Comes the Dark Stranger - Jack Higgins [42]
When he reached the station, there was a bus for Hampton just leaving and he ran for it, jumping on to the platform as it turned out of the concrete loading bay. He went upstairs and sat in a front seat, smoking and thinking about Steele. Whatever happened he intended to have those letters and some answers to a few things.
It was almost nine-thirty when he dropped off the bus and walked along the dirt road Jenny had mentioned. He could see a light through the trees before he came to the cottage. It was a lonely, eerie spot and the river rushed by only a few yards away at the bottom of a short slope.
He followed a path round to the rear of the building and found a Daimler standing in the cobbled yard. There was no light in the kitchen window and he lifted the old-fashioned latch and opened the back door.
He walked quietly along a short, stone-flagged corridor. There was a light showing under the door at the far end. He hesitated, then opened it quietly and stepped inside.
13
STEELE was sitting in front of a blazing fire. There was a bottle of whisky on the table at his hand and it was almost empty. He had a beautiful, double-barrelled shotgun across his knees which he was cleaning with an oily rag.
A woman was lying on the sofa and she pushed herself up and swung her legs to the floor. She had been drinking and her blouse was unbuttoned at the front. She reached for the bottle and her eyes met Shane’s. Her mouth fell open and there was indignation in her voice. ‘Heh, Reggie,’ she cried, ‘I thought you said this was going to be a private party.’
Steele looked up, a frown on his face and then he smiled. ‘Hallo, Shane. What a pleasant surprise.’ His eyes were glassy and he slurred his words slightly as if he were drunk.
Shane leaned against the door and lit a cigarette. ‘We didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation last time we met.’
Steele reached for the bottle and poured some whisky into his glass. ‘How did you manage to find my little hideaway?’
Shane shrugged. ‘I’ve got friends, which is more than I can say for you.’
Steele emptied his glass and placed it carefully on the table. ‘What happened to Frenchy?’
Shane laughed grimly. ‘He annoyed me,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he’ll annoy anybody for quite a while now.’
There was a short silence broken only by the sound of the raindrops as they fell down the wide chimney and hissed into the fire. Steele said in a dreamy voice, ‘I’m beginning to realize we underestimated you, Shane.’
‘You certainly did,’ Shane said and some sixth sense made him reach back quickly and lift the latch of the door behind him.
Steele smiled pleasantly. ‘I can see I’m going to have to take drastic action.’ He raised the shotgun and fired one barrel.
Shane was already half-way through the door, crouching and he felt a sudden sharp pain as several stray pellets found their mark. He ran along the corridor and jumped out into the rain, Steele a few paces behind.
The gun blazed and he threw himself to the ground, shot whistling through the air above his head. Steele called, ’I’ll get you, you bastard. I’ve plenty more cartridges.’ He didn’t sound drunk any more.
Shane ran for the cover of the trees. He plunged into them as the gun roared again, lost his footing and rolled down the short slope to the river. He tried to catch at something to arrest his progress, but he was too late. He rolled over the edge of the earth bank and fell into the river with a strangled cry.
He surfaced some twenty yards downstream as the current carried him onwards in an iron hand. He allowed himself to drift with it, keeping his head above water and then his feet touched bottom. A sudden, unexpected eddy flung him against a sandbank