Comes the Dark Stranger - Jack Higgins [50]
The other man frowned and put down the newspaper he had opened. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
Brown shrugged. ‘I’ll have to find the guard. He should have a master key.’ He inclined his head towards Shane. ‘Watch our friend here. You never know what his sort will try next.’
Shane turned and looked out of the window as Brown disappeared along the corridor. There was a slight ache behind his eyes and his guts churned over as the significance of Brown’s words struck home. They thought he was insane. The whole thing was decided in advance. If he lived to stand in the dock, it would probably be the shortest trial on record.
In the darkness of the window he saw the reflection of the compartment behind him. The detective was watching him carefully, and after a while he moved along the seat and leaned over the lock.
Shane didn’t even think about it. He swung round quickly and launched himself forward, his clenched fists raised high above his head. Even as the detective started to turn in alarm, they crashed into the back of his neck, and he fell forward from the seat and rolled on to the floor.
Shane wrench the sliding-door to one side and stepped over the prostrate figure. There was a sudden cry of alarm as Brown appeared at the far end of the carriage and started to run towards him.
Shane stumbled along the corridor and rounded the corner by the toilet. A door faced him with the communication cord stretched across the top of it. He yanked the cord firmly downwards with all his strength, and as the train started to brake to a halt, he struggled frantically with the handle of the door. It swung backwards suddenly as the wind caught it. He hesitated for a moment, straining his eyes into the blackness of the night, desperately trying to judge the train’s speed. There was a cry behind him as Brown rounded the corner, and he hesitated no longer. As the detective’s hand grabbed for his jacket, Shane jumped out into the night.
He tucked his head well into his shoulders and rolled over twice. As he tried to get to his feet, his own momentum was still carrying him forward and he fell on his face. The train was slowing to a halt a hundred yards away along the track, and as he struggled painfully to his feet he heard cries through the night and saw lanterns coming back along the track.
Beyond the train he could see the lights of the station in the darkness, and he realized, with something of a shock, that the whole business had happened in a matter of minutes.
He started to pick his way carefully across the lines, the stones digging into his stockinged feet painfully. He scrambled up a small embankment, and he pulled himself over a six-foot-high wooden fence at the top. He dropped down into a narrow street of terraced houses, and started to run.
The rain had increased into a solid downpour that bounced from the pavement. He seemed to be moving through an area of decaying slums, and he twisted and turned from one street into another until his lungs were heaving painfully and his throat was dry.
His head was aching slightly and his feet were torn and bleeding. Somewhere ahead of him he could hear the sounds of traffic, and guessed he was approaching the centre of the town. He paused on a corner and looked desperately about him, uncertain which way to go, and then a car rounded the corner and came towards him.
There was a narrow, dark opening in the opposite wall, and he crossed the street and plunged into it as the car flashed past. He started to move forward, his manacled hands held out in front of him. There was a lamp fastened high up on the brick wall, and beyond it he could see traffic passing along a busy street.
He leaned against the wall, his tortured lungs clamouring for air, and as he looked up at the lamp it seemed to float away and become smaller and smaller, and then there was nothing but the darkness and he slid slowly down the wall into unconsciousness.