’
Fowler abruptly slid his hand under the blanket. Instantly on the alert, I seized his arm and snatched the blanket away. As Fowler recoiled with a startled cry, I saw to my chagrin that he had merely been reaching for a packet of cigarettes stuffed between his leg and the side of the chair.
‘There was no call for that,’ he protested. ‘No call at all. I just need to calm my nerves. You’ve shaken me up no end.’ He pulled out a cigarette, struck a match and lit it with trembling fingers.
‘I thought you might be reaching for—’
‘A gun?’ came a voice from behind me.
I turned to see that the harmless-looking housekeeper had a revolver trained on me. Her mouth was twisted into an expression of sheer malice, quite out of keeping with her earlier character.
With a wave of her hand she motioned me to step away from the man in the wheelchair. As I did so, he got to his feet and pulled himself up to his full height. I was quite certain now – and far too late – that this was Ravenstein in one of his notorious disguises.
‘Really, Hannay, I expected you to be a bit sharper.’ He smiled in cold amusement. ‘I mean, Peregrine Fowler. Surely that was what they call a dead giveaway.’
His voice was no longer that of a Welsh scholar nor of a minor actor putting on airs. Now his words had the cold, precise edge of the ruthless professional.
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘I congratulate you on coming up with a name few men would have had the gall to invent. That made it all the more convincing.’
‘Of course, I might actually have hired an actor to stall you here. I’ve done that sort of thing before. But before crossing to England I read your most interesting dossier and I was intrigued. I wanted to meet you face to face.’ He touched a finger to his false beard and added, ‘So to speak.’
He moved smoothly to the housekeeper’s side and took the gun from her, keeping it pointed steadily at my midriff.
He motioned me to back away until there was a good fifteen feet between us. I was pressed between the discarded wheelchair and a tall wicker basket filled with odd items of taffeta and silk
‘So it wasn’t your intention simply to kill me?’
He shook his head in a mocking show of regret. ‘Believe me, Hannay, I would have been much happier to think of you trekking through the mountains of Turkey than lying here as just another corpse in a long and bloody war. I’m afraid, however, you have made such a tidy resolution quite impossible.’
He signalled the woman to return to the back of the house. Before she had taken more than a few steps, however, her way was blocked by a lean figure who loomed in the open doorway. Waving the housekeeper aside, the newcomer pointed his own revolver straight at Ravenstein.
‘If there are any dead bodies to be left behind,’ he commented dryly, ‘I rather fancy one of them is going to be yours, old son.’
There was a flare of anger in Ravenstein’s cold eyes as they swivelled towards the intruder. The greatest surprise was mine, however, as I stared at the familiar face of my unexpected rescuer.
‘Barralty!’ I exclaimed. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘At your service,’ Benjamin Bannatyne Barralty responded, keeping his aim firmly fixed on the enemy agent. ‘This, I take it, is one of those ill-intentioned Huns who pop up in our back yard from time to time like troublesome nettles.’
I knew from previous acquaintance that Barralty was what might be styled a rogue for hire. The last time I met him he was attempting to abduct me from a train, and he was just about the last person I would have expected to be saving my skin.
‘It appears I underestimated you, Hannay,’ said Ravenstein. ‘You had a trick up your sleeve after all.’
‘Oh, he didn’t know anything about me,’ said Barralty with smug amusement. ‘In fact, he would probably have had a fit if he’d known I was shadowing him.’
The woman was moving slowly to the opposite side of the room from Ravenstein, forcing Barralty to divide his attention between the two of them.
‘I’d be obliged if you’d stop right there, madam,’ he said with cold courtesy, ‘otherwise I’ll be tempted to try my luck at picking you both off.’
The woman halted and raised her hands in a placating gesture. Her gaze was fixed on her chief as if in expectation of some signal from him.
‘Really?’ Ravenstein addressed Barralty. ‘What do you suppose the odds are that I am quick enough to shoot you and then Mr Hannay before you can do any such thing?’ His pistol was aimed squarely at my heart, and I was in no doubt that his threat was a real one.
Barralty allowed himself a smirk. ‘It sounds like a bit of a long shot, but I admit that I am an incorrigible gambler.’
It galled me to be a bystander in this increasingly tense standoff and I could see that each of the two men was only the slightest provocation away from pulling the trigger. For my own part, the last thing I wanted was for a gunfight to break out before I learned what had become of the professor.
‘Let’s everybody take a breath,’ I advised cautiously. ‘Ravenstein, all I want is Professor Owen, alive and well.’
‘And what will you be willing to trade for that?’ the German enquired without enthusiasm.
Only too late did I spot that the housekeeper had manoeuvred herself within reach of an ornamental dagger that hung on the wall in the midst of more harmless paraphernalia. In one swift motion she snatched it down and hurled herself forward.
‘Barralty!’
