Part 18 (1/2)

”My poor sweet. Come on, then, back here, behind the car. . . . If he comes out that way now, we'll get him. And if he comes in through the arch we'll see him easily. Keep your voice down. Now, please, Van, if you can . . . ?”

”I'm all right now. Everything's all right now. Well, it started with Annalisa giving us the old piebald horse that belonged to Uncle Franzl. Never mind why now, but we brought him up here tonight and his saddle and bridle along with him . . .”

As briefly and as quickly as I could I told him everything that had happened, even the business of the jewelled brooch and the portrait. ”And I think he'll have gone back that way,” I finished, ”to my room.

There was still the brooch, and the stones that were spilt on the floor. He said all that about their not being valuable, but I think he was only talking stupidly to put me off. 'Dreams for the d.a.m.ned,' he said he was selling, 'you can always sell dreams.' He was still determined to get the saddle, and I don't see why, but it means he's bound to see if I was telling the truth about putting it in the corn bin, so whichever way he comes down, he'll be making for the stable, and he may have seen you arrive-and if not, he'll have heard you-and now he'll be waiting for you to go in, before he slips out and away. Lewis, if you don't go in the main door, he'll wonder why; and if you do, and he sees you, he'll recognize you, and then-”

But he hardly seemed to be listening. He was still holding me, but half absently, with his head bent, thinking.

” 'Dreams for the d.a.m.ned,' ” he quoted softly. ”I begin to see. . . . And he still wants the saddle, does he?” He lifted his head, and his whisper sounded jubilant. ”By G.o.d, I think you have broken it, at that, bust it wide open! No, I'll tell you later. Where are the stables? Next door?”

”Yes, that way. That's the connecting door, beside the carriage. And there's a door off the courtyard.”

”Right. He won't have gone back to your room: I think you can take it he was telling the truth, and the 'jewels' really are only stage props. Why bother to lie, and throw them down like that, when he'd already had to give himself away to you and was probably going to get rid of you anyway? No, the only reason he was interested in the brooch was because it meant you'd been meddling with the saddle. . . . And he still wants that saddle, which means he'll be making for the stable. Do you reckon he'd had time to get down off the roof, pick up the saddle, and get out over the bridge before I arrived?”

I tried to think back. ”It's hard to judge, it seemed like years, but I suppose it's only been a few minutes. .

. . No. No, I'm sure he hasn't.”

”Then either he's still above the gate waiting to come down, or he's already in the stable waiting for me to go. In either case he'll have seen or heard the car arrive. Stay there half a minute, while I think.”

He drifted from my side like a shadow, then from the car came clearly audible movements, the creak of upholstery, a grunt, a sharp revving of the engine before he killed it, the sound of his feet on the cobbled floor, and finally the slam of the car door.

Then he was beside me again, with his case in one hand. His free arm went round me, pulling me close. I could feel the calm, unhurried beat of his heart, and his untroubled breathing stirred my hair. As my own body relaxed into this unruffled calm I reflected that it was something to be able to hand over to a professional. It was something that the sleek animal in black leather should find he had tangled, not with a stray English tourist and her bewildered husband, but with Our Man (Temporary) in Vienna.

”I'll have to go in by the front door,” said Lewis. ”He'll be waiting for that. I'll see he doesn't recognize me if he's watching, and he won't know the car. I've brought a Merc this time. Then I'll come straight back here, by that door of yours. The layout's simple, I'll find it in two minutes. Will you let me leave you here for two minutes?”

”Yes.”

”That's my girl. Now, just on the off chance he's inside, you'd better not go back in there. Stay out here.

Not in the car ... what about that old carriage? Yes, the door's open. In you go, then, and keep still. I'll be back.”

”What are you going to do?”

”As far as you're concerned, I suspect he'll cut his losses, and he won't know how fast to get out of it.

But I also think he'll get in touch with his bosses straight away, and when he does I want to be there. So I think we'll let him take what he wants.”

”You mean you're just going to let him go? Now? Tonight? Not do anything to him?”

