The smoking tallow candle, guttering heavily to one side in the icy draught, filled every corner of the cave with dark and flickering shadows from its erratic flame. The candle itself was almost gone, the dripping wick bending over tiredly till it touched the rock, and Louki, snow-suit cast aside, was lighting another stump of candle from the dying flame. For a moment, both candles flared up together, and Mallory saw Louki clearly for the first time–a small, compact figure in a dark-blue jacket black-braided at the seams and flamboyantly frogged at the breast, the jacket tightly bound to his body by the crimson _tsanta_ or cummerbund, and, above, the swarthy, smiling face, the magnificent moustache that he flaunted like a banner. A Laughing Cavalier of a man, a miniature d’Artagnan splendidly behung with weapons. And then Mallory’s gaze travelled up to the lined, liquid eyes, eyes dark and sad and permanent ly tired, and his shock, a slow, uncomprehending shock, had barely time to register before the stub of the candle had flared up and died and Louki had sunk back into the shadows.
Stevens was stretched in a sleeping-bag, his breathing harsh and shallow and quick. He had been awake when they had arrived but had refused all food and drink, and turned away and drifted off into an uneasy jerky sleep. He seemed to be suffering no pain at all now: a bad sign, Mallory thought bleakly, the worst possible. He wished Miller would return. . . .
Casey Brown washed down the last few crumbs of bread with a mouthful of wine, rose stiffly to his feet, pulled the screen aside and peered out mournfully at the falling snow. He shuddered, let the canvas fall, lifted up his transmitter and shrugged into the shoulder straps, gathered up a coil of nope, a torch and a groundsheet. Mallory looked at his watch: it was fifteen minutes to midnight. The routine call from Cairo was ahnost due.
“Going to have another go, Casey? I wouldn’t send a dog out on a night like this.”
“Neither would I,” Brown said morosely. “But I think I’d better, sir. Reception is far better at night and I’m going to climb uphill a bit to get a clearance from that damned mountain there; I’d be spotted right away if I tried to do that in daylight.”
“Right you are, Casey. You know best.” Mallory looked at him curiously. “What’s all the extra gear for?”
“Putting the set under the groundsheet, then getting below it myself with the torch,” Brown explained. “And I’m pegging the rope here, going to pay it out on my way up. I’d like to be able to get back some time.”
“Good enough,” Mallory approved. “Just watch it a bit higher up. This gully narrows and deepens into a regular ravine.”
“Don’t you worry about me, sir.” Brown said firmly. “Nothing’s going to happen to Casey BrOwn.” A snow-laden gust of wind, the flap of the canvas and Brown was gone.
“Well, if Brown can do it . . .” Mallory was on his feet now, pulling his snow-smock over his head. “Fuel, gentlemen–old Leri’s hut. Who’s for a midnight stroll?”
Andrea and Louki were on their feet together, but Mallory shook his head.
“One’s enough. I think someone should stay to look after Stevens.”
“He’s sound asleep,” Andrea murmured. “He can come to no harm in the short time we are away.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that. It’s just that we can’t take the chance of him falling into German hands. They’d make him talk, one way or another. It would be no fault of his–but they’d make him talk. It’s too much of a risk.”
“Pouf!” Louki snapped his fingers. “You worry about nothing, Major. There isn’t a German within miles of here. You have my word.”
Mallory hesitated, then grinned. “You’re right. I’m getting the jumps.” He bent over Stevens, shook him gently. The boy stirred and moaned, opened his eyes slowly.
“We’re going out for some firewood,” Mallory said. “Back in a few minutes. You be O.K.?”
“Of course, sir. What can happen? Just leave a gun by my side–and blow out the candle.” He smiled. “Be sure to call out before you come in!”
Mallory stooped, blew out the candle. For an instant the flame flared then died and every feature, every per-V son in the cave was swallowed up in the thick darkness of a winter midnight. Abruptly Mallory turned on his heel and pushed out through the canvas into the drifting, wind-blown snow already filling up the floor of the gully, Andrea and Louki close behind.
