Traitor's Doom Read online

  A man said: ‘For the car, señors?’

  They could see only his shadow as he went forward through the trees, where it was almost black. They walked for five minutes until, suddenly, they came to a car concealed in the bushes. Peering inside, they could just make out the shape of the man at the wheel.

  They climbed inside, and the driver started the car, going cautiously across the bumpy land until he reached the road. Only then did he switch on the headlights. The dull throb of the engine seemed like the approach of distant aircraft, and Palfrey found himself surprisingly conscious of it.

  After a few minutes Stefan said:

  ‘And what has your great mind decided about that interview, Sap? Or have you just prevented yourself from thinking?’

  ‘Labollier has gone,’ said Palfrey, ‘but the Marquis is afraid there’s someone else.’

  ‘I think so, too,’ said Stefan. ‘I mean that he is afraid that there might be; I do not necessarily agree that there is another traitor. But one thing is certain, Sap.’

  ‘Good. What is it?’

  ‘He does not seriously suspect that it is Drusilla.’

  ‘No-o,’ admitted Palfrey. ‘A bright red-herring, I think.’

  He spent some minutes explaining to Stefan the exact meaning of a ‘red-herring’. The driver went on steadily, the road was good, although once or twice he had to brake at sharp bends. He slowed down to approach one of them, and as he turned the car the headlights shone on a pile of wooden boxes, and a bar, across the road.

  He jammed on his brakes and snapped: ‘Señors, get away!’

  It happened so suddenly that neither Palfrey nor Stefan realised what was the matter until they saw dark figures hurrying towards them. The headlights showed the fixed bayonets and, what was worse, guns and Tommy-guns held in position.

  Stefan opened the door of the car, but the men were too near, it was useless to jump out.

  Palfrey leaned over the driver’s seat and snapped urgently: ‘Drive through it!’

  ‘Señor—’

  The first word of the man’s protest faded. Perhaps he saw that it was the only way in which they could get through. He had not stopped the engine, and now he trod hard on the accelerator, letting the car lurch forward. Taken by surprise because it had seemed that the car had stopped, the men who had run up to attack scattered wildly. There was a thud when one of the wings struck a man, and sent him reeling to one side. Then the bonnet smashed into the boxes. The bar struck against the windscreen, but the first impact had been great enough to shake the foundations of the barricade, and the collision was not heavy. For a few yards they carried the bar with them, scraping against the bonnet and the windscreen, until it fell off on one side.

  Bullets were rattling on the rear of the car.

  All three of them crouched low, but although the windows were holed none of them was touched. There seemed to be no one in front of them, and there was no sign of any pursuit. For perhaps three minutes they crouched down, with the driver performing miracles in his cramped position. Then they dared to straighten up, and Stefan leaned forward again, gasping for breath.

  ‘Very well done, señor’ He breathed the words into the driver’s ears. ‘No one could have done better.’ He let himself be extravagant in his praise, and the man reacted well, laughing and dismissing it as a mere nothing. He was inspired to go at speed, and the trees and hedges raced by on either side.

  After two miles, or a little more, Palfrey said: ‘Will it be safe to stop?’

  ‘Safe enough, señor’ said the driver, whose English was unexpectedly good. ‘As safe as anything can be for us.’ In the poor light from the dashboard he smiled grimly, but pulled into the side of the road. ‘There might be pursuit, señor has not forgotten that?’

  ‘No,’ said Palfrey. ‘But there might be others following us, from the house-boat. Have you forgotten that?’

  The man turned to face him, dark-visaged, wide-eyed.

  ‘My task is to take you safely to Don Salvos, señor.’

  ‘Supposing there is an attack on the house-boat?’ said Palfrey. ‘Or supposing the Señors Bombarda leave, and are trapped? They must be warned.’

  The man said: ‘Si, señor.’ The idea seemed to strike him as something new, and he added: ‘How shall it be done?’

  ‘How far are we from Don Salvos now?’ asked Palfrey.

  ‘A long way. Seven-eight miles, or more.’

