Jack Higgins – Night of the Fox

“As a brother,” he said. “You love me as a brother, as you often remind me, so keep your mad passion in your pocket, woman, and concentrate. Colonel Hugh Kelso, he said, an American army officer torpedoed off Devon?”

“That’s right.”

“And what was all that about how the Germans mustn’t get their hands on him?”

“I don’t know. He was half out of his mind and his leg’s in a terrible state, but at the suggestion he might have to go to hospital he went crazy. Said it would be better if I shot him.”

“A fine old mess from the sound of it,” Gallagher said, and led the horse down onto the fog-shrouded beach.

It was very quiet, the sea calm, so quiet that they could hear the whistle of the German military train from across the bay as it ran along the front from St. Helier to Mill-brook.

Hugh Kelso lay face-down on the sand unconscious. Sean Gallagher turned him over gently and examined the leg. He gave a low whistle. “He needs a surgeon, this lad. I’ll get him in the cart while he’s still out. You gather as much driftwood as you can and hurry.”

She ran along the beach and he lifted Kelso up, taking his weight easily, for he was surprisingly strong for a small man. Kelso groaned but stayed out, and the Irishman eased him onto the sacks in the cart and draped a few across him.

He turned as Helen came back with an armful of wood.

“Cover him with that while I see to the life raft.”

It was still bumping around in the shallows, and he waded into the water and pulled it up on the sand. He looked inside, removed the emergency kit, then took out a spring-blade gutting knife and slashed at the skin of the life raft fiercely. As air rushed out, it crumpled and he rolled it up and carried it to the cart, shoving it onto the rack underneath.

Helen arrived with another armful of wood which she put in the back with the rest. “Will that do?”

“I think so. I’ll stop by the paddock and we’ll put the life raft down the old well shaft. But let’s get moving.”

They started up the track, Helen sitting on the shaft of the cart, Sean leading the horse. Suddenly there was laughter up ahead and a dog barked. The Irishman paused and took his time over lighting one of the vile French cigarettes that he smoked. “Nothing to worry about, 111 handle it,” he told her.

The Alsatian arrived first, a splendid animal which barked once, then recognized Gallagher as an old friend, and licked his hand. Two German soldiers in field gray and helmets, rifles over their shoulders, came next. “Guten morgen, Herr General,” they both called eagerly.

“And good morning to you two daft buggers.” Gallagher’s smile was his friendliest as he led the horse on.

“Sean, you’re quite mad,” she hissed.

“Not at all. Neither of those two lads speak a word of English. It might have been fun if they’d looked under the cart though.”

“Where are we going?” she demanded. “There’s no one at the Place at the moment.”

It was always referred to in that way, never as a house.

“Isn’t Mrs. Vibert in?”

“I gave her the day off. Remember that niece of hers had a new baby last week.”

“Naughty girl,” Gallagher said. “And her man away serving in the British Army. I wonder what he’ll think when he comes home and finds a bouncing boy with blue eyes and blond hair called Fritz.”

“Don’t be cruel, Sean. She’s not a bad girl. A little weak perhaps. People get lonely.”

“Do you tell me?” Gallagher laughed. “I haven’t exactly noticed you chasing me around the barn this week.”

“Be sensible,” she said. “Now where do we take him? There’s the Chamber.”

During the English Civil War, Charles de Ville, the Seigneur of the manor at that time, had espoused the Royalist cause. He’d had a room constructed in the roof with a secret staircase from the master bedroom known to the family over the years as the Chamber. It had saved his life during the time of Cromwell’s rule when he was sought as a traitor.