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Crowther lay on his face moaning softly and Chavasse dropped to one knee beside him and searched his pockets. He found a handful of cartridges and reloaded the shotgun, then he gave Crowther a kick in the ribs and stood back.

"On your feet."

Crowther scrambled up, backing against the wall of the courtyard. Chavasse moved in and rammed the muzzle of the shotgun under the man's chin.

"Saxton and Hoffa, they're down there, aren't they?" Crowther hesitated and the muzzle dug painfully into his flesh. "Aren't they?"

Crowther nodded fearfully. "That's right."

"How many more?" Again he hesitated and Chavasse thumbed back the hammers of the shotgun.

"For God's sake, don't shoot!" Crowther cried. "Four--that's all."

"That's all," Chavasse said in disgust, fighting back the inclination to pull the trigger. "Then other people were passed through safely?"

"That's right. I was only obeying orders."

"I bet you were. The people you passed on? Where did they go to next?"

"I wouldn't know." The barrel of the shotgun was raised menacingly and he cried out in alarm. "It's the truth, I tell you. I used to drop them ten miles from here at a crossroads to be picked up by someone else."

There was the sound of running feet and Youngblood called through the rain from the house. "Drum--where are you?"

"Out here!" Chavasse replied.

Youngblood arrived a moment later and paused in the gateway. "What happened here?"

"They thought I might be more comfortable down the well, but Billy decided to try it instead. You'll be interested to know that's where Saxton and Ben Hoffa are."

Youngblood crossed to Crowther. "You dirty bastard."

Very slowly, but with infinite menace, he searched the older man, tossing the contents of his pockets carelessly onto the cobbles. He found a wallet which appeared to contain fifty or sixty pounds and nodded to Chavasse.

"This should be useful. What's he told you?"

"Everybody didn't end up down the well. Most of the clients were passed on."

"Where to?"

"He doesn't know. Says he drops them at a crossroads about ten miles from here to be picked up."

Youngblood turned on Crowther and laughed harshly. "Are you trying to tell me you never hung around to see what happened, never followed anybody? In a pig's ear, you didn't."

He sank his fist into the pit of Crowther's stomach so that he screamed and doubled over, falling to his knees. A foot caught him a glancing blow on the shin and he fell over backwards.

"Now try him," Youngblood said.

Chavasse dropped on one knee beside Crowther and raised his head. "He means business--I'd talk if I were you."

Crowther nodded, a dazed expression in his eyes and wiped blood from his cheek. "All right, I'll tell you. I did follow clients twice."

"What happened?"

"They were picked up by a furniture van and dropped off on the outskirts of Shrewsbury."

"Then what?"

"They waited on a certain bench and were picked up by the same person each time--a blind woman with a guide dog. Her name's Hartman--Rosa Hartman and she lives at Alma Cottage, Bampton. She's some sort of a clairvoyante."

At that moment, the girl arrived, panting and out of breath, her face flushed. She poised in the gateway and looked around her wildly.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

Youngblood turned and went towards her. "If I am, it's no thanks to you, you rotten little bitch. I could have been at the bottom of that well by tonight and no questions asked."

She was crying, her face looking uglier than ever and pawed at his chest. "I didn't know, Harry. I didn't know."

"Do you think I came over on a banana boat or something?" Youngblood said and he grabbed her hair viciously, wrenching back her head.

Chavasse moved across the courtyard in three quick strides and pulled him away. "Leave her alone, Harry. She'd nothing to do with it. All she ever had were suspicions and if she hadn't mentioned those, I probably wouldn't be here now."

Behind them, Crowther saw his chance and ran for a gap in the wall where the brickwork had crumbled.