My cry alerted him just in time to turn and swing his gun at her. He caught her a hard crack on the side of the head just as she stabbed the blade into his thigh. With a curse, Barralty staggered back and crashed into a glass cabinet, throwing up a shower of glittering shards.
Ravenstein turned to shoot him before he could recover. By sheer instinct I grabbed the wicker basket and hurled it at the German, throwing his aim so that the bullet shattered a porcelain vase a few inches from Barralty’s ear.
I followed up with a charging rugby tackle that brought Ravenstein down under my full weight, knocking the wind out of him. The pistol was jolted from his startled fingers and slid away across the carpet. We rolled over and he gained the advantage, smacking a powerful fist into my temple. As I lay dazed, Ravenstein leapt to his feet, and I saw Barralty raise his gun. Ravenstein dodged the shot, scooped up his pistol and bolted out through the French windows at a desperate sprint.
6
A CLOSE PURSUIT
By the time I got to the window Ravenstein had leapt into a compact saloon car and was roaring off down the country road. I turned back to Barralty, who had slumped down into a seated position on the floor. He had set his revolver aside and was using a handkerchief to stem the flow of blood from his wound. Nearby the bogus housekeeper lay unconscious with a livid bruise forming on the side of her head.
‘Missed the artery and only got the fleshy part,’ he grunted as I joined him. ‘Still hurts like the very blazes, though.’
‘Look, I’ll bind it up as best I can,’ I said, ‘but we should get you to a doctor as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ He grimaced. ‘You’ll recall that I’m a bit of a whiz at speedy recoveries.’ He glanced over at his attacker. ‘I should have shot her, but I do baulk at that. Looks like she’ll be out of it for a while, though.’
I fetched a handful of scarves and kerchiefs from the overturned basket and set about wrapping the ugly wound.
‘The last time I saw you—’ I began.
‘You were throwing me off a train,’ Barralty recalled ruefully.
‘I was about to say, you had just pulled a gun on me.’
‘Well, no hard feelings, eh? I’m the one who ended up at the bottom of an embankment with a couple of cracked ribs.’
‘I should say that’s the least you deserved,’ I commented, tying a tight knot around his thigh.
Barralty winced and forced a thin smile. ‘Fair enough. But can’t we just let bygones be bygones?’
‘If I recall correctly, you were in the pay of men who wanted to make a deal with Hitler.’
‘That’s still a far cry from working for the Nazis,’ Barralty asserted. ‘Look, old man, there were even people in the government who thought that was our only chance for survival. But now that the old country’s proved her mettle, I can assure you that I’m batting for England just as much as you are.’
I stood up and surveyed my handiwork. It was not the first time I had been forced to dress a wound in the field, and I was confident my makeshift bandage would hold until we found proper medical attention. ‘Can I ask what brought about this change of heart?’
‘Not long after my bruising encounter with you, I was picked up by some determined men who wouldn’t take no for an answer.’ Barralty pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He took a long draw that seemed to ease his discomfort. ‘In the course of a rather testing time spent in a bare room somewhere in the depths of the Tower of London, they persuaded me that it was in my best interests to shop my former associates, many of whom are now languishing at His Majesty’s pleasure. After that I was offered some fresh employment.’
‘And what would that be exactly?’
‘Most recently watching your back, old fruit. You do have a reputation for charging headlong into the most hairy situations, and I gather that you’re currently of too much value to be allowed to suffer the consequences of your own recklessness.’
‘So it was you following me the other night after I left the British Museum,’ I surmised.
‘No, it was someone of less benevolent intent who was trailing you that night. I was the chap who was following him until I judged the moment was ripe to teach him a lesson about minding his own business.’
I thought it best not to enquire into the exact nature of that lesson.
‘I’d better take a look around,’ I decided. ‘It’s possible the real Professor Owen is somewhere in the house, bound or unconscious.’
Barralty stuck the cigarette in the side of his mouth and picked up his gun. ‘You go ahead. I’ll tie up Sleeping Beauty here and keep an eye out for any further trouble.’
I moved briskly through the downstairs rooms, confident that if any of Ravenstein’s men were still in the cottage, he would not have fled as he did. When I stepped into the kitchen I noticed an overturned chair and some pots that had been knocked to the floor. I realised that the professor’s real housekeeper must also have been replaced by an impostor.
I discovered that poor lady in an upstairs room, laid out upon a bed. She was younger and slimmer than the woman who had met me at the door. She had been bound hand and foot and gagged. She started as I entered the room and her eyes grew wide with fear.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Withers,’ I assured her, recalling how the false Professor Owen had addressed his companion in deception. ‘I’m with the police.’ That statement calmed her at once, and it was a simpler explanation of my presence than the full truth.
As soon as I had freed her, she grabbed my arm urgently. ‘The professor – did they take the professor?’
I nodded, for I had found no trace of him. ‘Please tell me what happened. How many of them were there?’
‘Well, there was the one with the grey hair and beard. I’m sure he was in charge. Then there was a pair of evil-looking ruffians who dragged me up here and tied me up. There was a woman too.’
