“All right” He saw Canasset’s shrug. “Go where you like.”
Shaw’s mouth tightened and he kept all his senses on the alert, ready for anything that might happen now. Canasset was being just a little too co-operative, he fancied, too carefree, and he didn’t like that. He jabbed with his gun-muzzle, and Canasset moved on into the dark, holding a cigarette-lighter above his head to give a fitful, flickering illumination.
Below the cellar in a close, airless room leading off a damp passageway at the foot of some old and foot-worn stone steps, a buzzer sounded and a big African with a fuzz of crinkly, greying hair reached out for a house-telephone. He was sitting at a couple of upturned packing-cases with planks laid across them to form a rough desk. The sleeves of
his white silk shirt were rolled up. His left wrist carried an expensive gold watch while his right forearm showed a healed scar… the mark of the Black Widow.
He said, “Sam Wiley here.”
The voice — Verity’s voice — said, “They’ve gone down into the cellar.”
“Very well. You are quite certain it is the man Shaw?”
“From MacNamara’s description, yes.”
“Ummm…The African thought for a moment, his brow furrowing and the heavy lower lip jutting, fingers rasping at his cheeks. Then he said, “He evidently suspects very strongly — is that the impression you had yourself, Mr Verity?”
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact I had.” Verity’s voice was high, frightened. “I can’t make out why Mr Canasset didn’t take him down to the cellar at once—”
Wiley’s tone was soothing, almost a croon. “He is doing so now, isn’t he? We didn’t want to have to do this, for it will draw more attention to the premises, but now I shall have to deal with him after all.” He paused. “After that, we’ll have to move out at once, I think. I’ll go up and watch Shaw now.”
“Do we leave in the Jag?”
“No, no… not the Jag. The tunnel. Will you please see to that, Mr Verity?”
“Yes, of course.” The line clicked off and Wiley got up, moving quietly, cat-like. He patted the bulge in his pocket, moved over to a cupboard, and brought out a curious, bottleshaped object made of some flexible, opaque material. Gently he pressed the sides and a cloud of a powdery substance shot out. Wiley seemed satisfied. After this he opened a door leading off the room and looked through to where two more Africans were playing with dice.
He said, “Stand by. If the worst comes to the worst we’ll be moving out — within the next ten minutes. Get the girl ready. Any trouble with her, you know what to do.”
He slammed the door and went out of his own room and along the passage. Halfway along he stopped and took a heavy crowbar from some clips on the slimy wall, pushed it through a hole which looked as though it had once carried a large pipe, and bore down heavily on its end. Inside the crumbling brickwork of the wall something moved, and there was a slow gurgle of water. Wiley then pushed the crowbar right through the hole until it slipped from his hand and fell with a splash into the water. A filthy smell came through the hole, but Wiley seemed scarcely to notice it.
He went quickly along the passage again and up the stone steps, moving very, very quietly as he had been accustomed to do when hunting as a young man in the West African jungle.
As Shaw followed Canasset along a centre aisle he flicked on his own lighter and peered into each vat-like cubicle as he passed.
Each and every one was empty — empty of everything save the filth and decay of years. Rats scurried ahead, their feet making a small clatter among loose bricks and stone and rubble. Reaching the end of the central alleyway, Shaw turned and came up another lane to the right. Still there was nothing out of the ordinary.
He had reached the pool of light again by the foot of the steps when he heard the scream. It was dim and faint, muffled as though it was coming from a long, long way off or from behind thick walls, but it was quite unmistakable. It was a woman’s scream, the high-pitched, terror-filled cry of a young girl.
Shaw stopped dead.
He reached out for Canasset’s shoulder, grasped it, and swung the man round savagely, his lips drawn back. In the overhead light from that single yellowed bulb the man’s face was dead white and he was trembling. Shaw’s teeth came together with a snap. He said, “That settles it, Canasset. You’ll take me to that girl now or I’ll give you something you won’t forget in a hurry. I won’t kill you, Canasset, because you’ll be needed alive. But I’ll damn near do so — I swear that!”
Canasset’s tongue came out and licked at his lips. Shaw was bringing his left fist back to smash the man’s face to a pulp when he caught the small sound away to his left, as though a foot had dislodged a piece of rubble, and at the same instant a voice came to him out of that blank, impenetrable darkness of the vats.
“Hold it, Commander!”
Shaw stiffened, heard Canasset’s gasp of relief.
“Please don’t move, Commander Shaw. I have a Luger in my hand and it’s lined up on your navel. I’ll split you like a piece of firewood if I have to. Throw that gun down. At once, please.”
“You come and get it.”
The voice came back like steel. “There is no time for foolery. You have three seconds precisely.”
Shaw, his face livid with anger, did as he was told.
“And the other man — quickly.”
Pelly’s gun clattered on the stone floor. Shaw snapped into the darkness, “Who are you?”
There was a laugh. “They call me Sam Wiley, Commander Shaw. Now, Mr Canasset, if you wouldn’t mind picking up those guns… thank you. And kindly stand back, away from the two men… that’s it, thank you again, Commander Shaw—”
Shaw rapped, “Why are you so certain you know who I am?”
The hidden man said, “You surely didn’t expect to remain invisible while you were going round the warehouse, did you? As it happens, just because you were on that Tube train the other night, I’ve gone to a good deal of trouble to find out more about you… but for now, there is no more time for talk. Listen. I am going to switch on a torch. You and the other man will walk singly and slowly towards it, with your hands above your heads. You first, Commander. Do you understand?”
Shaw nodded, his face stiff.
“Very well, raise your hands now… that’s right. Thank you.” A pocket-torch beamed out suddenly, slicing the vaults. “Now come towards me.”
As Shaw moved he heard Felly’s soft whisper. “Stand by, sir—--” Almost in the same instant he heard Pelly move, saw his arm stretch up, swift as lightning, and jerk the electric-light bulb downward. As the flex parted, Shaw threw himself sideways. A split-second later there was a bone-crunching sound and a loud cry from Canasset; Shaw guessed that Pelly had got him. The torch was out now, but there was no firing. Pelly whispered, “I’ve got the guns, sir. Here.”
Shaw felt his Webley being pushed into his hand; swiftly, he spun round and fired blind into the darkness. Then he threw himself to the floor and rolled hard to his left, but still there was no answering fire. Pelly whispered urgently, “What now, sir — fire again?”
“No — sit tight. He doesn’t know where we are and we don’t want to tell him unless we can be sure where he is first. We’ll sweat this out for a bit.”
He had barely finished when he heard a mocking laugh almost in his ear and then a pencil of bright light stabbed out into his face. Simultaneously there was a tiny whuff of air from close by, as though a plastic powdered-insecticide container had been discharged full into his face.
Something, some cloud of minute, stinging particles like pepper, shot into his eyes.
He dropped his gun, bit back the cry of pain, of shock, and tore at his eyelids. He couldn’t open them, a thousand bright lights danced, beat at his brain. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He stood up, lurching on his feet, scarcely knowing where he was. Near him, a sharp cry and an oath told him that Pelly had had the same treatment. A moment later his arms were seized roughly and twisted behind his back.