Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [72]
Kevin Rogan emerged from behind a farm cart at the bottom of the steps as Clay and Joanna stumbled into the fresh air, the four men following them, hands high.
As Rogan came to meet them, Clay said, “I persuaded these men to surrender on the understanding that they wouldn’t be harmed. I want your promise on that.”
“I’m not interested in these scuts,” Kevin said wildly. “It’s bigger fish I’m after.”
“Burke is dead. I killed him myself,” Clay said.
“And Hamilton?” Kevin demanded. “Don’t tell me he’s also dead?”
Clay frowned, realizing that Sir George must still be in his bedroom, and started up the steps back into the entrance hall. As he went through the door, Kevin caught up with him. “Where is he?” he demanded.
“On the first floor,” Clay told him. “He collapsed earlier on and Burke had him carried to his room.”
The staircase and the landing were blazing strongly, and as Kevin started toward them, Clay caught him by one arm. “It’s too late,” he cried above the roar of the flames. “You’ll never reach him.”
Kevin turned, teeth bared, and there was madness in his eyes. “I’ll follow him to hell if need be.” He tore himself free and plunged up the stairway.
Clay staggered back as heat reached out to envelope him and, shielding his eyes with one arm, he looked up at the landing. As Kevin Rogan reached the head of the stairs, Sir George Hamilton appeared from the corridor on the right. His face was white, his eyes dark holes, but there was no fear there. No fear at all.
Kevin gave a cry that could be heard clearly above the crackling of the flames and advanced toward him. When he was a yard or two distant, Sir George raised a pistol in his left hand and shot him through the body. Kevin staggered, clutching at the burning handrail with one hand to steady himself, and then he sprang forward and tore the pistol from the old man’s grasp.
One hand fastened about his throat relentlessly, the other gripped his belt. Kevin raised him above his head and tossed him over the balustrade. As he did so, the floor seemed to sag. He clutched at the handrail and the landing dissolved beneath him and he disappeared into a cauldron of flames.
Clay took one hesitant step forward and then the entire ceiling started to collapse. He turned and jumped for the door and staggered out into the fresh air as the hall became an inferno.
He moved down the steps, tearing his smouldering coat from his body, and Joshua pushed through the crowds and took his arm. “You all right, Colonel?”
Clay nodded, and a hand twisted him round and he looked into the strained white face of Cathal Rogan. “What happened to Kevin?” he demanded, and there was a tremor in his voice.
Clay tried to speak, but somehow the words refused to come. It didn’t really matter, because the thing he wanted to say showed plainly on his face. Cathal Rogan turned blindly away and stumbled toward Marteen, who stood between two horses. Clay watched them speak, saw the younger boy’s shoulders sag, and watched as they mounted and rode away through the crowds toward the orchards and the back way up to the moor.
Father Costello sat in his trap, Joanna beside him. She looked sick and faint and there were great rents in her dress where she had torn the smouldering cloth. She opened her eyes and said calmly, “Is my uncle dead?”
Clay nodded. “So is Kevin Rogan. A bad day’s work.”
“Indeed so, Colonel,” Father Costello said. “And I fancy it will be a long time before we hear the last of it.” He picked up the reins. “I’ll take Miss Hamilton back to my house for the time being. What are your own plans, Colonel? I fancy a berth on the first available ship might be advisable.”
Clay nodded soberly. “I’ll have to leave the country as soon as possible. It won’t be long before the authorities are on my track. I’ll stay here and do what I can to persuade these people to return to their homes. I’ll send my servant with you. He may be useful to Miss Hamilton.”
Joshua had been standing at his