It took them ten minutes to find the ruined hut of the old goatherd, another five for Andrea to wrench the door off its shattered hinges and smash it up to manageable lengths, along with the wood from the bunk and table, another ten to carry back with them to the rockshelter as much wood as they could conveniently rope together and carry. The wind, blowing straight north off Kostos, was in their faces now–faces numbed with the chill, wet lash of the driving snow, and blowing almost at gale force: they were not sorry to reach the gully again, drop down gratefully between the sheltering walls.
Mallory called softly at the mouth of the cave. There was no reply, no movement from inside. He called again, listened intently as the silent seconds went by, turned his head and looked briefly at Andrea and Louki. Carefully, he laid his bundle of wood in the snow, pulled out his Colt and torch, eased aside the curtain, lamp switch and Colt safety-catch clicking as one.
The spotlight beam lit up the floor at the mouth of the cave, passed on, settled, wavered, probed into the farthest corner of the shelter, returned again to the middle of the cave and steadied there as if the torch were clamped in a vise. On the floor there was only a crumpled, empty sleeping-bag. Andy Stevens was gone.
CHAPTER 9
Tuesday Night
0015–0200
“So I was wrong,” Andrea murmured. “He wasn’t asleep.”
“He certainly wasn’t,” Mallory agreed grimly. “He fooled me too–_and_ he heard what I said.” His mouth twisted. “He knows now why we’re so anxious to look after him. He knows now that he was right when he spOke about a mill-stone. I should hate to feel the way he must be feeling right now.”
Andrea nodded. “It is not difficult to guess why he has gone.”
Mallory looked quickly at his watch, pushed his way out of the cave.
“Twenty minutes–he can’t have been gone more than twenty minutes. Probably a bit less to make sure we were well clear. He can only drag himself–fifty yards at the most. We’ll find him in four minutes. Use your torches and take the hoods off–nobody will see us in this damn’ blizzard. Fan out uphill–I’ll take the gully in the middle.”
“Uphill?” Louki’s hand was on his arm, his voice puzzled. “But his leg–”
“Uphill, I said,” Mallory broke in impatiently. “Stevens has brains–and a damn’ sight more guts than he thinks we credit him with. He’ll figure we’ll think he’s taken the easy way.” Mallory paused a moment, then went on sombrely: “Any dying man who drags himself out in this lot is going to do nothing the easy way. Come on!”
They found him in exactly three minutes. He must have suspected that Mallory wouldn’t fall for the obvious, or he had heard them stumbling up the slope, for he had managed to burrow his way in behind the overhanging snowdrift that sealed off the space beneath a projecting ledge just above the rim of the gully. An almost perfect place of concealment, but his leg betrayed him: in the probing light of his torch Andrea’s sharp eyes caught the tiny trickle of blood seeping darkly through the surface of the snow. He was already unconscious when they uncovered him, from cold or exhaustion or the agony of his shattered leg: probably from all three.
Back in the cave again, Mallory tried to pour some ouzo–the fiery, breath-catching local spirit–down Ste vens’s throat. He had a vague suspicion that this might be dangerous–or perhaps it was only dangerous in cases of shock, his memory was confused on that point–but it seemed better than nothing. Stevens gagged, spluttered and coughed most of it back up again, but some at least stayed down. With Andrea’s help Mallory tightened the loosened splints on the leg, staunched the oozing blood, and spread below and above the boy every dry covering he could find in the cave. Then he sat back tiredly and fished out a cigarette from his waterproof case. There was nothing more he could do until Dusty Miller returned with Panayis from the village. He was pretty sure that there was nothing that Dusty could do for Stevens either. There was nothing anybody could do for him.
Already Louki had a fire burning near the mouth of the cave, the old, tinder-dry wood blazing up in a fierce, crackling blaze with hardly a wisp of smoke. Almost at once its warmth began to spread throughout the cave, and the three men edged gratefully nearer. From half a dozen points in the roof thin, steadily-increasing streams of water from the melting snows above began to splash down on the gravelly floor beneath: with these, and with the heat of the blaze, the ground was soon a quagmire. But, especially to Mallory and Andrea, these discomforts were a small price to pay for the privilege of being warm for the first time in over thirty hours. Mallory felt the glow seep through him like a benison, felt his entire body relax, his eyelids grow heavy and drowsy.