Traitor's Doom Read online

  Then from amongst the crowd came a single shot.

  Palfrey could not hear it; but from his position he saw the flash of flame, as if a dozen matches had been lighted at once. He turned his head quickly, in time to see one of the mounted policemen fall. There was a sudden hush, a strange, unnatural calm. Both sides were affected.

  Then with a deep, baying roar the crowd surged towards the police and the shop.

  The police began shooting over the heads of the crowd at first, but their bullets fell amongst the people farther back. Shrieks and cries and oaths rent the air, but the deeper sound was that of trampling feet. The first lines hesitated against the fire from the police, then directed towards them. A few people fell, two of them women. The shrieking grew louder, and then stones began to fly. More of the police were hit, and their shooting grew wild; now they cared nothing where their bullets went.

  The crowd behind the front ranks surged forward, the hesitant ones were pushed forward or downward, some crushed beneath the feet of others. In a sudden wave of massed men and women the police line broke. By then stones were crashing into the plate-glass windows of the big store, and the iron gates across the doorways were suddenly besieged. Men clambered up and over, and women followed; to Palfrey it looked as if an army of ants was sprawling across the whole front of the shop. People were pressed against the plate glass, and suddenly there was a terrific report as a window stove in.

  Palfrey tightened his lips.

  Twenty or thirty of the rioters went downwards into the window, and others surged over them. Sticks were being waved and brandished, brooms, spades and forks appeared as if from nowhere. The people poured into the shop through the window, then through another, preceded by a similar report and by the same awful avalanche over the bodies of the unfortunates at the front. A constant stream climbed the iron gates.

  Only here and there was a policeman visible. Once Palfrey saw a man in uniform tossed high into the air, and allowed to fall on the heads of the crowd, then to the ground.

  The more people to disappear, the more appeared from the entrances to the Square. Wild-eyed now, flushed of cheek, men and women and children ran tight-lipped and uttering little sound. Even the crowd near the shop was silent, the only cries were those of the injured and the wounded.

  ‘My God,’ thought Palfrey. ‘How long will it last?’

  It was a Bedlam and a turmoil like nothing he had ever seen, and he knew that he had not imagined the readiness for revolt, that Clive had spoken no more than the truth. He could have jumped down from the sill and hurried away, but he realised that there would be the need for him, and for a dozen doctors, before the riot was over.

  He wondered fleetingly how the authorities would try to stem it. He soon learned.

  He heard the roar of engines, and then a shrieking came from the street near him. A cry went from mouth to mouth, a single word that was quite unmistakable: ‘Tanka—tanka!’

  The lumbering approach of tanks drew nearer, louder and clearer. A few spasmodic bursts from a machine-gun were fired as the first of four tanks stretched right across the road came into sight. There were twelve in all, two more rows of four. They deployed into the Square and then went forward in one long, remorseless line. They went slowly, very slowly, and only a few bursts of fire came, always in the air. The people went back like grass before a high wind. Something of the mass frenzy went, and fear replaced it. At the far end of the Square they were streaming away in their hundreds.

  Behind the tanks came the militia.

  Palfrey’s expression grew a little more relaxed as he saw that they used the butts of their rifles, and never too heavily. There was little opposition, nor was there any attempt to make the progress of the militia brutal for the sake of it; the men went about their task deliberately but humanely. From the far side of the Square the cry was getting louder: ‘Tanka—tanka!’

  Palfrey jumped down from the window-ledge.

  Not twenty yards from him a woman was lying, her head in a pool of blood. Close by her a child in ragged shawls was screaming but untouched, and two children were standing and staring, white-faced and with enormous eyes, at their mother’s head. It was the woman he had seen earlier; she had not gone far.

  He reached her.

  She was unconscious, and there was little that he could do to help then, although he did not think she was fatally injured. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned the wounds in her head as best he could, took off his tie and, using the handkerchief as a pad, bound it to prevent further bleeding. As he worked two policemen approached him and asked in Catanese: ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I am a doctor,’ Palfrey said in English. I need bandages’ – he touched the tie – ‘water, scissors.’ He stood up, and pointed to a dozen people lying helpless about the Square.

