The Thousand Faces of Night - Jack Higgins [44]
For a long time he just looked at the bag and he was conscious of sweat trickling down from his armpits and of a sudden dryness in the throat. With a muffled curse, he reached for the bag and wrenched it open.
The money was there, all in neat little bundles, most of it as crisp and clean as the day it had been drawn from the bank. For a moment or two he looked at it. Twenty thousand pounds, he thought, and it's all mine. I sweated for it and I earned it. Every penny of it.
He closed the bag and pushed it under the seat. A moment later the truck was moving northwards through the main traffic stream and he was grinning all over his face like a little boy.
9
The truck lurched across the cobbles of the farmyard and rolled to a halt inside the barn. Marlowe switched off the engine and checked the time. It was almost two o'clock.
He pulled the Gladstone bag from beneath the seat and jumped down to the ground. For several moments he stood, weighing the bag in one hand, his eyes searching the barn for a suitable hiding place. At the far end of the building a rickety ladder lifted to a loft and he walked towards it, eyeing it speculatively.
The ladder creaked and swayed as he mounted it. He paused at the top and surveyed the loft. It was crammed with the accumulated junk of years. A smile crossed his face and he put the Gladstone bag down beside several old suitcases and pulled the corner of a decaying cricket net half over it. The Gladstone bag looked perfectly at home and he climbed back down the ladder, satisfied.
He paused in the entrance of the barn to light a cigarette. The farm rested quietly in the damp warmth of the afternoon and he saw no sign of anyone as he approached the house.
There was a fire on in the kitchen and the table was laid for one. On the plate he found a hastily scribbled note from Maria telling him his dinner was in the oven and that she and Mac had gone to pick up another load of produce.
Marlowe grinned, screwed the note into a ball and flicked it into the fire. He left the kitchen and went up the back stairs. He opened the door to Papa Magellan's room cautiously and peered in. The old man was propped up against the pillows reading a book. He turned quickly, a smile of welcome on his face. 'Come in, son. Come and tell me what happened.'
Marlowe closed the door and sat on the end of the bed. He took the cheque he had received from the Covent Garden wholesaler and flipped it across to the old man. 'That's what happened,' he said.
The old man examined the cheque incredulously and pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. 'A hundred and sixty pounds. That's wonderful.'
'That's not all,' Marlowe told him. 'They want another load for tomorrow morning.'
Magellan started to laugh and then he broke into a paroxysm of coughing. When he finally managed to catch his breath, he wiped tears from his eyes and said weakly, 'I feel a hundred per cent better already. I'd like to have O'Connor in front of me right now so that I could wave this cheque in his fat face.'
There was the sound of a car entering the yard. Marlowe went to the window and peered out as a large black saloon pulled up. After a second or two the door opened and O'Connor clambered out.
'Who is it?' asked Papa Magellan.
Marlowe frowned. 'You're about to have your wish granted.'
The old man looked bewildered. 'O'Connor?' he said. 'But what on earth can he want here?'
Marlowe shrugged. 'Perhaps he wants to make a deal. I'd better go and find out anyway.'
When he opened the porch door O'Connor was standing with his back to him looking out across the farmyard to the greenhouses and the fields beyond. He turned slowly and took a cigar from his mouth. 'It's a nice piece of property,' he said. 'Very nice indeed.'
'We think so,' Marlowe told him.
For a few moments they challenged each other and then the fat man's face creased into a smile. 'Aren't you going to ask me in?'
Marlowe shrugged and stood to one