  ‘And from the house-boat?’

  ‘Perhaps five miles, señor.’

  ‘Can you walk back across country?’ asked Palfrey quietly.

  He had some idea of what he was asking the man, and was half-prepared for objections. There was a long silence, and then the driver shrugged his shoulders and put a hand to the handle of the door.

  ‘Si, señor,’ he said quietly. ‘It is necessary. I can get there safely, and I may be in time. But, señor—you do not know the way to the home of Don Salvos.’

  ‘Then we’ll go through Orlanto,’ said Stefan. ‘There is nothing else to do.’

  ‘It is your decision, señor. If I am to be of service I need to hurry.’ The man climbed out, hesitated for a moment, then bowed and turned along the road.

  Stefan climbed out after him, and took the wheel. Palfrey sat next to him, and the Russian let in the clutch. They looked about them apprehensively, half expecting another attack to materialise out of the darkness, but nothing happened for the first ten minutes, and they went at considerable pace, although the sharp bends worried Stefan.

  Twice he was forced to brake so sharply that the tyres screeched and the branches of trees scraped noisily across the battered front of the car.

  They turned a corner, and saw a glow of light perhaps a mile farther along the road. Immediately Stefan turned off his headlights. The glow ahead, a wide, diffused one, was puzzling until, as they drew nearer, Stefan said: ‘The headlamps of several cars, Sap.’

  ‘It looks like it,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘I perhaps another barrier?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Palfrey uneasily. ‘Unless there’s a turning off we’re stuck.’ He peered along the road but saw no sign of a turning. They breasted a slight rise, and looking down saw the lights of Orlanto shining in the distance, a lovely sight which made Palfrey frown. He could see, also, the lights from houses and streets on the hills, and knew roughly the direction of Don Salvos’ home.

  Stefan slowed down, and turned the car off the road, pulling up behind a small clump of trees.

  ‘We must try to get across country,’ he said. It is bad, but it cannot be helped. I am getting perturbed, Sap. Such a barrier, close to Orlanto, can hardly be made by the Guarda.’

  ‘Unless the putsch has started,’ said Palfrey softly.

  ‘Unless it has started,’ repeated Stefan. I do not want to believe it, Sap, but—’ He broke off as they climbed out of the car, and then added quietly: ‘Shall we go near enough to see whether the officials are the police, or the Guarda?’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Wanted by Both Sides

  There were trees and bushes on the side of the road which enabled them to approach the barrier with little risk of being seen.

  They drew within fifty yards of the barrier at last. The bushes and trees grew scarcer, and to get near they had to cross wide stretches where they had no cover. They stopped for some seconds, and then Stefan touched Palfrey’s shoulder. ‘This way, my friend.’

  Palfrey followed without arguing.

  They made a half-circle about the barrier. No one stopped them, and the beat of engines muffled the sound of their movements. Suddenly a fragment of a word caught Palfrey’s ears, and a few seconds later he realised why Stefan had made the move: the wind was blowing from the barrier now, carrying words to the listeners.

  Stefan l
istened attentively, and Palfrey explored some way further through the trees.

  He felt Stefan’s grip on his arm again.

  ‘Come, Sap,’ said the Russian gently. ‘We are in poor repute, my friend.’

  ‘Meaning what?’ Palfrey’s voice grew sharp.

  ‘They are the regular police.’

  ‘The devil they are!’ exclaimed Palfrey. ‘That’s what we wanted to hear.’

  ‘There is something we did not want,’ said Stefan quietly. ‘They are asking, if the drivers have seen a very large man, dark-haired, a Russian. And a tall, fair Englishman. And, of course, the Dr. Palfrey all of them know.’

  Palfrey stopped in his tracks. For a moment he and Stefan eyed each other grimly as understanding dawned, and then Palfrey said softly: ‘So we’re wanted by both sides, are we?’

  ‘What other explanation can there be?’ demanded Stefan. ‘With each step we get further and further into the difficulties, Sap. Do you realise that there is one place above all others where they will look for you?’

