Peregrine considered the question thoughtfully, 'I don't suppose it's very safe to build a
high wall on top of a cliff,' he said, 'I mean you never know with cliffs, do you? I've an auntie
in Dorset and she's got a bungalow near some cliffs and she can't sell it because some of the
other bungalows are slipping over and '
'To hell with your blasted aunt,' said Glodstone, savaging a can of corned beef with a
tin-opener. 'The reason there's no wall on this side is because they don't have to protect it.
Only a blithering idiot would try to scale that precipice.'
'Clive did,' said Peregrine unabashed.
'Clive? What on earth are you talking about now?'
'When he captured Quebec. He sailed his '
'Wolfe, for God's sake. Can't you get anything right?'
'All right, Wolfe then. I never was much good at history.'
'So I've noticed,' said Glodstone, skewering bits of corned beef into the billycan. But
Peregrine hadn't finished.
'Anyway, it's not really a cliff. And we wouldn't have to start at the bottom. There's a ledge
near the top and we could get onto it from the drive.'
'Which they've left unguarded just to make things easier for us, I suppose,' said
Glodstone.
'We could always make our way round to the south and climb up there,' Peregrine continued.
'That way we'd be coming down the drive from the top instead of the other way round. They'd never
expect us to do that.'
'I'll grant you that,' said Glodstone, absentmindedly putting the billycan on the Calor-gas
stove and lighting it, 'and if I were in their shoes I wouldn't expect anyone to do such an
asinine thing either.'
'Then once we're on that ledge ' He stopped and stared at the smoking billycan. 'I say, I've
never seen corned beef cooked like that before. Shouldn't you stir it round a bit?'
Glodstone wrenched the pan off the stove and burnt his hand in the process. 'Now look what
you've made me do,' he said lividly.
'I didn't make you do it,' said Peregrine, 'all I said was '
'Once we were on that bloody ledge. That's what you said. Well, let's get something straight.
We're not going anywhere near that ledge. That cliff is unclimbable and there's an end to the
matter.'
'What I meant was I didn't tell you to fry that corned beef like that. Major Fetherington
always taught us to put cans in hot water and heat them that way. You open them first, of course,
otherwise they might explode.'
'And doubtless he also taught you to climb cliffs in the middle of the fucking night too,'
said Glodstone, resorting to foul language as a safety value against exploding himself.
'Well, actually, yes,' said Peregrine. 'Mind you, we used tampons.'
'You used what?' demanded Glodstone, momentarily diverted from his burnt hand by the
extraordinary vision this conjured up.
'Steel things you hammer into the rock,' said Peregrine.
'For your information they're called crampons. Otherwise known as climbing-irons.'
'That's not what the Major calls them. He said always to call them tampons because if you
didn't ram them into some bleeding crack really tight you'd end up looking like a jam-rag
yourself. I don't know what he meant by that.'
'I do,' said Glodstone miserably.
These revelations of the Major's revolting teaching methods were having an adverse effect on
his morale. He had come on an adventure to rescue a noble lady and already the idyll was turning
into an unnerving and sordid experience. To get some temporary relief he told Peregrine to shut
up, crawled back to the lookout and went through the notes he'd made on the occupants of the
Château as he had observed them during the day in an attempt to discern some sinister pattern to
their movements.
The van he had seen drive up at 7 a.m. had left twenty minutes later; at 8 a young man in a
track suit had come out onto the terrace, had run round it thirty-eight times and had then
touched his toes fifty times, done twenty-two press-ups, had lain on his back and raised his feet
in the air too erratically for Glodstone to keep count, and had finally wandered exhaustedly back
to the door in the round tower on the right under the watchful eye of a portly woman in a floral
dressing-gown who had appeared on the balcony above. Glodstone had switched his own observations
to her but she had disappeared before he could deduce anything very sinister from her appearance
except that she seemed to be wearing haircurlers. At 8.30 an old man with a watering-can had
ambled from the gate tower and had made some pretence of watering several flower-beds, which
considering the rain there had been through the night, Glodstone found distinctly suspicious.
But it was only at 10 that Glodstone's interest was genuinely aroused. A group of men came out
onto the terrace engaged in heated argument. They were joined presently by the woman he had seen
on the balcony. Training the binoculars on her, he hoped she wasn't the Countess. His image of
her had been more petite and vulnerable. On the other hand, the men lived up to his
expectations.
