The Man in the Brown Suit - Agatha Christie [78]
‘That’s given ’em something to think about,’ he muttered grimly, as he reached for the second rifle. ‘Stand well back, Anne, for God’s sake. And load quickly.’
More bullets. One just grazed Harry’s cheek. His answering fire was more deadly than theirs. I had the rifle reloaded when he turned for it. He caught me close with his left arm and kissed me once savagely before he turned to the window again. Suddenly he uttered a shout.
‘They’re going–had enough of it. They’re a good mark out there on the water, and they can’t see how many of us there are. They’re routed for the moment–but they’ll come back. We’ll have to get ready for them.’ He flung down the rifle and turned to me.
‘Anne! You beauty! You wonder! You little queen! As brave as a lion. Black-haired witch!’
He caught me in his arms. He kissed my hair, my eyes, my mouth.
‘And now to business,’ he said, suddenly releasing me. ‘Get out those tins of paraffin.’
I did as I was told. He was busy inside the hut. Presently I saw him on the roof of the hut, crawling along with something in his arms. He rejoined me in a minute or two.
‘Go down to the boat. We’ll have to carry it across the island to the other side.’
He picked up the paraffin as I disappeared.
‘They’re coming back,’ I called softly. I had seen the blur moving out from the opposite shore.
He ran down to me.
‘Just in time. Why–where the hell’s the boat?’
Both had been cut adrift. Harry whistled softly.
‘We’re in a tight place, honey. Mind?’
‘Not with you.’
‘Ah, but dying together’s not much fun. We’ll do better than that. See–they’ve got two boat-loads this time. Going to land at two different points. Now for my little scenic effect.’
Almost as he spoke a long flame shot up from the hut. Its light illuminated two crouching figures huddled together on the roof.
‘My old clothes–stuffed with rags–but they won’t tumble to it for some time. Come, Anne, we’ve got to try desperate means.’
Hand in hand, we raced across the island. Only a narrow channel of water divided it from the shore on that side.
‘We’ve got to swim for it. Can you swim at all, Anne? Not that it matters. I can get you across. It’s the wrong side for a boat–too many rocks, but the right side for swimming, and the right side for Livingstone.’
‘I can swim a little–further than that. What’s the danger, Harry?’ For I had seen the grim look on his face. ‘Sharks?’
‘No, you little goose. Sharks live in the sea. But you’re sharp, Anne. Crocs, that’s the trouble.’
‘Crocodiles?’
‘Yes, don’t think of them–or say your prayers, whichever you feel inclined.’
We plunged in. My prayers must have been efficacious, for we reached the shore without adventure, and drew ourselves up wet and dripping on the bank.
‘Now for Livingstone. It’s rough going, I’m afraid, and wet clothes won’t make it any better. But it’s got to be done.’
That walk was a nightmare. My wet skirts flapped round my legs, and my stockings were soon torn off by the thorns. Finally, I stopped, utterly exhausted. Harry came back to me.
‘Hold up, honey. I’ll carry you for a bit.’
That was the way I came into Livingstone, slung acrossd his shoulder like a sack of coals. How he did it for all that way, I don’t know. The first faint light of dawn was just breaking. Harry’s friend was a young man of twenty years old who kept a store of native curios. His name was Ned–perhaps he had another, but I never heard it. He didn’t seem in the least surprised to see Harry walk in, dripping wet, holding an equally dripping female by the hand. Men are very wonderful.
He gave us food to eat, and hot coffee, and got our clothes dried for us whilst we rolled ourselves in Manchester blankets of gaudy hue. In the tiny back room of the hut we were safe from observation whilst he departed to make judicious inquiries as to what had become of Sir Eustace’s party, and whether any of them were still at the hotel.
It was then that I informed Harry that nothing would induce me to go to Beira. I never meant to, anyway,