The Thousand Faces of Night - Jack Higgins [61]
Faulkner shook his head pityingly. 'It doesn't even work when they do it in the films,' he said.
He turned and started to walk towards the door. Harris took a hurried step after him, the blade clicked open in his knife and he plunged it into Faulkner's back.
As Faulkner crumpled to the floor several things happened at once. Maria screamed loud and long and the door began to shake as the police started to break it down.
Harris snatched up the Luger, which had fallen from Faulkner's hand, and loosed a shot at the door. There was a line of white foam on his lips and he giggled horribly and fired two more shots through the door.
The banging ceased abruptly and Harris drew a hand across his eyes and turned. His eyes fastened on Maria and the Jamaican and a terrible expression appeared on his face. As he started to raise the weapon, Marlowe shouted, 'I'm here, Harris!' And vaulted to the floor.
The shock jarred his whole body and he bent at the knees and rolled over in a somersault. Harris turned and fired wildly. 'I've got you, you bastard,' he shrieked. 'I've got you.'
As he fired again, Marlowe rolled over desperately and reached for the oil drum containing the fire. A bullet scoured a furrow along one shoulder and then his hands fastened on the oil drum and he turned, lifted it aloft and dashed it straight into the madman's face.
Harris gave a ghastly scream and staggered back, the gun falling from his hand. He got to his feet and ran towards the door, his clothes ablaze, beating at the flames with his bare hands. He pulled the locking bar from its socket, wrenched open the door and disappeared outside into the rain, still screaming.
Maria ran forward and threw herself into Marlowe's arms. 'Oh, thank God, Hugh. Thank God,' she cried and broke into passionate sobs.
Marlowe winced as he gently touched her with his hands. Great blisters were beginning to show on his palms and some of the skin was blackened and raw. He handed the weeping girl over to Mac and turned to Faulkner.
Faulkner's breathing sounded bad and as Marlowe dropped on one knee beside him, a trickle of blood oozed from one corner of his mouth. He grinned faintly and said, 'You clever bastard, Marlowe. I always did say you were a little brighter than the rest of us.'
Faulkner closed his eyes, a spasm of pain moving through his body and Marlowe shook him gently. 'Faulkner, who told you I was hiding out in Litton? Was it Masters?'
Faulkner opened his eyes and a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. 'Good God, no,' he said. 'It was an acquaintance of yours. A white-haired girl called O'Connor. I was having breakfast in a restaurant in Shaftesbury Avenue the other morning when she came up to me as bold as brass and asked me if I knew you.'
Marlowe was conscious of movement beside him and he looked up into Masters's face. He shook his head. 'He's had it,' he said.
As he turned back Faulkner shook his head several times and smiled faintly. 'Poor Hugh. I told you never to trust women, but you always were tender-hearted underneath that surface toughness.' He started to laugh. 'It's damned funny, really.' He choked suddenly and blood rushed from his mouth in a bright stream as his head lolled to one side.
Marlowe got to his feet slowly, his mind seething with conflicting emotions. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to gaze into Mac's troubled eyes. 'He was lying, Hugh,' Mac said. 'He must have been. Miss Jenny wouldn't do a thing like that.'
Marlowe shook his head. 'He wasn't lying, Mac. A man doesn't lie when he's dying. Nobody's that sure of where he's going.'
He slipped a hand round Maria's shoulders and helped her towards the door and Masters walked beside them. 'I'm sorry about this, Marlowe,' he said. 'It's a case of cry wolf, I suppose. We just didn't believe you until you took off without the money. Then Alpin looked at the map and found the circle you'd drawn around Garvald Mill. He called in a few reinforcements and we thought