'That's as unpleasant a bunch as I've seen in a long while,' he told Peregrine, handing him
the binoculars. 'Take a good look at the bald-headed bastard with the moustache and the
co-respondent shoes.'
'The what?'
'The...the two-tone shoes. It's my guess he's the leader of the gang '
'He seems to be having a row with a swine in a grey suit.'
'Probably because they lost us on the road. I wouldn't like to cross his path.'
Peregrine thought this over. 'But we're bound to,' he said at last. 'That's what we've come
for, isn't it?'
'Yes,' said Glodstone, 'Yes, it is. I just meant...Never mind. I'm just pointing him out as a
particularly nasty piece of goods.'
'It's a pity we didn't bring a rifle,' said Peregrine a few minutes later. 'I could have
picked a couple of them off from here with no trouble.'
'Doubtless. And given our position away into the bargain. For goodness' sake, try to
understand we mustn't do anything to put the Countess's life in danger. When we strike we're only
going to get the one chance. Miss it and she's done for.'
'I'd have done for some of them too. Anyway, I don't miss.'
'Thank God we didn't bring a rifle,' said Glodstone. 'And now let's go and have some lunch.
They're going in and I'm feeling peckish myself.'
They crawled back to the dell and settled down to a meal of stale French bread and over-ripe
Camembert washed down with vin très ordinaire. 'You'd think they'd have some sentries posted,'
said Peregrine as Glodstone lit his pipe.
'No doubt they have. But not here. They'll be on the roads or on the far side of the Château.
It's nice and flat over there and it's the direction they'd expect an attack to come from.'
'I wouldn't. I'd '
'I don't want to know,' said Glodstone, 'I'm going to take a kip and I'd advise you to do the
same. We've got a long night ahead of us.'
He climbed into the sunlight and lay looking up at the cloudless sky. If it hadn't been for
Peregrine's lust for action and preferably for killing people at the drop of a hat, he'd have
been perfectly happy. He'd have to keep him under control. With this thought in mind he drifted
off to sleep. But when he awoke it was to find Peregrine squinting up the barrel of a
revolver.
'It's nice and clean and I've oiled them both.'
Glodstone asserted his authority. 'Look,' he said, 'tonight's expedition is simply a recce.
It's highly unlikely we're going to find an easy way in. We're going to check every avenue...Yes,
I know there's only one fucking avenue of walnut trees. Just keep your trap shut and listen.
We're going to see how many ways there are of getting into the place. And only when we've worked
out a definite and foolproof plan will we act. Get that clear in your head.'
'If you say so,' said Peregrine. 'All the same I'd have thought we '
'I am not interested in what you think. I'm in charge and those are my orders.' And without
waiting for an answer, Glodstone went back to the lookout. That ought to keep the stupid bastard
quiet, he thought. It did.
Later that night they set out. Peregrine was grimly silent. 'We're going up-river,' Glodstone
told him, 'I've an idea we'll find some shallows there.'
Peregrine said nothing but when half an hour later they scrambled down the hillside and
crossed the road to the water's edge it was obvious that Glodstone had been mistaken. The Boose
ran darkly past and curved away towards the cliff at the top of which the Château loomed weirdly
against the starlit sky. Not even Glodstone's imagination could endow the place with anything
more romantic than grim menace and when a car swept round the bend in the road above them, its
headlights briefly illuminating the river, he was frankly shocked. Dark swirls of water indicated
that the Boose was both deep and fast-flowing.
'Well, at least one thing is clear,' he said. 'We know now why they're not watching this side.
It's too well protected. The river sees to that.'
Beside him, Peregrine merely grunted.
'And what's that supposed to mean?' asked Glodstone.
'You told me to keep my trap shut and just listen,' said Peregrine. 'Those were your orders
and that's what I'm doing.'
'And I suppose you don't agree with me?' said Glodstone.
'About what?'
'That it's impossible to get across here,' said Glodstone and immediately regretted it.
'I could swim across easily enough if that's what you mean.'
'It's not a risk I'm prepared to allow you to take. We'll have to try further on.'
But though they stumbled along the bank for half a mile the river grew wider and less
inviting. Glodstone had to admit defeat. 'We'll just have to look for another route downstream in
daylight tomorrow,' he said.
