Part 11 (2/2)

round them, with a wal of rock on one side and a sheer drop on the other.

The driver stopped at a vil age. Several people got out, making a little more room, for which Algy was thankful. The swarthy man found a seat. The bus went on again. But it did not get far. One or two lorries fil ed with Italian soldiers had already come down the hil , and now the bus was stopped by a squad of troops. Everyone was ordered to dismount.

The road was closed, it was announced. It was wanted by the military.

Algy spoke to a tired-looking workman. 'Are we near the Italian frontier?' he asked.

The man pointed to the mountains on the other side of the chasm which the bus had fol owed. 'That,'

he said, 'is Italy.'

Algy began to understand why the Italian troops were so thick. 'How far is it up the road to Castil on?'

he asked.

The man started. 'To Castil on? Why would you want to go there?'

Algy smiled sheepishly, wondering what was the matter with the place that the name should have such a curious effect on people. 'I just wanted to have a look round,' he explained.

'Oh, that,' was the answer. 'It is, perhaps, an hour's walk-that is, if you care to face the rocks when you see the vil age on your left, across the col. col.

If you keep to the road it wil take you longer.'

After thanking the man for what sounded like reliable information, Algy walked on up the hil , away from the stationary bus and the gesticulating crowd around it. Some of the women were furious, demanding bitterly to be told how they were to get their heavy baskets to Sospel. Some sat on their baskets, accepting the situation philosophical y. A few had started walking.

It was now about five o'clock, as near as Algy could judge, and the sun was already sinking, far away to the left, towards the gaunt peaks of the maritime alps. Anxious to reach his objective before darkness fel he strode on, and soon outdistanced the other travel ers-that is, al except one. Wel ahead on the long dusty road he made out a man walking quickly, and recognized his churlish travel ing companion. He was not sorry to see the back of him, and when, presently, the man disappeared from sight, he thought no more about him.

It was about three-quarters of an hour later, with dusk closing in, that he caught his first glimpse of what he knew must be his destination-a cl.u.s.ter of grey dwel ings, with their feet, it seemed, welded into the rock on which they were built. But between him and the vil age lay a gorge, and a wilderness of jagged rock which, in the half light, he did not feel like crossing; and when soon afterwards, he came to a footpath branching off the road in the desired direction, he was glad he had not attempted it.

He now found himself in a world of grey rocks, so harsh, so desolate, that he found it hard to believe that he was only a few miles from a fas.h.i.+onable that he was only a few miles from a fas.h.i.+onable town, with al its modern conveniences. From a distance of perhaps two hundred yards he paused to survey a scene as dreary as nature could devise. On al sides stretched the rock, sometimes fal ing into chasms, and sometimes rising in gaunt peaks against the sky. Not a soul was in sight, not even near the vil age, which lay like a pile of grey ashes among limestone. Over everything hung an indefinable atmosphere of desolation and decay, of brooding melancholy, of things long dead.

Suddenly he saw a movement. A man, a man in black, carrying a heavy bag, was just entering the vil age. He saw him only for a moment, but before he disappeared among the houses he had recognized him. It was his bad-tempered travel ing companion.

He was, too, it seemed, a liar, thought Algy, for the man had said that he had never heard of Castil on.

Yet here he was, just going into the place.

Wondering at this strange behaviour Algy walked on.

Keeping to the track he soon came to the first houses, and the vil age street; and for the first time he began to understand why his references to the place had met with such a strange reception. It was dead. Deserted. Many of the houses were in ruins.

Others were crumbling. Doors stood open to the sunset. From one house a shutter hung pathetical y on a single hinge. The vil age, a curious mixture of houses and stables, seemed to have been piled up rather than built. The houses conformed with no pattern. They were al sizes, heights, and widths. Al were of the stone on which they were built.

Mysterious turnings twisted between them. Sinister steps led down into mouldering vaults and cel ars.

One door had a slit for letters, as if awaiting the arrival of the postman. Over everything hung the silence of death.

Algy started as something moved near his left shoulder. But it was only a cat, a black, mangy creature, with baleful eyes that watched his every movement. Another cat walked slowly across the track in front of him; once it paused to regard him with a long, penetrating stare. Then it went on and disappeared into one of the cel ars.

Algy walked forward a few paces. Everywhere he looked he saw cats, black cats, long, thin, emaciated cats, with red-rimmed eyes. Most of them seemed to be afflicted with a dreadful mange. He understood now what the boatman on the Quai de Plaisance meant about cats. He had never seen so many cats.

Everywhere he looked, eyes were turned on him with such suspicion and hate that he felt an uncomfortable chil creep down his spine. Looking about him he walked on, determined to make the most of the few minutes of twilight that remained.

There should, he thought, be at least one occupied house, for to his certain knowledge a man had just arrived. Where had he gone? Why had he been so secretive, so furtive in his movements-or had he caught the habit from the cats? Even then the last thing in his mind was that he had incurred the man's enmity.

He stopped to look into a house, moving a shutter in order to do so. Unexpectedly, the shutter came away in his hand, so that he stumbled, and this may have saved his life; for at that precise moment there was a vicious thud, and looking up to see what had caused it, he saw, stil quivering in the windowsil , a knife. Whirling round to discover who had thrown it he was just in time to see the black-coated man disappearing into a narrow side turning.

Algy was after him in a flash. He did not know who the man was, and he bore him no il wil , but he was not prepared to have knives thrown at him-at least, not without knowing what it was al about.

Had the man not stumbled and fal en among the loose rocks it is unlikely that he would have caught him. The fel ow was up again in a moment, but the brief delay had been his undoing. Before he could get into his stride Algy was covering him with his automatic. Even so, he was prepared to be reasonable.

'Not so fast, my friend,' he said coldly, speaking in French. 'Why did you throw a knife at me? What have I done to you?'

The man glared. 'Spy!' He fairly spat the word.

'I am not spying on you, anyway,' declared Algy.

'You fol owed me here.'

'I did not,' denied Algy.

'Then why do you come to Castil on?'

'Why do you you come here?' come here?'

'I have business here.'

'So have I.' An idea suddenly struck Algy. 'Our business may concern the same thing.'

'Doubtless,' was the curt reply.

'Tel me why you came here,' invited Algy.

'Tel me why you came here,' invited Algy.

'I shal tel you nothing.'

Algy tried a shot in the dark. 'Where is the person you came here to see?'

The man started. Then he smiled sardonical y, and an instant later, Algy knew the reason. A voice behind him, a woman's voice, spoke.

'Don't move, or I shal shoot you. Drop that pistol.'

As if to carry conviction something smal and hard was pressed between Algy's shoulders. He dropped his pistol. It fel with a harsh clatter on the stones. The man leapt forward and s.n.a.t.c.hed it up.

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