Corridon peered cautiously around the chest, spotted Rawlins standing behind a wardrobe also peering at the forest of furniture. There was no sign of Kara, nor any suspicious movement.
They waited, knowing that as soon as they showed themselves she would shoot. It was a nervy situation, but Rawlins wasn’t going to remain doing nothing for long. He moved out from behind his cover and made a swift dart to a sideboard behind which he sheltered.
“Hey, you!” he called. “You’d better give up! You can’t get away.”
Corridon grinned. Rawlins didn’t know Kara. Corridon knew she wouldn’t give up. Crouching, he moved out into the aisle, his gun thrust forward. Halfway down the long aisle he spotted a movement and flung himself sideways behind a chest of drawers as Kara’s gun cracked. She nearly got him. The bullet knicked the heel of his shoe.
He remained under cover as he caught a glimpse of the police sergeant, his face set, working his way cautiously from one piece of furniture to another along the wall, making for the end of the room. Another policeman was moving in the same direction on the opposite side. Slowly and cautiously they were drawing the net tighter.
There was a sudden shout and Corridon jumped up to see Kara out in the open, sprinting the length of the aisle. He jerked up his gun, but Rawlins sprang forward and grabbed his wrist.
“I’m taking her alive,” he said, pulling Corridon’s arm down.
“You hope,” Corridon said, watching Kara as she darted into a room at the end of the aisle. The door slammed, and they heard a bolt shoot home. Across the door in gold letters was the word:
Buyer
, and beneath,
Travellers seen by appointment only.
“You’re growing soft,” Corridon said, twisting away from Rawlins. “You can bet there’s a telephone in there!”
He made a dive for the door and his shoulder crashed against it. Behind the door a gun went off, and a bullet tore through the panel, missing him by inches. He jumped back as the gun banged again.
“Look out!” Rawlins said unnecessarily.
Corridon swung round and ran to a window. Throwing it open, he leaned out. There was a narrow ledge that would afford a precarious foothold to the window of the office Kara was in.
“Hammer on the door to attract her attention,” he said to Rawlins. “I’ll go this way and see if I can grab her.”
“Hey! Wait a minute. I’ll do that job,” Rawlins said, but Corridon had swung himself through the window onto the ledge. Holding his gun in his right hand and leaning his back against the face of the building, he began to edge along the narrow ledge, aware of the street some hundred feet below. He heard the police rapping on the door with a stick. Four more cautious steps brought him to the window.
Kara was standing at a desk, her back to him, spinning the dial of the telephone. Her gun lay on the desk.
He couldn’t bring himself to shoot her down in cold blood, but he knew she had to be stopped at once. He turned sideways, crouched and threw himself against the window pane. With a crash of breaking glass he fell into the room.
Kara dropped the telephone, grabbed at her gun as Corridon kicked her legs from under her. He flung himself on her as Rawlins’ heavy shoulder slammed against the door.
Kara fought like a wild cat, clawing at Corridon’s face. He used his weight to overpower her, but it was as much as he could do to pin her to the floor. The door burst open and Rawlins, followed by the policemen came.
They grabbed Kara, pulled Corridon away from her and snapped on handcuffs. As they backed her against the wall, Corridon gently replaced the telephone receiver.
“You dirty traitor,” Kara screamed at him, struggling to break the policemen’s hold. “I told them you weren’t to be trusted!”
“All right.” Rawlins said curtly. “Get her out of here.”
As they dragged her out, she spat at Corridon, her eyes twin explosions of rage and hatred.
IV
“I’ve got to get moving,” Corridon said.
He was standing on the edge of the kerb. The police car taking Kara to the station had just driven away. Rawlins, puffing contentedly at a cigarette, stood by his side.
“Ritchie knows what to do,” Corridon went on. “By now the news of his death should be in every newspaper office. I hope they’ll make a big splash. It’s got to be convincing.”
“It will,” Rawlins said. “What’s your next move?”
“I’m meeting Ames and we’ll go back to Baintrees. I’m hoping they’ll make me a full member, and with any luck I’ll find out who’s behind the racket. Once I know that, it’ll be simple to put a stop to it.”
Rawlins eyed him thoughtfully.
“You don’t seem to be getting much out of this,” he said. “Not like you. I thought you only worked for big money.”