'I don't see why you won't let me swim across with the rope,' said Peregrine. 'I could tie it
to something on the other side and you could haul yourself over on it.'
'And what about the guns and the equipment in the rucksacks? They'd get soaked.'
'Not necessarily. Once you're over I can come back and get them. The Major '
But Glodstone had had enough of Major Fetherington's methods. 'If you get across.'
'I shall,' said Peregrine and taking the coil of rope and winding it round his waist he waded
into the river.
Left to himself, Glodstone sat disconsolately in the darkness. To conjure up some courage he
concentrated his thoughts on the Countess. She had warned him that the affair would be hazardous
and she had obviously been telling the truth. On the other hand she had taken a terrible risk
herself in writing to him. Above all she had appealed to him as a gentleman, and gentlemen didn't
flinch in the face of a mere river. After all, his father had fought at Jutland and a maternal
great-uncle had assisted in the bombardment of Alexandria in 1881. There had even been a
Midshipman Glodstone at Trafalgar. With such a nautical tradition in the family he couldn't fail
in his duty now. And in any case it would never do to show the slightest fear in front of
Peregrine. The brute was cocky enough as it was.
All the same, he was decidedly disappointed when Peregrine returned with the news that there
was nothing to it. 'A bit of a current, that's all, but it's all right if you swim upstream and
anyway you'll have the rope.'
Glodstone took off his boots and, tying the laces together, looped them across his shoulders.
The main thing was to act quickly and not to think. Even so, he hesitated as he took hold of the
wet rope. 'You're absolutely certain you saw nothing suspicious over there? The last thing we
want is to walk into a trap.'
'I didn't see anything except rocks and things. And anyway you said they're not watching this
side because '
'I know what I said. You don't have to keep repeating it all the time. Now as soon as I'm over
I'll give a tug on the rope as a signal. Have you got that straight?'
'Yes,' said Peregrine, 'but shouldn't I get the rope taut and tied to something?'
Glodstone didn't hear him. He had already plunged into the river and was experiencing to the
full what Peregrine had described as 'a bit of current'. To Glodstone's way of thinking not that
he had much opportunity for thought the lout didn't know a current from a maelstrom. And as for
swimming upstream...Desperately fighting to keep his head above water and failing (tying his
boots round his neck had been a ghastly mistake, the bloody things had filled with water and
acted as sinkers), holding his breath when he went under and spouting when he came up, Glodstone
clung to the rope for dear life and was swept downstream at a rate of knots. Only the rope saved
him and just as he knew he was drowning, he banged into a rock, found himself bobbing in some
slightly less turbulent water, and his feet touched ground. For a moment he lay there before
scrambling up onto a rock ledge. It was still below water but it served as a seat and when the
water had drained from his eye he saw that he was at the base of the cliff. He hadn't much use
for cliffs but in the circumstances they were infinitely preferable to the swirling river.
Glodstone edged himself away from it and stood up. As he did so he gave a tug on the rope.
Upstream, Peregrine responded. He'd been having some difficulty getting his hands on the cord
in the darkness but had finally found it. And now came the signal that Glodstone was safely
across. Peregrine dragged on the rope. So, for a moment, did Glodstone, but the imminent prospect
of being hauled back into that infernal torrent combined with his inability to stand upright on
the slimy rock proved too much for him. With a groan he slumped down and let go. He knew now with
a terrible certainty that he should never have brought Peregrine. 'The bloody moron,' he
muttered, before realizing that his only hope lay in the moron realizing what had happened. It
was a faint hope but he clung to it as desperately as he did to the rock. As usual he was wrong.
Peregrine was busy devising a method of carrying the guns and rucksacks across without getting
them wet. On their way up the river he had noticed what looked like a rubbish tip. Worming his
way along the bank he made a number of other interesting discoveries, among them an ancient
bedstead, a rotted garden frame, several plastic sacks filled with garbage, something that felt
and smelt like a dead dog and finally an old oil drum. This was just what he needed. He dragged
it back and was about to put the rucksacks in when it dawned on him that it wouldn't float
upright unless weighted down. After searching around for some rocks he climbed back to the road
and brought down a painted concrete block which marked the verge. He dumped it in and tying the
drum to the rope, let it out. The thing stayed upright. Only then did he put the guns and
rucksacks in and, wedging the thing against the bank, undid the rope from the tree.