When they had dried she put them on and called him back. He stopped halfway to the fire and offered to wait until she was dressed.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said. “First things first. Besides, I think we know each other well enough to forget propriety a little.”
“Of course, but if it bothers you...”
“It doesn’t.”
She noticed, though, how he avoided looking directly at her. She moved past him to the front of the cave. Later he called her back. He was dressed again, except for his trousers and socks. She put on her skirt and blouse and sat beside him and gazed into the fire. Like the sea, it exerted a definite hypnotic effect on her.
“Tired, Ellen?”
“A little. I don’t think I could sleep, though.”
“Why not try? I’ll keep watch.”
“Oh, I don’t—”
“Just lie down and relax, then. I won’t let you sleep long. Don’t worry. But it’ll be good for you to get a little rest.”
“How about you?”
“If I get sleepy, I’ll wake you and let you stand watch. Fair enough?”
“I guess so, but...”
“Go ahead.”
She stretched out on the hard ground, her eyes still fixed upon the fire. She let her mind wander, let her thoughts stray far and wide. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and sleep took her by surprise.
All at once he was shaking her awake. She tried to fight him off, tried to slip back under the protective cloak of sleep, but he wouldn’t let her. Then she opened her mouth to cry out but his hand fastened over it.
“Shhhh,” he cautioned. “They’re outside.”
Her eyes widened, and she clutched his arm in fear.
“About a dozen of them,” he said. “They have flashlights and guns. I haven’t seen any uniforms. They’re about a hundred yards away, spread out over the sides of the hills. I think it must be Farrell’s gang. The police wouldn’t have to be so silent about it. Are you feeling all right, Ellen?”
“I guess so. Are they going to...to find us?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you come up front and have a look? Maybe you’ll recognize them.”
She peered out from the cave’s entrance. At first she saw only shapes and lights, but then her eyes focused and she was able to make out the faces of the men. She recognized Farrell and Koenig and the thin man who had mugged her in London and tracked her in Cork. She was surprised how strangely calm she felt now. They had been running for so long, knowing only that their pursuers were at their backs. Now at least the crisis was approaching, and there was something comforting in the knowledge. They were in more danger now than they had ever been. But at least they did not have to run. At least they knew who was after them and where they were.
She crawled back into the rear of the cavern. “It’s Farrell and Koenig,” she whispered. “I recognized them. How do you suppose they found us?”
“They must have spotted the motorcycle.”
“But we walked for miles...”
He nodded. “And probably left a trail a yard wide,” he said. “Remember, they have lights. And we were in a hurry. I guess they didn’t have much trouble following us.”
“Do they know we’re in this cave?”
“I don’t think so. But they know we’re in one of the caves around here, and they’ll get to this one in a matter of time.” He was carefully scattering the campfire, beating out the little tongues of flame with his sweater. Then he picked up the gun.
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing yet. But we’re in a good position for defense. They can’t rush us, the cave’s mouth is too narrow. We may be able to hold out.”
“How many bullets do you have?”
“Half a dozen. But they don’t know that.”
“And when morning comes? When it’s light out?”
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes.”
He moved toward the mouth of the cave, and she followed after him. They crouched in the darkness, off to the side. She watched men moving cautiously, playing their powerful flashlights back and forth over the terrain. Koenig drew a revolver from a shoulder holster, pointed it off to the left. She steeled herself, and when the gunshot sounded she did not utter a sound. The shot was to scare them, she knew; Koenig hoped they would cry out at the noise, or shoot back, thus revealing themselves.
One man was headed their way. Ellen looked at him, trying to remember if she had seen him before. He looked familiar, but she could not be certain. He moved ever closer to the mouth of the cave, and his flashlight shone into the cavern, illuminating the dark walls.
He called out, “I think it’s this one!” A Scot, she guessed, by his accent. And he put one foot into the cave and swung his light their way, and David shot him in the throat.
Blood poured from the wound, a red river staining the cavern floor. David grabbed the dead man and pulled him inside. He snatched up the flashlight and tore an automatic pistol from the corpse’s grasp. Ellen pressed flat against the wall. Some shots rang out from the field. David snapped off a quick shot in return, and the men outside dropped behind cover.
“We’ve got a stalemate,” she heard David say softly. “They’ve got us bottled up and we can’t get out. But they can’t get in, either.”
“Now what happens?”
“We wait.”
For a long moment nothing at all happened. She stared at the dead man, saw the barren stare in his eyes, the pool of drying blood. He looked unreal, as if he had never been alive at all. She looked at him and thought of the dead sheep in the roadway.
They had two guns now, she thought. And the dead man had never fired his pistol, so it probably had a full load. How many shots did that mean? Six? Not all guns were six-shooters, she knew. She wanted to ask David how many bullets the gun held, but she did not want to break the silence, so she said nothing.
Perhaps six bullets. And David had fired twice, so that left four in the revolver.
Ten shots.
“David Clare!” It was Farrell, bellowing across the field, his voice shattering the silence of the night. “Good shooting, Clare!”
They said nothing.
“But do you always shoot that well? And how many shots do you have left?”
“Find out for yourself, Father.”
The false priest roared with laughter. “Come on out here,” he called. “Surrender and we’ll let you live. The whole thing’s shot now anyway, Clare. All I’m interested in is the film. Give us that and we’ll let you go.”
“Sure you will.”
“Why not? Killing bores me, Clare.”
David didn’t answer this time. She saw his hand tighten on the grip of the revolver, saw the lines of tension in his face.
“Clare! Our little girl thought you were the killer. Did she tell you?”
“She told me.”
“Funny, isn’t it? And now you’re going to die trying to save her. A girl who wouldn’t trust you an inch, and you’re going to die at her side.”
“We’re neither of us dead yet, Father.”
There was a pause. Then a volley of shots rang out, peppering the floor and the walls of the cave but none of them coming close to her or David. “They can’t get to us,” he told her. “They can waste bullets, but they can’t get to us.”
“Clare! You think you’re sitting pretty, don’t you?”
“I think so.”
“How long will you last without sleep? Or food? Or water?”
“We’ve got food and water. And we can last a long time without sleep, Father.”
“Brave talk. You can make a deal. Throw out the film.”
“You’re too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“We already burned it, Father. And the passport. So you might as well collect your boys and go home.”