“It’s almost an hour since she left,” Guyon pointed out.
“Fleur de Lyshas twice the speed. We could still beat Jacaud to the punch.”
“Only if we get out of here within the next half-hour,” Guyon said. “And I stopped believing in miracles a long time ago.”
“We don’t need a miracle. Just a little luck,” Mallory pulled him down on the bed. “Now listen carefully.”
It was cold in the passage and the young sailor shivered and got to his feet. He stamped vigorously to restore his cir-culation and walkeda few paces away from the chair. He was bored. He was also a little afraid. In the beginning the whole affair had seemed like a great adventure, a crusade. Now he was not so sure. He turned to move back to his chair and a muffled cry sounded from inside the cell.
He stood there, a puzzled frown on 1m face. There was another cry, followed by the crash of a bed going over. He arrived at the grille in time to see Guyon drive his fist into Mallory’s face, knocking him against the wall.
“You got me into this, you bastard!” the young Frenchman cried. Til kill you! I’ll kill you!”
He flung himself forward and Mallory ducked under another blow, moved in close and tripped him. A moment later and he was kneeling on Guymon’s chest, hands twisted into his collar as he throttled him expertly.
The young sailor gave a cry of alarm. He pulled back the bolts and moved into the cell, revolver ready in his right hand. He reached for Mallory’s collar and to his amazement Guyon erupted from the floor, grabbed his wrist savagely and twisted the revolver from his grasp. The sailor’s mouth opened in a cry of alarm that was cut short as Mallory’s fist moved in a short arc against the side of the jaw.
Mallory picked up the revolver, nodded to Guyon and they went outside quickly. All was quiet. Guyon bolted the door and they hurried along the passage.
A strange quiet reigned until they reached the main cor-ridor when they heard voices in the distance and the clatter of pans from the kitchen. They passed along to the far end and Mallory opened the door cautiously and stepped on to the landing at the top of the steps which led down to the cave.
The jetty was deserted andFleur de Lys and the speed-boat were the only craft moored to the wall. They went down the stone steps quickly, paused for a moment at the bottom, then hurried across toFleur de Lys.
When they went into the wheelhouse they saw at once that the radio telephone had been removed from its housing on the wall. Mallory grinned tightly. “He’s a cautious bas-tard, I’ll say that for him.”
“Only to be expected.” Guyon shrugged. “A good soldier tries to foresee every eventuality.” He looked around and shook his head. “This looks one hell of a size for two of us.”
“We’ll manage,” Mallory said. “We’ll have to. There’s plenty of fuel in the tank, which is the main thing. Go get those lines off the jetty and we’ll move out.”
Guyon went forward quickly and untied the first line. As he started aft there was a harsh cry. When he glanced up he saw a sailor standing on the landing at the top of the steps. He ran along the deck and cast off the other line. The sailor drew a revolver and fired two wild shots as he came down the steps.
He was too late. The engines were already roaring into life and Mallory tookFleur de Lys out through the entrance. Spray splashed against the window, waves breaking over the deck as he turned through the lee-side of the reef and set course for Pointe du Chateau.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
FORGE OF ARMS
hamish grantopened the door and stood listening to the sound of quiet breathing. Fiona was stretched on the sofa and Anne slept in the wing-backed chair, a rug over her legs.
As he started to close the door she opened her eyes and said softly, “What time is it?”
“Just after eight. Jabber’s made some fresh tea.”