“I’ll have a bob on that, old boy,” Rawlins said breezily. “But if she’s going to go on driving like that, she’ll kill herself.”
“She’ll take a few with her,” Corridon said uneasily. “She’s worse than any of them.” He went on, “I hope Ritchie isn’t badly hurt.”
“Got him in the shoulder,” Rawlins said. “To judge by his language, he’s all right. Do him good to have a bit of a rest.” He broke off as another flashlight flickered at the corner of Sydney Street. “Didn’t I tell you?” he went on, beaming as the police car swung into the dark, narrow street. “She’s doubling back to the park. We have a nice little trap for her in the Fulham Road.”
“I hope it won’t be as big a flop as the last one,” Corridon said.
“Buick ahead, sir,” the driver reported, and again flashed on his headlights.
The Buick was moving at a slower rate now, but as soon as the headlights of the police car hit it, it accelerated, taking the corner into Fulham Road at high speed.
The police car followed, and the two cars raced towards Brompton Road. Suddenly another police car appeared from a turning far ahead and drove straight at the Buick.
“Ramming tactics,” Rawlins said, leaning forward. “That’s Hillary at the wheel. No better man…”
He broke off with an oath as the Buick swerved. The police car, anticipating the move, also swerved. There was a grinding crash, and the police car rocked violently as the side of the Buick caught it a glancing blow. The Buick fled on, but the police car slewed across the road and thudded against a lamp standard.
“Just a title nudge,” Corridon said sarcastically. “You want to employ a heavy-weight against a car that size.”
Rawlins had lost his smile.
“I’ve only two more cars to block her off,” he said, suddenly uneasy. “If they can’t hold her…”
“You’ll lose your bob.”
Rawlins leaned over to the driver.
“We’ll have a go now, Jack. See if you can draw level and force her to the kerb.”
“This should be fun,” Corridon said. “You wouldn’t care to stop and let me out before you kill yourself?”
“You dry up,” Rawlins said, now out of humour. “I gave Ritchie my word she wouldn’t get away.”
The police car surged forward, but fast as it went, it couldn’t pull level with the Buick that fled on at over eighty miles an hour. The two cars stormed up Brompton Road and into Knightsbridge Road.
“She’s got the legs of you,” Corridors said. “Better hang on and hope she makes a mistake.”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when suddenly from out of a concealed turning a lorry leaded with bricks swept into the main road. Probably the driver was in a hurry and didn’t anticipate or didn’t care that there’d be traffic at this hour of the night. He shot into the main road, right in the path of the Buick.
“Well, she’s had it now!” Corridon gasped as the police driver slammed on his brakes.
The Buick swerved across the road, the tyres screeching, the off-wheels lifting. Corridon caught a glimpse of Kara fighting the wheel. The nose of the lorry caught the back bumpers of the Buick and threw it sideways. For a second Corridon thought the Buick was going over, but somehow Kara managed to right it. But it was moving at too great a speed to be entirely controlled. It mounted the pavement. He saw her pulling frantically on the wheel to correct the skid, then broadside on the car slammed into a plate-glass window of one of the big stores in Knightsbridge, cut its way through the wax dummies decorating the window, slammed through the wooden partition at back of the window and rammed its way into the department.
By this time the police car had stopped and both Rawlins and Corridon scrambled out.
“Get every available man on the job,” Rawlins told the driver. “I want this place surrounded. Jump to it!” He began running towards the wrecked window. Corridon joined him.
“Have you got a gun?” he asked as they approached the gaping black hole that was, but a moment before, an elegantly-dressed window.
“No. Have you?”
“You bet I have. I’ll go first. This woman’s dangerous.”
“Nonsense,” Rawlins said cheerfully. “We don’t want any shooting…”
As he spoke there came a crack of a revolver and a bullet skimmed past his face, raising a blue weal on his cheek.
“You may not want it,” Corridon said, “but you’re damn well going to get it.”
Rawlins swerved to one side and dashed forward into the vast, dark hall of the department. He took cover behind one of the counters.
Corridon joined him
“Now then, young woman,” Rawlins shouted into the darkness, “this won’t get you anywhere. Better give yourself up. We don’t want to hurt you.”