  The policemen nodded, understanding his meaning if not knowing what he said. One of them pointed to the far side of the Square, and Palfrey saw the sun gleaming on coloured water in huge bottles – a chemist’s shop, just what he needed. Of course the ambulances would soon arrive, with other doctors, but there was need for all of them and he had to hurry.

  He found the proprietor of the shop already piling bandages on his counter, preparing for the demands that would be made. Palfrey called him aside and gave his name.

  Within five minutes Palfrey had the hypodermic syringes and the drugs he required, together with bandages and cotton-wool and iodine; also he had the services of a tall, pallid youth, who uttered no word but showed that he knew what was wanted of him. The youth brought two pails of water and some towels, and soon Palfrey was at work, finding the worst-injured near him and giving them injections to ease their pain. He grew aware of others working at other parts of the Square. Ambulances had arrived, too, and some of the severest cases were being removed.

  Several men were congregated near the statue where the orator had been standing. All were in their shirt-sleeves, like Palfrey, and were as dust-and-blood-stained as he, and Palfrey recognised one of them as a doctor who was attending Don Salvos. The doctor spoke English, introduced Palfrey to the others, and did not need to add ‘Don Salvos’.

  Palfrey offered his services. They were accepted, warmly, and soon he was on his way by car to the hospital where, it proved, Don Salvos’ physician was a consultant. The several hospitals in Orlanto were filled to overflowing, the doctor told Palfrey, and he estimated that between two and three hundred people had been severely injured in the riot, fifty of them at least needing operations. Palfrey had a bath, donned borrowed clothes, a white smock, rubber gloves and a mask. He worked as anaesthetist for some two hours, thankful that most of the operations were minor ones, taking little time.

  It was hot by the time he had finished, and he felt exhausted, although he was able to appreciate the skill of the two surgeons with whom he worked, and the capability of the nurses. The theatre was a modern one, the equipment could not have been bettered in the best of the London hospitals. A crowd of students watched from a balcony, silent, and, to Palfrey, looking a long way off.

  He finished at last, and joined Don Salvos’ doctor in the dining-room. Sandwiches were waiting for them, with more coffee. He ate gratefully with half a dozen others, and was in the middle of the snack when his acquaintance said: ‘It was bad, Palfrey, very bad indeed. And to think’ – he raised a sandwich and waved it in the air – ‘to think that one, one such sandwich to each person in that crowd would have prevented it. Oh, it is heartrending. You know, of course, what started it?’

  Inwardly Palfrey felt cold.

  ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  That the Catanese doctor was a jovial soul he knew from past experience. A skilled surgeon, he would, in England, have been in Harley Street, numbering the elite amongst his patients. He was a rotund man, of more than medium height, with quick, expressive eyes, and a h
eavy, blue jowl.

  ‘It is perhaps incredible to you,’ said the doctor. ‘There was a delivery of food—meat, you understand?—at the store. A rumour of it spread, and the crowd demanded a share of it. It was for those who could pay high prices, of course.’ He shrugged his shoulders and bit into his sandwich glumly. ‘Who can blame a man or a woman for wanting food when they are hungry, Palfrey? Answer me that. Who can do it?’

  ‘Not I,’ said Palfrey. ‘It is heart-breaking, yes.’

  ‘You think that?’ the other said quickly. ‘You are English, Palfrey. Did you know how bad things were before you came? Can you arrange for more food for my country, Palfrey? It is a grievous need; soon we shall have the winter on us and I dare not think what will happen then. Can you use influence, Palfrey?’

  Palfrey finished his coffee, and smoothed back his hair.

  ‘I can try,’ he said. ‘And I will try.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Bad News from the Frontier

  Palfrey was still clad in borrowed clothes when he reached the hotel. He felt weary of limb and mentally tired. The bright lights of the foyer hurt his eyes, and he hurried towards the lift, then to his own room.

  As he reached it, he heard Brian’s voice from the next door.