‘Have you any idea where they might have taken the professor?’
She shook her head with an expression of utter misery. ‘I wish I knew. I can tell you this, though – the two bullies arrived in a bakery van and another car pulled up right after them.’
I almost slapped a hand to my brow at the realisation that my taxi had passed the very vehicle that had been carrying off the kidnapped professor. The other car must have been the one Ravenstein drove off in.
‘Listen to me,’ I said. ‘You have been very brave. Now, if you’re up to it, I need you to call the police and tell them what happened here. But please, stay out of the study. There’s an unconscious woman in there who’ll be well tied up by now.’
The housekeeper’s eyes grew wide. ‘A woman? Who?’
‘She came with the kidnappers and took your place alongside a bogus version of Professor Owen.’
The lady took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I have a friend downstairs’ – how strange it sounded to my ears to describe Barralty as a friend – ‘and we’re going to give chase. If we can catch up with that bakery van, we may be able to rescue the professor.’
‘Then go,’ she urged. ‘I’ll be fine.’ She added in a murmur, ‘I have some brandy in the kitchen.’
I hurried back to the study, where Barralty had got to his feet and was helping himself to some cigars from a humidor on the desk. I saw that he’d made a very efficient job of tying up the senseless woman.
‘They’ve taken Professor Owen away in a bakery van,’ I told him. ‘I passed it on the way here. You have a car, don’t you?’
‘I’ll say,’ Barralty responded proudly, lighting a cigar. ‘She’s a real beauty, parked in the orchard on the far side of the house.’
‘Then let’s go. With a spot of luck we might catch up with them.’
I dashed out of the front door but had to slow down to let the limping Barralty catch me up. When we reached the car, I suggested that, in view of his injured leg, perhaps I should drive.
‘What, let you get your hands on my Bentley?’ he retorted mockingly. ‘Fat chance of that, my old egg. You leave the driving to me.’
I could see his face was pale from the loss of blood and his wound was paining him pretty badly. Nevertheless, he pulled smoothly out of the orchard and took us on to the main road.
‘You see, Hannay,’ he said, forcing a smile, ‘I told you you could trust me at the wheel.’
‘Frankly, given our history,’ I reminded him, ‘I’m amazed that I can trust you at all.’
‘Changed times and all that,’ Barralty responded with a casual shrug. ‘Remember it’s not so long ago the French were our dear old pals. Now their Vichy gang are tucked up in bed with the Germans. Makes my little volte-face look like a mere flip of the cards.’
For all I disliked his mercenary ways, I couldn’t help warming to the rogue. He wouldn’t be the first man to be recruited from the shadier side of life to do good service for his country, and by now he had certainly proved his worth.
‘That van was headed south when I passed it in my taxi,’ I said. ‘If we go down that way we can stop and ask some of the locals if they’ve seen any sign of it.’
‘I wouldn’t advise stopping just at present,’ said Barralty, glancing up at the rearview mirror.
‘Why not?’
‘Because somebody’s coming up on our tail, and the only reason the chap can have for driving so fast is that he’s trying to catch us.’
I twisted about and saw what he meant. A black Daimler was topping a hill we had just crossed and looked to be after us like a hound on a fox.
‘I suppose Ravenstein might have set some of his minions on our trail,’ I speculated.
‘In that case,’ said Barralty, ‘the best thing we can do is shake them off.’
With that he gave a savage twist of the wheel that swerved us left into a narrow road. The Daimler turned to follow, though the speed of Barralty’s manoeuvre had allowed us to pull ahead. Devon is criss-crossed with roads running between high hedgerows, so that parts of the county resemble an elaborate maze. It was through this maze that Barralty raced now, gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles stood out white.
Right and left he jerked the Bentley, but still our pursuer followed, keeping us in sight in spite of all Barralty’s efforts.
‘He’s a persistent blighter,’ the rogue grated, ‘but I’ll lose him or . . .’
At that moment he made a savage turn, and a patch of fresh mud flung the car into a spin. Barralty fought for control but we went front wheels first into a ditch. The two of us toppled into the dashboard and the rogue let out a stream of harsh curses.
‘Quick, we need to get out before they reach us,’ he gasped, throwing open his door. He tumbled out, drawing his gun, and took cover behind the bonnet of the car. I climbed out and joined him, our eyes fixed on the Daimler which had pulled up about twenty yards away.
‘If they’ve come for a fight, we’ll give them one!’
In spite of his bold words, I could see his eyes were misting over from the pain of his wound and the obvious damage the crash had done his left shoulder. He was certainly in no condition for a battle.
‘Just hold your fire until we see what they want,’ I advised.
The doors of the Daimler opened. Two young men emerged and immediately came loping towards us. I was as astonished as Barralty to see that they were dressed in full Highland regalia: kilt, sporran, brocaded jacket with silver buttons, right down to the sgian-dubh tucked into the sock.