Corridon’s face was deceptively innocent.
“I’m patriotic,” he said, and closed one eye. “Besides, there might be a bit of money to pick up if I’m lucky.”
“Talking about money, you owe me a bob,” Rawlins said, and held out a huge, hairy hand.
“Don’t spend it all at once,” Corridon said, handing over the coin. “Well, I’m off. Keep that Howard girl away from Baintrees. It’s dangerous.”
Rawlins flicked the shilling into the air and caught it.
“She can look after herself,” he said. “She takes after Ritchie.”
“So it seems. All the same, don’t let her get too enterprising. Give my love to Ritchie.”
Corridon moved off into the darkness, leaving a big crowd gaping at the shattered window of the store while police tried vainly to move them on.
The time was half-past eleven. He walked quickly into the park and made his way towards Marble Arch Gate. Reluctantly he had left the Smith and Wesson with Rawlins, knowing if Ames found it on him, it would arouse his suspicions.
As he approached Marble Arch Gate, he kept a lookout for Ames’ Humber. He spotted it, drawn up in the shadows, a few yards from the gate. Ames was standing beside it, a cigarette burning in his fingers. As soon as he caught sight of Corridon, he waved to him and got into the car. Corridon joined him.
“Where are the others?” Ames demanded. His face was set and hard, and Corridon guessed the long wait had tired his nerves.
“Mac and Chicho are either dead or captured,” Corridon said. “I don’t know what’s happened to Kara.”
“And Ritchie?”
“He’s dead.”
Ames swivelled round in his seat to stare at Corridon.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Corridon said curtly. “Chicho shot him through the head.”
“What happened?”
Corridon leaned forward to catch the light from a lamp standard to see his wrist-watch. It was two minutes to midnight.
“We were lucky to get away with it,” he said. “Ritchie had a couple of armed guards. Don’t ask me why. He never had them during the war. Chicho’s first shot killed him. Then the two guards opened up. They got him and Mac. I scooted out of the telephone box. They fired after me, and nearly had me. Kara drove off without waiting for me. I had a hell of a job shaking them off.”
Ames looked at his watch.
“Twelve. Shall we wait any longer?”
Corridon shook his head.
“No. If she’s got away, she’ll be back at Baintrees by now. Let’s go.”
Ames put his hand on Corridon’s knee.
“Gook work,” he said. “You won’t find us ungrateful. From now on, you’re a full member and you can go where you please.”
“Just so long as I collect the second five hundred,” Corridon said carelessly. “Let’s get going. I could do with a drink.”
As Ames drove towards Shepherd’s Bush, Corridon wondered a little uneasily what was happening to Kara.
CHAPTER
NINE
I
Corridon sat in the full glare of Homer’s desk lamp. Behind the lamp, half-hidden in the shadows, Homer and Diestl watched him while Ames moved restlessly backwards and forwards at the far end of the room.
“So Kara ran away,” Diestl said in a hard, flat voice. “Frankly, I find that difficult to believe.”
“I don’t,” Ames said, coming to a standstill. “These Russians are unreliable. Besides, she hates Corridon.”
“What has that to do with it?” Homer asked, looking inquiringly over his shoulder at Ames.
“She saw Corridon was in a tight spot, and she left him to it. What I can’t understand is why she hasn’t returned.”
“Probably the police have her,” Corridon said. “It isn’t easy to get away in a car. That’s why I arranged to leave the Buick in the park. Well, there it is. She didn’t obey orders so she must take the consequences.”
“And I find it still harder to believe the police caught her,” Diestl said. “Isn’t it time Fraser phoned?” he went on to Homer.
“He should be through at any moment.” Homer glanced at the clock on his desk. “I told him I wanted a full report. He may be having a little trouble in checking up on Kara.”
“You two seem disappointed,” Corridon said mildly. “I warned you you wouldn’t get rid of Ritchie without paying a price.”
Diestl lit a cigarette. The flame of the match lit up his thin, hard face.
“But we have only your word that Ritchie is dead.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Ames asked, coming up to the desk. “If I’m satisfied, you should be, too. It was a very dangerous and difficult job. Corridon has done well.”
“If Ritchie is really dead then he has done very well,” Diestl said. “But I prefer to wait for confirmation.”