Corridon grinned.
“Save your breath. If you get within her reach it’ll be you who’ll get hurt,” he said. “She’s as strong as a horse.”
“We’ll see about that,” Rawlins said, and began to move along the length of the counter.
Corridon let him go. He knew how dangerous Kara would be once she was cornered, and he wasn’t taking any risks. Gun in hand, he looked into the gloom, faintly lit by the distant street lights. He thought he saw a movement near the wrecked Buick. His hand groped along the top of the counter until his fingers closed on a glass jar. He picked it up and heaved it towards the shadowy figure he half imagined was crouching near the Buick. He heard a gasp, then a flash of gunfire greeted the arrival of the jar, and a bullet zipped unpleasantly close to his head. He caught a glimpse of Kara as she broke cover and sprinted down the long aisle, lined on either side by glass-topped counters.
“There she goes!” he shouted to Rawlins, and leaving his hiding place, he went after her.
At the end of the aisle she whirled round and took a snap shot at him, but he was ready for that move. As she turned, he dropped on hands and knees, and fired at her before she could alter aim. She swerved and made a dive round the corner and pelted down yet another aisle.
“Don’t hurt her!” Rawlins shouted as he came thundering down the aisle after Corridon.
Corridon didn’t wait for him but continued the chase. He saw her run into another vest hall that appeared to be full of shadowy figures. He paused at the entrance and peered into the dim darkness. The figures he could see were dummies, displaying women’s dresser, and he realized at once the danger of going in there where any of the figures could be Kara. He edged back and waited for Rawlins to join him.
Rawlins came up, breathing heavily.
“She’s in there somewhere,” Corridon whispered. “Better not go in. Without a light she could pick us off like sitting rabbits.”
Rawlins looked into the department and grimaced.
“My men must be in position by now. She can’t get away. I’ll get the light turned on.”
“I wish you wouldn’t be so damned cocky,” Corridon said. “You keep telling me she won’t get away, but you haven’t caught her yet.”
“And she hasn’t got away yet,” Rawlins said. “Wait here and keep an eye on her. I’ll get the lights on.”
He went away, moving with surprising speed for a man of his bulk. Corridon peered into the department. Nothing moved and he heard no sound. It was an eerie experience to look into this dim, vast hall, peopled by shadowy figures, and not to know which of them was Kara. He knew as soon as the lights went on she would try to shoot her way clear. She would be as vicious and as dangerous as a trapped vixen. If he could only catch her before the lights went on, he might save a number of lives.
He studied the room. To his right was an aisle, leading away into darkness. To his left was a raised dais on which stood a number of dummies. In front of him was an open space, and then another dais displaying more dummies. She could be anywhere, he thought.
He decided to take the risk, and began to move slowly and silently into the hall.
Once clear of the entrance, he paused, his heart banging against his ribs with excitement. Somewhere in the store he could hear the faint sound of voices, and now and then a distant shout. He guessed the police were searching for the main switches. Time was running out. He took two more cautious steps forward, then paused once again to listen. Suddenly he heard a sound behind him, but before he could turn, cold fingers gripped the back of his neck and a hard knee was driven into his spine. He stumbled forward, dropping his gun. A solid weight drove him to the floor, and fingers like steel dug into his throat.
III
Corridon heaved himself up on his knees with Kara clinging to him, her fingers squeezing into his flesh, throttling him. He reached up, groping for her head, but she leaned away, snarling like a wild cat, and increased the pressure. He knew in a moment or so he would black-out, and then he would be at her mercy. He threw himself backwards, going limp at the same time. His massive weight was too much for Kara to hold and as they crashed to the floor together, her fingers were wrenched from his throat. He squirmed round as she rolled clear of him, and as she got to her feet, his legs shot out, imprisoning one of hers. He exerted pressure, swung sideways and brought her down on top of him. She clubbed him with her fists about the head, hitting like a sledge-hammer. He threw her off, but she was on her feet before he could get to his knees. Her foot shot out, and the toe of her shoe caught him on the side of his head, stunning him. Not knowing what he was doing, he rolled towards her, smothering a second kick. His arms groped for her legs, grabbed them and brought her down on top of him again. Again she clubbed him about the head, but this time he managed to catch her with a swing right-hand punch that sent her away from him.
