Chapter 2 #2
“Us! ’Oo was it said ’e talked like a nob, and ’oo found ’is card-case in the two-seater? ’E’s a Hon, you says, and what that means is, ’is pa’s a lord.”
“Did I tell ya to grab ’im for ransom along wiv the girl?
” the driver demanded aggrievedly. “Did I? Like bloody ’ell, I did!
The Yank’s right, most nobs’s dough’s tied up in land and big ’ouses and art and such.
They ain’t got the ready, not quick, any’ow, not like Mr. Moneybags.
Yer want ter ’ang around a few weeks while ’is bloody lordship sells a few of ’is fancy pitchers? ”
“Weeks? Gorblimey, no.”
“Right, then.”
“So whatta we do?” asked the anxious voice. “We can’t just let ’im go. ’E’ll ’op it to the rozzers straight orf.”
“We’ll ’ave to keep ’im till the ransom’s paid and we let the girl go.”
“’E’s no use,” the driver said carelessly. “Just get in the way. The Yank says, you’re ter get rid of ’im—for keeps. Rub ’im out, pronto.”
A long silence followed this announcement.
Phillip shuddered. Nothing in four years of appalling trench warfare had affected him quite like that apparently casual order to murder him in cold blood.
Shells and shrapnel, poison gas, machine-gun bullets, even a sniper’s fire, were impersonal.
One didn’t know the name of the man one bayonetted face to face, and anyway it was a case of kill or be killed.
But Phillip was no threat to these men, no mortal threat at least, though he’d gladly see them rot in gaol for the rest of their lives for what they were doing to Gloria.
“I dunno…,” said one, hesitantly.
“Not me,” the crowbar-wielder affirmed. “I don’t swing for nobody.”
“Yer’ll all be assessories anyways,” the driver advised them.
“’E don’t care who does it, but summun’s gonna ’ave ter or the deal’s orf.
’E reckons no one won’t miss ’im for a while, the way ’e’s always ’opping about, ’ere today and gone termorra.
If ya wants yer share o’ the goods, don’t cross the Yank. Ya’d better pick cards or summat.”
“Us? What abaht you?”
“Me, I’m orf back to the Smoke. The old man saw my face, it ain’t safe for me round these parts. Done my bit, I ’ave, all I were brung in for, and bin paid my bit f’rit. Them as wants ter scoop the pool ’as to work ’arder. Enjoy yerselves among the clod’oppers, mates. Bright lights, ’ere I come!”
His blithe voice grew fainter as he spoke, and a moment later, Phillip heard a door slam shut. He sat up.
“Have they gone?” Gloria asked softly. “What did they say?”
He thanked heaven she had not listened. “One of them has left. The rest are still here, or only stepped out for a moment. They’re after ransom, as we guessed. They were talking about letting you go when it’s paid.”
“Poppa will pay, just soon as ever he can.”
“Of course.” Not soon enough for Phillip, however. He wasn’t going to go without a fight, though. “Gloria, are you almost through the rope?” he asked urgently.
“It’s awful slow work, honey,” she apologized. “There’s one strand about ready to part, but I can’t see properly any longer and … and it’s hard to hold the glass steady now it’s slippery.”
“Slippery? Have I bled all over it? Try another piece.”
“I … It won’t help for more than a minute. I … I’m bleeding, too.” She held out her hands. The last light was just enough to show the blood welling in slow drops from her fingertips.
“Oh, Glow-worm!”
She came to him, looping her bound wrists over his head and pressing herself to him as her soft lips brushed his.
“I’m okay as long as you’re with me. Oh, here they come.” At the sound of boots clomping upstairs, she removed her arms from around his neck, but she stayed close. “We’ll ask them to untie us. Why shouldn’t they? We can’t get out of here.”
“You might as well ask.” Phillip was desperately trying to formulate a plan.
There were four men, he thought, if they all came, but the doorway was too narrow for more than one to enter at a time. Still, it was the only way out, and if he got past the first, the rest would be waiting.
It looked hopeless, yet he could not just let them lead him away like a lamb to the slaughter, or, worse, do away with him right there in front of Gloria.
Now was the time to discover whether tennis and squash had kept him as fit as he hoped, not the moment to remember that a gentleman does not brawl in the presence of a lady.
Even without the use of his hands, surely he might at least give them something to remember him by.
With a creak and a thud, the bar was withdrawn. The door swung open. On the threshold stood a brawny figure silhouetted against the flickering light of a paraffin lamp.
Phillip’s head took the brute in the stomach. He went over backwards, cannoning into the man behind. Together they tumbled down the stairs.
Struggling to regain his balance, Phillip caught just a glimpse of shadowy shapes closing in on either side of him on the tiny landing. He kicked out desperately as they grabbed his arms, as the sweet, sickly smell of chloroform wafted to his nostrils.
A damp pad clamped across his face. He couldn’t breathe. His head hurt like hell. He didn’t care.
He drifted dizzily into nothingness.