Corridon touched his bruised cheek. He had expected them to be suspicious. It didn’t bother him. He knew he could rely on Rawlins to spread the rumour of Ritchie’s death.
They sat for some minutes in silence, then the telephone bell rang and Homer picked up the receiver.
“Yes?” He nodded at Diestl. “It’s Fraser,” he said, then went on into the mouthpiece. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”
He sat listening, his face expressionless while Diestl and Ames stood either side of him, and Corridon relaxed in his chair. A lot depended on this report, he thought. At least he seemed to have won Ames over to his side. Diestl was suspicious, Homer a little uncertain, but Ames had accepted Corridon’s story without hesitation, and after all, Ames was the most dangerous of the three.
Homer sat listening for several minutes. From time to time he grunted and leaned forward to scribble on a pad of paper. Finally, he said, “Let me know immediately there is any further news,” and hung up.
“Well?” Diestl asked impatiently. “Is Ritchie dead?”
Homer nodded. There was a gleam of triumph in his eyes.
“There’s no doubt about it. Fraser spoke to Rawlins himself. It’ll be in the papers tomorrow.”
Soundlessly Corridon drew in a breath of relief.
“And Kara?” Diestl asked.
“She’s in the hands of the police. Corridon’s story is quite correct. She drove away immediately after the shooting. She was chased, and crashed into a store in Knightsbridge. She’s in Hammersmith police station.”
“And MacAdams?”
“He’s also there. Chicho is dead.”
Diestl grimaced.
“Do you think those two will talk?”
“Kara won’t,” Ames said, “but MacAdams might. I think we should do something about him.”
“But what?” Homer asked. “What can we do?”
Ames smiled.
“He’ll need a solicitor, and solicitors carry briefcases. What could be simpler than to put a bomb in the case that would explode when he opened it? The bomb could be quite small.”
Diestl nodded.
“Yes.” He looked across at Corridon. “Could you make such a bomb?”
“I could, but isn’t it a little unfair on the solicitor?” Corridon said dryly.
“That’s his bad luck,” Ames returned and laughed. “You make the bomb, and I’ll arrange for it to be put in the case.”
“And Kara?” Diestl asked.
“I must think about Kara,” Ames said, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets. “It might be possible to get her out of jail. She is worth making an effort. We have no one to touch her when it comes to driving a car. I think we shall have to do something about her.”
Homer flashed his yellow teeth in Corridon’s direction.
“And now, Mr. Corridon,” he said, “I’m sure you are tired after all your excitement, and would like to go to bed. You’ve done very well. We’re pleased with you. You can consider yourself now a full member of this organization. You are free to go where you like. Arrangements will be made tomorrow to pay you the five hundred pounds we owe you. If you’ll prepare this little booby-trap and let Ames have it, I’ll be obliged. In a few days we’ll have another assignment for you, and you can be sure we shall pay as generously.”
Corridon got to his feet.
“That’s fine,” he said, and grinned at Homer. “I’m ready when you are.”
Homer went on, “Although your movements are now entirely unrestricted so far as we are concerned, you’ll remember the police are still looking for you in connection with Lestrange’s shooting. You should be careful.”
“Isn’t it time you did something about that?” Corridon said. “If I’m to be useful to you, I must have complete freedom of movement.”
“I don’t see what we can do,” Homer said. “But perhaps Ames has a suggestion.”
“Corridon’s right. If he is to be of real use to us, he must be cleared of the shooting. After all Martha’s served her purpose. I think we can get rid of her. Suicide and a full confession would put Corridon in the clear. I’ll arrange it.”
“You see, Mr. Corridon,” Homer said, smiling, “there’s no problem our friend Ames can’t solve. Until she has been disposed of, perhaps it would be safer for you not to go too far afield.”
“I won’t,” Corridon said.
“The Leader will be informed of your success,” Homer said. “No doubt he’ll wish to meet you and talk to you himself. It’s possible he’ll be visiting us tomorrow. I’ll ask him if he wishes to see you.”
Corridon kept his face expressionless.
“That’s up to him. Well, I’ll turn in.”
As he moved to the door, the lights in the room flickered, went out, and then came on again.
“There’s someone in the grounds!” Ames said, jumping for the door.
“What are the guards doing?” Homer said, his face turning a blotchy white. He got hurriedly to his feet. “How can anyone get past the fence?”