  ‘I’d still like to see Don Salvos,’ said Palfrey quietly.

  ‘In spite of the risk?’

  ‘If it is possible to find the house. I must see him,’ said Palfrey.

  He hesitated, and then they turned away and began to walk across country, knowing that it would be folly to return to the car. The darkness was not so impenetrable as they had feared, for the glow from the city spread over the fields and lanes, nevertheless they stumbled over hillocks and mounds, into ditches and trenches dug for irrigation. They met no one, which was as well, for their progress was noisy and they could not prevent it. Stefan had a torch which he used carefully, and only when they appeared to be inextricably caught up in the mesh of fields and woodlands.

  Nearer the city the large houses in the residential suburbs of the hills gave them their bearings, and also more light. Twice they hurried across wide roads after waiting for traffic to pass, believing they were drawing nearer their objective, but far from sure. Once they crouched against a garden hedge while two men talked in soft, lazy tones, of unimportant trivialities, of women and their ways, and – lightly – of the war.

  The men went in at last, and the two fugitives were able to move again.

  At last they arrived at a wicket gate and passed into a garden. The ground was soft beneath their feet. The boughs and leaves of trees touched their heads – soft, caressing touches which at first scared them. They could see no light at first, but after a while, as they explored, they saw a faint glow which appeared to be moving towards them. They kept quite still, and the glow drew nearer. Soon they could hear footsteps, and then the whispered voices of two men came within earshot. Palfrey stood tensely, not knowing what they said, and Stefan made no move and spoke no word until they were gone in the other direction.

  ‘What did they say?’ Palfrey asked quickly.

  ‘That they are wasting their time,’ grinned Stefan. ‘They do not think the English doctor would be such a fool as to visit Don Salvos now!’

  ‘Oh,’ said Palfrey. He looked away, and then added softly: ‘I’m beginning to think they ought to be right.’ Another pause, and: ‘So they’re patrolling the grounds, are they?’

  ‘We can still turn back,’ said Stefan quietly. ‘But I do not think they will watch the house itself: that would offend Don Salvos. They will not be anxious to do that, Sap. Besides, friends of José Fonesca are nearby. We know that. Chin up, now!’

  Palfrey smiled in the darkness.

  The blinds of the house were drawn, and fitted better than most, for it was some time before they saw a sliver of light coming from a window. They had walked cautiously across an orchard, and along the paths of a vegetable garden, and knew that they were approaching the rear of the house.

  They went nearer.

  Then out of the darkness two figures materialised, so soft-moving that neither man was prepared. Palfrey uttered a stifled cry, but as he did so a voice in Catanese snapped: ‘Keep still, or we shoot!’

  If the words meant nothing to Palfrey the raised rifles the men were carrying conveyed plenty. He peered at them, his heart thumping, an overwhelming wave of depression making him feel physically sick.

  Then Stefan said: ‘Is that the way to treat the friends of José Fonesca?’

  ‘José Fonesca—señor, who are you?’

  ‘I am with Dr. Palfrey,’ said Stefan quickly.

  The men turned to Palfrey, and one shone a torch. He kept it on Palfrey’s face only for a moment, then switched it off and said quietly: ‘There is danger, señor. You can, perhaps, get in. The doors are not watched, Don Salvos has forbidden that. But there is a cordon about the house, and—’

  ‘We shall have as much trouble getting away whether we see him or not,’ said Stefan. ‘How can we get in?’

  There was a pause, and then: ‘Wait, señor, please. Inside we have a companion who is watching José Fonesca, and we can obtain his help. But remember, señor, not all of the servants can be trusted. There are many who sympathise with the accursed Guarda Nationale.’ He broke off, and repeated: ‘Wait, señor, please.’

  He slipped away in the darkness, leaving the other man to keep them company. They waited for what seemed a long time.

  The man had gone to a side door, and they heard it open and close. Then a brooding silence fell upon the garden, broken only by their own breathing and, in the distance, the tramp of heavy feet.

