The Legion of the Lost, стр. 1

The Legion of the Lost

First published in 1943

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

The right of John Creasey to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

This edition published in 2014 by House of Stratus, an imprint of

Stratus Books Ltd., Lisandra House, Fore Street, Looe,

Cornwall, PL13 1AD, UK.

Typeset by House of Stratus.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library and the Library of Congress.

EAN ISBN Edition0755135946 9780755135943 Print0755139283 9780755139286 Kindle0755137612 9780755137619 Epub0755152190 9780755152193 Epdf

This is a fictional work and all characters are drawn from the author’s imagination.

Any resemblance or similarities to persons either living or dead are entirely coincidental.

www.houseofstratus.com

About the Author

John Creasey – Master Storyteller - was born in Surrey, England in 1908 into a poor family in which there were nine children, John Creasey grew up to be a true master story teller and international sensation. His more than 600 crime, mystery and thriller titles have now sold 80 million copies in 25 languages. These include many popular series such as Gideon of Scotland Yard, The Toff, Dr Palfrey and The Baron.

Creasey wrote under many pseudonyms, explaining that booksellers had complained he totally dominated the ‘C’ section in stores. They included:

Gordon Ashe, M E Cooke, Norman Deane, Robert Caine Frazer, Patrick Gill, Michael Halliday, Charles Hogarth, Brian Hope, Colin Hughes, Kyle Hunt, Abel Mann, Peter Manton, J J Marric, Richard Martin, Rodney Mattheson, Anthony Morton and Jeremy York.

Never one to sit still, Creasey had a strong social conscience, and stood for Parliament several times, along with founding the One Party Alliance which promoted the idea of government by a coalition of the best minds from across the political spectrum.

He also founded the British Crime Writers’ Association, which to this day celebrates outstanding crime writing. The Mystery Writers of America bestowed upon him the Edgar Award for best novel and then in 1969 the ultimate Grand Master Award. John Creasey’s stories are as compelling today as ever.

Chapter One

The Little Man with Red Hair

It was a queer fact, Palfrey thought as he slid the key into the lock, that although nearly six months had passed since he had seen Stefan the other might have been with him all the time, for there was no strangeness. His pleasure in meeting was spoiled only by Stefan’s information that a little, oldish man with red hair and a stiff leg had been seen sneaking into Palfrey’s flat.

There were no preliminaries; quite suddenly and unexpectedly faced with a situation which puzzled them, they were working in unison again.

Palfrey turned the key in the lock.

Stefan put out a hand and drew Drusilla to one side, then stood by her. He placed her so that she was hidden by his vast figure, while he was invisible from anywhere in the room unless a man stood on the threshold.

Palfrey, wondering whether his first comments to Stefan had been heard, pushed the door open further.

No one was in the small lounge-hall, and all the doors were closed, just as they had been when he had left earlier in the morning. He had no man at the flat, which was a small one; certainly no one had the right of entry.

He made sure that no one was there and that all the doors were closed, then turned and beckoned the others. Stefan stepped in, still holding Drusilla’s arm. They stood in the middle of the lounge-hall, their ears alert for any sound. Stefan was the first to move towards the door nearest the window, one of four which led from the semicircular hall. As they followed him the sound grew more distinct and unmistakable; it was the rustling of papers.

Stefan spoke in a whisper which only just carried to Palfrey’s ears.

‘The study, Sap. A quest for papers, perhaps,’ said Stefan, speaking as if this were an abstract problem.

He put his fingers about the handle of the door, turning it gently and then pushing. The door was locked on the inside.

Both he and Palfrey left the locked door and stepped to the window. Neither of them went on tip-toe but each walked as if naturally and without any effort at stealth; yet they made no sound at all. It was not entirely due to the thin carpet.

The window was open a little at the top. Palfrey watched Stefan climb on to a chair, then look out and put his head through the gap. The Russian seemed lost in contemplation; when he withdrew his head he said slowly: ‘I could get from this window to the next, Sap, although not without making some noise. Will you cause enough disturbance to cover what sound I make?’

‘Ye-es,’ said Palfrey, a little dubiously. ‘Are you sure you can make it?’

‘Of course,’ said Stefan. ‘My extra inches give me the advantage sometimes. Would it perhaps be wise if Drusilla went to the back door and kept watch from there in case our little visitor decides to go out the back way?’

Drusilla grimaced at him.

‘I think you want to get me out of the flat,’ she said, ‘but I suppose I’d better go.’

When she had gone Stefan regarded Palfrey with a slow, attractive smile.

‘No fool, your Drusilla,’ he said. ‘But in case the little stranger should be difficult, I think it best that we act quickly. You will knock at the door, Sap, while I am at the window? Your knock will prevent him from hearing the window opening. Is it’ – he frowned – ‘is it possible to open the door from the outside even though it is locked? Quickly, I mean?’

Palfrey, with a hand at his hip-pocket, said: ‘I’ve another key. If it’s only locked we can push