His hand touched my bruised cheek very gently. He said: ”When I do lay hands on him, I promise you he'll never walk a high wire again, or anything else for that matter. But this is a job.”

”I know.”

I couldn't see him smile, but I heard it in his voice. ”We both know a bruise on your cheek is worth more than a cartload of Top Secret papers, but the fact remains, I'm afraid, that I'm still on the payroll.”

”All right, Lewis. It's all right.”

”Get in there, then, and stay still. I won't be long.”

”Lewis . . .”

”Yes?”

”Be-careful, won't you? He's dangerous.”

Lewis laughed.

The inside of the old carriage enclosed me like a small safe box, smelling fusty and close, of old mouldering leather and straw. There were curtains at the windows, thick and dampish; they felt like brocade. With fingers fumbling in the dark I found the loop that held them, and loosened it, and the curtains fell across the window, shutting out what little light there was. Then I crouched back on the burst and p.r.i.c.kly squabs to wait.

Though I could see nothing, shut safely away in the darkness of my little box, I found that I could hear.

The top sections of the carriage doors were of gla.s.s, rather like those of a railway compartment, and on the side nearest to the stable either the gla.s.s was broken or the window had been lowered and was standing wide. I could feel a draught of air from it, and almost immediately I heard the sound of stealthy footsteps in the courtyard, and then the quiet click of the stable latch.

Now, the old carriage was parked within two yards of the wall dividing stable and coach house, beside the connecting door. This was shut, but, peering out avidly between the folds of damp brocade, I saw a wide bar of light at the foot of the door wavering a little, but growing as Sandor, flashlight in hand, approached the end of the stable nearest me, where the corn bin stood.

He was being quiet, but not especially so; he must have watched Lewis, the late-coming guest, go into the house; he would guess it was the delayed husband but might count himself safe enough for the time it would take Lewis to reach his room, find his wife gone, and start to look for her. All he wanted now was to get what he had come for and escape as quickly as possible.

There was a soft metallic clink as the corn bin lid was lifted. A shuffling sound followed, and a falling rustle as the saddle was lifted clear of the corn, then it was dumped on the floor and the lid closed.

He didn't hurry away as I had expected. I strained my ears to hear what he was doing, but couldn't guess. ... I heard more shuffling sounds, even the noise of his rapid breathing, and presently I could have sworn that I heard the sound of ripping cloth. Since there were no more ”jewels” left for him to tear away, he must be opening the thing up. Lewis was right; the ”jewels” were worthless after all; there must be something else contained in the saddle, and, sooner than carry away the whole clumsy burden, Sandor was taking the time to remove whatever he had so carefully st.i.tched into the padding. I remembered his offer to st.i.tch the thing, and its much-mended look.

Two minutes, Lewis had said. With no light to see the time, there was no judging it at all. It might have been two minutes, or four, or forty, but it was probably not much more than Lewis's two, before, quite suddenly, near me, the sounds ceased.

In the silence that followed I heard again the click of the stable latch, and steps approaching, quiet but unconcealed.

Unbelievingly, horrified, I heard Timothy's voice.

”Who's that-why, Herr Balog! What are you doing here?” And then, sharply: ”What on earth are you doing with that saddle? Look, just what is going on around here? And where's Vanessa? Ah, you-”

The rush of feet; the brief sound of a scuffle; a cry from Timothy, bitten off. A thud, and then the racing sound of retreating footsteps. They made for the stable door, and out, then I heard them cross the corner of the courtyard, to be lost as he reached the archway and the bridge.

”Timothy!” Somehow I got the carriage door open. I stumbled out, missing the single step and almost falling. The light had gone with Sandor, but my hands found the door handle and the ma.s.sive key of their own volition, and in a matter of seconds I had the big door open and was in the stable.

Moonlight spilled mistily through the cobwebbed window opposite Grane's box. Beside the corn bin, huddled on the floor near the wreck of the saddle, lay Timothy.

I flew to kneel beside him, and almost choked on a cry of thankfulness as he moved. He put a hand to his head and struggled strongly enough up on to one elbow.

”Vanessa? What happened?”

”Are you all right, Tim? Where did he hit you?”