  ‘My oath, you had us scared!’ said Brian with feeling. ‘I’ve just come back from a hunt round the streets, and Stefan is still out. Where the devil have you been?’

  ‘In the streets,’ said Palfrey. ‘Have you heard about the riot?’

  ‘I heard there was a bit of trouble,’ said Brian.

  ‘A bit of trouble,’ commented Palfrey pensively. ‘Yes, I suppose that could cover it.’ He entered his room, stretched himself out in an easy-chair, relaxing completely. Then he began to stuff his pipe while he explained something of what had happened. He was half-way through the story when Andromovitch returned, his face lighting up at the sight of Palfrey.

  Palfrey went through the opening sentences again.

  ‘There is no doubt how serious things are,’ said Andromovitch when Palfrey had finished.

  Palfrey was silent for a few minutes, and then shrugged. ‘At least it confirmed the worst of our fears about Catania, and one of us will have to get to England to see the Marquis. You, Brian, I think. I can’t leave here. At the moment I am the liaison between Hermandes, José and Don Salvos, and I have to stay. But …’ He fixed Andromovitch with a speculative eye. ‘You haven’t met the Marquis yet, Stefan.’

  ‘No-o,’ said Stefan slowly.

  ‘It might be a good idea if you go together,’ said Palfrey. ‘You can be back in three days, even less if it’s really necessary, and the time for doing something other than poke around in odd corners has obviously come. There isn’t a lot we can do here until we know more about Hermandes and José, and the Marquis might help to clear up the mystery.’

  ‘There is a plane in the morning,’ said Andromovitch.

  Palfrey went to bed early, and was asleep very quickly, despite the varied thoughts which flashed in and out of his mind. In some ways he wished that he could see the Marquis himself, but of the three he was obviously the most necessary in Orlanto.

  It was light when he awakened.

  He did so with a start, turning his head towards the door, which was being shaken vigorously. He had locked it for security’s sake, before getting into bed. Sleepy-voiced, he called out for the visitor to wait, threw back the clothes, and put on his dressing-gown as he reached the door and opened it.

  He stepped back in surprise.

  ‘Drusilla!’

  ‘Hallo, Sap,’ said Drusilla quietly.

  She slipped past him, and her manner proved that she wanted the door closed quickly, so that she was not seen. Palfrey closed it, and turned slowly.

  The single glimpse he had obtained of her face had shown that she was tired out. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, and her hair was dishevelled. She was dressed in a tweed suit, and there was a jagged tear on one shoulder.

  Palfrey said swiftly: ‘I’ll send for some coffee, Drusilla.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I can do with it.’

  There was a lifeless note in her voice, a disturbing one. Palfrey made no comment, but telephoned for coffee, and then went into the bathroom and ran the water for a bath. He put a towel and a piece of English soap handy, then returned to the bedroom. Drusilla was still sitting in the easy-chair, her head resting on the back of it, her eyes closed.

  Palfrey said: ‘I’m glad you’re not asleep. Have a tub, and then some coffee, and by the time you’ve finished you’ll get a sleep that will really do you good. He smiled a little one-sidedly, and then stretched out his hands. Drusilla took them, and Palfrey pulled her to her feet; there was no spring in her movement. Palfrey stared into her eyes for a moment. ‘A bath, and coffee,’ he repeated firmly. ‘Doctor’s orders.’

  ‘All right, Sap,’ said Drusilla dully.

  Palfrey dressed, and then went into Brian’s room.

  Brian was sleeping on his side, only a single sheet over his lean body, his flaxen hair spread out on the pillow and looking almost feminine.

  Palfrey touched the younger man’s shoulder, and said, ‘Wake up, old man.’

  ‘Er?’ said Brian. ‘What’s the trouble? Have I overslept?’ He glanced at his watch and then back to Palfrey. ‘It isn’t that. Why the blazes are you looking so mysterious?’

  ‘Not mysterious,’ said Palfrey. ‘Now easy, old man. Drusilla is back. There’s been trouble of a kind, but I don’t know what. I got the idea that she thought she might have been followed. Will you call Stefan, and then be ready for emergency?’

