The next few moments were a daze of shock, fear, and pain, in which, abandoning the attempt to call out or run for help, I cowered back against the pillows, trying, uselessly enough, to protect my face with my free hand. I'm not even sure if he hit me again. I think he did, but eventually when he saw that I was cowed and quiet he dropped the vicious grip on my arm and moved away from me, back to the foot of the bed.

I put both hands to my bruised face and tried to stop my body trembling.

"Look at me."

I didn't move.

His voice altered. "Look at me."

Slowly, as if by doing so I would tear away the skin from my cheeks, I pulled away my hands. I looked at him. He was standing now at the foot of the bed, just at the edge of the pool of light cast by the bedside lamp, but I knew that I was still well within reach of that lightning athlete's pounce of his; and even without that I couldn't have hoped to run out of range of the gun which he now held in his right hand.

The gun shifted fractionally. "You see this?"

I didn't speak. I was biting my lips together to stop them shaking, but he could see that I could see it.

He said: "You've just seen how much use it is to scream in a place like this. There are two doors to this room, and the walls are half a meter thick, I should think, and in any case there's only that boy here, isn't there, the other side of the corridor, and quite a long way away? He'll be sleeping like a baby . . . but if you did manage to wake him, madame, that would be too bad for him. Do you understand?"

I understood very well. This time I nodded.

"All right. .. and if you try to touch that telephone again it will also be too bad for you."

"What do you want?" I had meant it to sound furious, but my voice came out in a sort of thin whisper, and I cleared my throat and tried again. It still didn't sound like my own voice at all, and I saw him smile.

At the smile, some tiny seed of anger stirred somewhere inside me, sending a flickering thread of warmth through the cold and the fear.

"You were expecting someone, weren't you?" The smile grew. "Or do you welcome all comers to your room, madame?" He lounged against the foot of the bed, holding the pistol carelessly, his look at once contemptuous and appraising.

Deep inside me the little flame caught and began to burn. I said, and was pleased to hear how steady and cold my voice sounded: "You can see how much I welcomed you."

"Ah, yes, the virtuous lady. You thought the husband had managed to get here after all, yes?"

So the first remark had been no more than a thug's routine insult. He contrived in some way to make the second sound equally offensive, and I managed to wonder fleetingly why any normal woman hates to be called "virtuous." But this was no more than a pa.s.sing irony; with his mention of my husband, the immediate fears for myself had fled and I had begun to think.

The thug knew that Lewis had been due. He had discovered that Lewis was delayed. Therefore, apparently, he had broken into my room to tackle me alone. . . . Without knowing anything further, I accepted Sandor Balog at this point as the enemy in Lewis's shadowy a.s.signment, as the center of the circus "mystery." No doubt I should know soon enough if he had come to find out from me anything about Lewis. . . .

My heart was beating in my throat somewhere. I swallowed, and said, fairly creditably: "You didn't come here to be offensive. What did you come for? What is it to you when my husband is expected?"

"Nothing, my dear lady, except that perhaps I could not have come . . . like this ... if he had been here."

"How did you know he wasn't here? If it comes to that, how did you know he was expected? I didn't tell anyone at the circus."

A quick shrug of the broad shoulders. He still looked very much the circus athlete. He had, of course, changed from his performer's outfit, but he was still wearing black-tight dark trousers and a black leather jacket which looked as supple and sleek with muscle as the skin of a wild animal. "You don't imagine I would come up and break into a place like this without finding all about it first, do you? Some of the servants live in the village. They were at the performance, and it was easy to talk to them afterwards and find out who the guests were. In this part of the world it is not customary for hotels to lock their doors at night, and I imagined that, shorthanded as they were, there would be no night porter on duty ... at any rate, not all night. So there was nothing to do but walk in and look at the register to find your room number-and make sure that he had not come after all." That grin again. "So don't try to frighten me, will you, madame, by persuading me your husband's going to come in and catch me here. And even if he did"-a brief gesture with the gun- "I could deal with him as easily as with you, no?"