The lights suddenly went on. Both scrambled to their feet. Her hand went to her hip-pocket as Corridon launched himself at her. She had her gun out as they went down in a kicking, struggling heap to the floor again. He tried to catch her wrist, but the gun came down on top of his head, knocking him silly. His hands slid off her as Rawlins and a constable came rushing in.
Kara rolled clear, swung up the gun and fired at the constable as he blundered towards her. He fell sideways, upsetting Rawlins, bringing him down on his hands and knees.
Kara was on her feet now, and as Rawlins scrambled up, expecting a bullet to smash into him, but not hesitating, he saw her dart away down the long aisle that led to yet another vast hall.
Corridon got up slowly, shaking his head, still dazed. Rawlins was bending over the constable. Corridon didn’t wait. He set off, staggering slightly after Kara, and was in time to see her make a dart for a staircase. He arrived at the foot of the stairs as she reached the first landing. He went after her. When she was halfway up the stairs, she suddenly paused, leaned over the banisters and fired at him. But she was breathless and too hasty and the bullet went wide. Corridon levelled his gun, but she pulled back and continued up the stairs before he could get a shot at her. He went on after her.
Rawlins, followed by three flat-capped policemen, came pounding up behind him. They reached the landing as Corridon was halfway up the second flight of stairs.
When Kara reached the fourth floor, she again paused to lean over the banisters, but this time Corridon was ready for her, and he got in the first shot. But he was too breathless and unsteady to aim straight and she jerked back out of sight and he heard her continuing up to the fifth floor. Panting, he followed, and by putting on a burst of speed he was in time to see her pull open a swing door and disappear into the furniture department.
He reached the door and paused to look into the brilliantly lit department. This was even more dangerous, for here she had unlimited cover. Wardrobes, chests of drawers, tall, heavy sideboards obscured his view. She had stopped running and taken cover. He made no attempt to enter the department, knowing she could pick him off the moment she caught sight of him. He waited for Rawlins and the three policemen to join him.
A few seconds later they came panting up the stairs.
“Don’t go blundering in there,” Corridon said. “She’ll have the door covered.”
Rawlins took out his handkerchief and mopped his streaming face. The run up the five flights of stairs had completely winded him.
“There’s no exit to this department,” a police sergeant said. “I’ve had a look at the plan of the building.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Corridon said, and grinned. “But if she can’t get out, we can’t get in. What are you going to do?”
“Hang on a moment while I get my breath,” Rawlins panted.
“Playing hide-and-seek amongst all that furniture won’t be much fun,” Corridon said, edging once more to the swing doors and peering cautiously into the hall. “We’d better turn the lights off again or we won’t even get past the door.”
Rawlins nodded.
“Jackson, you go down to the switches. Get the lights off, then wait three minutes and turn them on again,” he said, still struggling to get his breath.
“I’m scared she’ll find a phone in there and warn Homer,” Corridon said as one of the policemen ran off down the stairs. “There’s certain to be a phone somewhere in the department.”
“I thought of that,” Rawlins said, continuing to mop his face. “I have a man on the switchboard. Unless there’s a phone in there with an outside line, she won’t get a call through.”
They listened to Jackson pounding down flight after flight of stairs.
“I wish he’d buck up,” Corridon said, and again peered cautiously through the glass doors. “By the way, any news of Ritchie?”
“He’s all right, sir,” the sergeant said. “Just a flesh wound. The fellow in the spectacles has a broken arm, but the young bloke’s dead.”
Corridon grunted. He glanced at his wrist-watch. It was ten minutes to eleven. He had over an hour before he kept his rendezvous with Ames.
The lights suddenly went out.
“Right,” Rawlins said. “Careful how you go. Once in, spread out and take cover.”
While he was speaking, Corridon pushed open the door, and crouching, moved quickly into the darkness. He made for a heavy oak chest he had spotted before the light went out, and reaching it, he knelt behind it waiting for the lights to go on again. He heard the police taking up their positions. The minutes dragged by; then up went the lights.