  The man who had gone into the house returned at last. He came in wraithlike fashion, and made Palfrey start as he said softly:

  ‘It is arranged, señors.’

  Stefan asked quickly: ‘Does Don Salvos know that we are coming?’

  ‘Of course, señor.’ The man waited for nothing else, but led them to the door. It was open, and he ushered them through, closing it behind them, and then saying: ‘Señors, the servants who might betray you have been sent to the big hall, and for a while you are safe. Diogo is at the foot of the stairs, waiting to escort you. We shall be waiting to assist you when you come away.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Stefan gravely.

  ‘Your safety is our duty,’ the man said quietly.

  As he walked towards the front hall, Palfrey reflected that word of their sympathy towards the Social Patriots had been spread quickly; it might have contributed towards the anxiety of the authorities to apprehend them. He thrust the thought aside when he saw the frail form of Diogo, who inclined his white head and then smiled into Palfrey’s face.

  ‘It is good to see you again, señors,’ he said. ‘Don Salvos has been afraid for you.’

  Diogo bowed again, then led the way up the wide staircase. No one saw them, no doors were open. The thick carpet muffled their footsteps. They reached the landing, and then Diogo turned towards Don Salvos’ room, and said: ‘Will you require to see Señor José, señor?’

  ‘Please,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘I shall prepare him for your coming,’ said Diogo. He opened Don Salvos’ door, and announced: ‘Señors Dr. Palfrey and Andromovitch.’

  That he should know Stefan’s name was surprising, and made Palfrey glance at him sharply. The old servant’s face was impassive, and Palfrey looked into the room expecting to see Don Salvos on his own.

  Instead, the Catanese was with Drusilla, who was standing and smiling towards the door.

  Palfrey stood quite still for a moment, gazing at Drusilla as she advanced with outstretched hand. Stefan nudged him gently in the back, making him realise that he was attracting more attention than was wise. He went forward, taking her hand as she said: ‘Sap, it’s good to see you!’

  ‘Er—nice seeing you, Drusilla,’ mumbled Palfrey.

  In her smile at closer quarters there was a warning look, and her eyes conveyed a message which Palfrey believed he understood; she did not want too much s
aid in front of Don Salvos. ‘Darling, you look as though you’ve been in a hay barn.’

  Don Salvos put out his hand.

  ‘I am glad and greatly relieved to see you safe, doctor.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Palfrey. ‘I had some luck, but I had to come to see you.’

  ‘For more reasons than one?’ murmured Don Salvos.

  ‘Ye-es.’ Palfrey smiled, the thrust made him realise that there was no need to maintain pretence beyond a certain limit. He took the obvious course and kept silent, waiting for the others to speak.

  By then Drusilla and Stefan had approached the bed. There were three chairs in position, and they all sat down, Palfrey on one side of the sick-bed, the others opposite him. The big room was quiet for a few minutes.

  The snowy hair and thin beard of the philanthropist looked the whiter because of the dark background of heavy tapestries at the back of the four-poster. He was lost in that bed and that room, from which led the verandah where Palfrey had last seen him. The man’s skin was healthy, and his eyes were clear; there was no doubt that he had thrown off the worst effects of his illness.

  Palfrey said: ‘What do you know, Don Salvos?’

  ‘What do I know?’ Don Salvos repeated the question aloud, and went on: ‘I am hardly sure, señor. In the first place, I know that I owe you my life. Nothing can alter that, and to me it is natural that few things are more important. I shall never forget it, and because of it I may be able to afford you help which, otherwise, would not be possible.’

  Palfrey waited, without interrupting.

  ‘In the second, it grew obvious to me that your interests in Orlanto were more than that of a doctor to an old man who imagined that he was dying,’ continued Don Salvos softly. ‘I did not ask questions, señor, even when another man was brought here, and when you made suggestions about a nursing-home where yet more invalids could come. But I began to ask myself whether you were interested in the politics of my country. Politics are dangerous things, but I need not bore you with platitudes.’

  ‘You won’t bore me,’ said Palfrey.