  ‘Yes, I won’t be five minutes. Is she all right?’

  ‘Tired, that’s all.’ Palfrey paused, and then added: ‘I think you’d better stay here, with Stefan, and keep the doors ajar. I don’t know what she can stand yet, and the three of us might be a bit too much for her.’

  As Palfrey re-entered his room there was a tap at the passage door. He opened it, taking a coffee-tray from the maid, who beamed at him and waddled away, fat and splay-footed and inevitably cheerful. There were strange contrasts in Orlanto, thought Palfrey. He heard water running from the bath, and through the doorway, which had opened a little more, saw the shadow of Drusilla moving as she towelled herself. Palfrey’s smile grew thoughtful as he put the coffee on the table, then took some clean pyjamas and a dressing-gown and pushed them through the open doorway.

  She looked much better when she came from the bathroom, tying the sash of his dressing-gown about her. Her hair was fluffy in places and damp in others, and all her make-up had gone; it did not make her anything but good to look at, for her complexion was superb. But her eyes remained tired, and she sank into a chair with a gasp.

  Palfrey poured coffee.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Drusilla. ‘And I’d like a cigarette.’ He lit one for her, and she sat back, eyeing him narrowly. ‘You aren’t very full of questions, Sap.’

  ‘You don’t look very full of answers,’ retorted Palfrey. ‘Bad news from the frontier, I suppose?’

  ‘We had to split up.’

  ‘Where?’ Palfrey still sounded casual.

  ‘At Maijor,’ answered Drusilla. ‘We went through the village, and everything seemed all right; our passports were in order, and our visas, and officially we had business in Lisbon and Madrid.’ She shrugged. ‘Then something went wrong. They had a telephone message at the frontier post, and Labollier lost his head and started shouting in French.’

  Palfrey narrowed his eyes.

  ‘A bad habit for a good Catanese.’

  ‘Oh, it was crazy!’ exclaimed Drusilla. ‘Van Hoysen was worth hearing, although he kept it under his breath.’ She smiled a little, and Palfrey saw and admired her spirit. ‘There were some woods near by, and van Hoysen ju
mped for the car we were using, and I clambered in somehow. That was after Labollier had lost his head, and the guards were shooting,’ added Drusilla. ‘It wasn’t a good five minutes, but we all got away—Labollier on the running-board—and none of us was hurt. We reached the woods, but the road came to an end, and then we had a puncture. We could hear shooting, and there seemed to be a hundred men somewhere near by. I suggested separating. Travelling together invited trouble.’

  ‘Ye-es,’ said Palfrey. ‘Did you see them after that?’

  ‘Not Labollier. I don’t know what happened to him. He wasn’t normal, Sap; I’m worried about him. Van Hoysen joined up with me on the edge of the woods, and we stayed under cover for a bit and then started walking across country. It wasn’t so good. There was a lookout for us everywhere. We had to keep under cover when we could, and the sight of a uniform made us shiver!’ She laughed a little. ‘Oh, I suppose it wasn’t so bad, but it was such a damnable disappointment! It wouldn’t have mattered if it had been in Spain, or even Portugal, but to be on the run in Catania—it almost looked as if we were fated not to get through.’

  ‘It’s early yet,’ said Palfrey. ‘Where did you leave van Hoysen?’

  ‘Near Avid.’

  Palfrey’s eyes creased thoughtfully.

  ‘Why split up then?’ he asked casually.

  ‘We’d been seen together, and there was a chase from a village just outside Avid,’ said Drusilla. ‘It was obvious that if we wanted to get back here we’d have to travel alone, so we parted in another wood, and I walked on the main road, getting a lift when I could. I was lucky,’ she said, ‘I didn’t expect to get here until tonight—but we needn’t go into that, the luck does run right sometimes. That’s about all Sap; it’s a record of complete failure from beginning to end. Good tidings for the Marquis,’ she added, and pulled a wry face. ‘Well, there it is, and I must get some sleep. How have you been getting on?’