Dark Side of the Street - Jack Higgins [41]
On the evidence of that photo alone, thousands of ordinary people throughout the country had thought him hard done by, just as today they must be hoping in their hearts that he would escape.
"Not bad, eh?" Youngblood said, unable to keep an edge of pride out of his voice. "We're making the bastards sit up and take notice."
It was still there. The old need for notoriety at any price, the same subconscious urge towards self destruction, but Chavasse said nothing. Beneath Youngblood's picture there was one of himself, but much smaller.
Youngblood chuckled. "They've almost missed you out, Drum. It doesn't even look like you."
Chavasse shook his head. "You can have all the publicity you want, Harry. As far as I'm concerned, I won't be happy till we're both a three-line story at the end of column eight on page twelve."
"And that won't be for a week at least. These newspaper boys know a good story when they see one." Youngblood folded the paper and tossed it into the cab of the cattle truck. "Anyway, let's get moving."
"I've been thinking about that," Chavasse said.
"We could run into trouble--no way of telling. Silly for both of us to go."
"Fair enough." Youngblood grinned and put an arm around the girl. "I'll stay here and look after Molly."
"Suits me," Chavasse said calmly. "If I'm not back in an hour you'd better come looking."
"If I'm still here," Youngblood said sardonically.
Chavasse nodded. "Come to think of it, that does seem to be a distinct possibility. Under the circumstances I'll have half the bank roll--just in case I have to fend for myself."
Youngblood hesitated perceptibly and then produced Crowther's wallet. "Why not?" He counted out twenty-five pounds and gave it to Chavasse together with a handful of loose change. "And how do I know you won't decide to take off on your own?"
"You don't," Chavasse said and he turned and walked away quickly through the heavy rain.
Youngblood looked down at the girl who gazed up at him shyly. Her face was wet with the rain, the eyes shining. Strangely enough, she didn't look half bad and he slipped his arm around her waist and squeezed gently.
"Come on, kid, we could have a long wait. Might as well get into the back of the truck and make ourselves comfortable."
"All right, Harry."
She moved ahead of him and when he helped her up over the tailboard, his hands were shaking with excitement.
The cottage stood well back from the lane, an old grey-stone building half-covered by ivy. The long narrow garden was wet with rain, the only flowers a few early daffodils and he went along the flagged path to the porch. A brass plate at one side of the door said Madame Rosa Hartman--consultations by appointment only.
Chavasse knocked. There was a sudden patter of feet inside like wind through dry leaves, a low growl and then silence. After a while he heard the tapping of a stick, the door swung open and a woman looked out at him.
She was at lesat seventy, her hair drawn back from a yellowing parchment face in an old-fashioned bun. She wore a tweed suit with a skirt which almost reached her ankles and carried an ebony cane in her left hand. Her right hand had a secure grip on the collar of one of the most superb dogs Chavasse had ever seen in his life--a black and tan Dobermann.
A growl started deep down in its throat like distant thunder and she jerked hard on the collar. "Be quiet, Karl. Yes, who is it?"
She had spoken with a slight Austrian accent and as she leaned forward, he got a clear look at the cloudy opalescent eyes.
"I was wondering if you could spare me a few moments of your time."
"You wish to consult me professionally?"
"That's right."
"I only take clients by appointment. I have to be very careful. The law is most strict in these matters."
"I'm only passing through," he said. "I'd really be most obliged. You were very highly recommended."
"I see."