Dark Side of the Street - Jack Higgins [30]
"Babylon," Youngblood said.
"Too far for me, but I can take you part of the way," she said in her strange, dead voice.
She moved back up the track and Youngblood turned to Chavasse in exasperation. "This whole bloody affair is getting more like something out of Alice in Wonderland every minute. We'll be meeting the White Rabbit next."
"Or the Mad Hatter," Chavasse said with a grin and went after the girl quickly.
Sam Crowther watched them coming along the track clear in the moonlight from the loft of his barn. "Here they are," he said softly.
There was a stirring in the darkness at his side and Billy leaned forward excitedly, saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
"Two nuts to crack this time, Billy," Crowther said. "But we'll manage, won't we? All in good time."
He patted Billy on the shoulder and went down the ladder. As he emerged from the barn, the girl turned in through the gate, Chavasse and Youngblood followed her.
"Good lass, Molly," Crowther said. "You go in and make 'em some ham and eggs."
The girl moved off without a word and Crowther turned with a big smile, holding out his hand. "Mr. Youngblood and Mr. Drummond, I presume. There was so much about you two on the eleven o'clock news that I feel I've known you all my life. I'm Sam Crowther."
Youngblood ignored the hand. "And what's that?" He nodded to Billy who had just shambled out of the shadows of the barn.
"Only Billy, Mr. Youngblood. Only Billy." Crowther chuckled and tapped his forehead significantly. "He's not got all he needs upstairs, but he's as good as two ordinary men round the farm. But what are we standing round here for? You come on in and I'll show you your room. By the time you've washed up Molly will have a meal on the table, I've no doubt."
"Your daughter?" Chavasse said as they went into the porch.
"That's it, Mr. Drummond. A good girl, our Molly."
"She doesn't seem to have much to say for herself."
"Not so surprising," Crowther said piously. "And her mother barely twenty-four hours cold." There was a door to the left and he opened it to disclose a cheap deal coffin with gilt handles standing on a table. "We're putting her under at the village church at ten o'clock in the morning. It's eight miles away so that means the hearse will be here at nine. You gentlemen will have to lay low till it's gone."
He closed the door and led the way up a flight of narrow wooden stairs covered in cheap linoleum worn smooth by the years. The landing was long and narrow and he opened the door at the far end and switched on the light.
"I think you'll be comfortable enough here."
There was an old double bed with a brass frame, a wardrobe and dressing table in Victorian mahogany and a marble washstand.
Youngblood unbuttoned his raincoat and threw it on the bed. "And how long do we stay here?"
"Until I get the right telephone call. Could be tomorrow. The day after at the latest. But don't worry. You're safe enough here. We're miles from anywhere."
"And where exactly would that be?" Chavasse asked.
Crowther gave him a sly grin. "That would be telling, now wouldn't it, Mr. Drummond? No, I couldn't do that. I've got myself to protect. You gents come down when you're ready. There'll be food on the table."
The door closed behind him and Youngblood took off his jacket and draped it over a chair. "What do you think?"
"I wouldn't trust him out of my sight for very long." Chavasse moved to the window and peered outside. "This place is like a bad film set for Wuthering Heights."
Youngblood poured water from a large jug into a cracked basin and swilled his face and neck. "I know one thing," he said as he towelled himself briskly. "He only has to make one wrong move and I'll break his bloody neck."
Chavasse took off his raincoat and moved across to the basin. "I've a feeling that might not be so easy where our boy Billy's concerned."
"You've got a point there, but why cross bridges?" Youngblood grinned. "Right now I'm more interested in ham and eggs. I'll see you downstairs."
The door