The Legion of the Lost, стр. 67

Palfrey said: ‘We’d better wait for Alex. Then—’ he paused. ‘You and ’Silla had best stay here for the time being. Alex and I will—’

He broke off, for the door opened and Conroy came in, softly closing and leaning against it; his hair was ruffled and his coat awry, but he was smiling with evident satisfaction.

‘It wasn’t Stolte,’ he said, ‘but a little guy who won’t be doing much for a long time to come. I’ve pushed him into a closet, and here’s the key.’ Conroy tossed a key in the air, where it glittered in the light from the lamp; outside it was nearly dark. And what’s next, Cap’n?’

‘You and I will go to see the Count,’ said Palfrey quietly.

‘Wouldn’t it be better if we all go?’ asked Brian.

‘No,’ said Palfrey briefly. ‘There might be a visit from von Lichner, or even Stefan, we’d better not leave the rooms empty. And we don’t want anyone coming to look for Hilde. You’ll get your share of action soon enough,’ he added, and stepped towards Conroy and the door.

The passage was empty.

They walked along together, one small gun in Palfrey’s trousers pocket, Conroy’s in his waistcoat. The little American looked purposeful and hopeful. Conroy passed two men with a tight-lipped smile; they were plain-clothes men whom they recognised as the guards of the delegates, and who seemed mildly surprised to see them. They went up two flights of stairs, Palfrey remembering the way to von Otten’s apartment.

Outside it were two armed guards, with fixed bayonets.

As the two men approached the guards crossed their bayonets, presenting an uncompromising barrier. They were hard-featured men and neither of them spoke, both seemingly touched with the superciliousness which affected von Otten’s whole entourage.

Palfrey cleared his throat.

‘Is it possible to see the Count, please?’ he said. ‘We have a matter to discuss with him, and—’

‘No one is to see him,’ said one of the men. ‘He is in conference.’

Palfrey’s face dropped.

‘But—I assure you—it is most important.’

‘His Excellency is in conference,’ the man growled. ‘He is not to be disturbed.’

Palfrey ran a hand across his forehead, then said slowly: ‘Well perhaps—would you give him a message when he is free? Herr Cattorn, have you a pencil?’ He blinked at Conroy, who put his fingers to his waistcoat pocket while Palfrey put his hand to his trousers pocket. The guards kept their bayonets crossed, but looked quite unsuspicious.

They were confronted, simultaneously, with the two small pistols poking towards their stomachs. Standing as they were, they could not lower their rifles with any speed; they gaped in amazement and alarm at the small guns.

One of them opened his mouth to shout.

‘Do that tomorrow, son!’ said Conroy, softly.

He struck the man with his free hand. The fellow staggered back, trying to lower his bayonet; Conroy knocked the1 rifle aside. Palfrey’s man stood transfixed, too scared to move. The other was helpless, for Conroy wrested the rifle from him and prodded it against his stomach. He backed away, his teeth showing. Conroy said: ‘Watch ’em for a moment, Sap.’

Had they cried out then they might have warned von Otten, but the surprise of the attack and the swift turning of the tables kept them quiet long enough for Conroy – the gun inside his coat pocket but his fingers about it – to open the door and look inside. He was there only for a moment before turning and saying, sotto voce: ‘Empty, Sap. Bring ’em in.’

Still keeping silent, the two guards were forced into the small ante-room. Palfrey knew that they would eventually throw off the fright which possessed them, and did not rely on the threat of gun or bayonet to keep them quiet indefinitely. Softly, Conroy ordered them to turn round; they obeyed, but Palfrey was afraid that they would shout even as they did so. But he under-estimated the depth of their fear; the only sound was a whispered appeal for mercy.

As it was being uttered, Conroy jabbed against the back of one man’s neck with the butt of the rifle, a jolt powerful enough to break his neck. It rendered him unconscious, and Conroy, showing a speed of movement which fascinated Palfrey, repeated the manoeuvre with the other. Yet still the American had time to prevent one of them from falling heavily to the ground. Palfrey supported the other; they rested them on the floor and Conroy began to bind and gag them while Palfrey kept a watch on the inner door.

He could hear nothing, and wondered if it were possible that the guards had lied, that von Otten was not there. There was no point in speculating, and Palfrey, reassured to some degree by the silence, helped with the second man; it passed through his mind that it would have been quicker and more effective to have killed them both, even found time to marvel that he did not.

They straightened up, and Conroy said: ‘Now for it, Sap!’

They approached the inner door after locking the one leading to the passage; when they tried the handle it turned but the door would not open. They paused, before Palfrey saw a small bell-push near his right hand. He pressed it twice in quick succession, knowing even then that there might be a special way of pressing it, or a certain number of rings. He heard nothing; they stood waiting on either side of the door, with the guns in their hands—

Then it opened.

They had heard no sound at all, and Palfrey realised that no sound would come from the room when the door was closed, that they need not have worried about making noise before. Then he raised his gun, and Stolte, who stood there gaping, drew back and gasped in a strangled voice: ‘Excellency, I—’

Conroy went forward like a rocket, thudding his fist into the man’s big paunch. Stolte uttered an agonised squeal and sagged away. Palfrey and Conroy went into the room together as von Otten rose from a small table,