"No, you stupid animal," I thought, but I didn't say it. I tried not to show the immediate relief I was feeling. Whatever he had come for, it was not Lewis, and it was apparent that he had not identified Lewis with Lee Elliott. He could hardly have found that "Elliott" was expected, since I knew that Josef had only been told on his return from the circus, when the village contingent of servants had already left. So, though Balog didn't know it, Lewis was on his way, and, in place of the bewildered and frightened tourist he presumably imagined my husband to be, he would find himself tangling with a professional at least twice as tough as himself.

I said. "All right. You've made your point. You've frightened me and you've hurt me and you've made it very clear that I've got to do what you tell me. Supposing you tell me what it is? What have you come here for? What do you want?"

"The saddle," he said.

I stared at him. "The what?"

"The saddle. When I saw that brooch affair on you I neverguessed . . . but then Elemer told me about the horse, and said you'd brought the saddle up here too. Where is it?"

"I don't understand. What can you possibly want?"

"You're not asked to understand. Just answer me. Where did you put it?"

I kept my eyes on his face. Suddenly I thought I understood only too well, and it took all my self-control not to let them flicker towards the dressing-table drawer where, wrapped in a handkerchief, lay the little pile of "jewels" that I had cut off the harness tonight.

"It's in the stable, of course," I said in a tone of what I hoped was surprise. "Where else do you think?"

He made a quick movement of impatience, a slight gesture, but one containing so much suppressed violence that I felt myself flinch back against the pillows. "That's not true. I went there first, naturally. Do you think I'm a fool? One of the servants told me the old man still kept a place for horses here, so I went straight there to look. I saw you'd put the horse to graze on the hill, and I thought the tack would be in the stable, but there was no sign of it. Did you bring it up here to tamper with it? Where is it?"

"Why should I tamper with it? It is in the stable, it's in the corn bin."

"The corn bin? What sort of story's that? Don't lie to me, you little fool, or-"

"Why should I lie to you? All I want is to get you out of here as soon as possible. I don't know what you want with the saddle and I don't care, and I'm not stupid enough to fight you over it when it's quite obvious I can't win. It's perfectly true I put the thing in the corn bin. There are rats in that stable-I saw traces of them, and I didn't want the saddle left out and damaged in the night. In case you didn't know, corn bins are usually made of metal, simply to keep the rats away from the grain. You'll find the saddle in the bin beside the door to the coach house." I had been holding the bedclothes up above my breast, and now I pulled them closer round me with what I hoped was a gesture of dismissive dignity. "And now will you please get the h.e.l.l out of here?"

But he didn't move. There was the now familiar gesture with the pistol. "Get up and get dressed."

"What?"

"You heard me. Hurry up."

"Why should I? What are you talking about? What are you going to do?"

"You're coming with me."

I was still clutching the bedclothes tightly under my chin, but I could feel the dignity slipping from me. I felt myself begin to tremble again. "But I-I've told you the truth. What reason would I have to lie? I tell you, you'll find the thing in the corn bin. Why can't you just go down there and take it and go away?"

Again that impatient movement that was a threat. "Do you think I'm going to walk out and leave you here to raise the place? Now come along, don't argue with me. Do as I say and get out of that bed." He gestured with the gun again towards the side of the bed away from the telephone and away from the door.

There seemed to be nothing for it. Slowly I pushed back the bedclothes and got out onto the floor. My nightdress was double nylon, but I felt naked. I remember that the feeling was not so much one of shame as of sheer helplessness, the feeling that must have driven the first naked man to fashion weapons for himself. It is possible that if it had been I who held the gun I should have felt fully clothed.

I picked up my clothes. "I'll dress in the bathroom."

"You'll dress here."

"But I wouldn't be able to-"

"d.a.m.n you, don't argue. Get dressed. I'm in a hurry."

Despising myself for the pleading note in my voice, I said: "All right, if you'll please look the other way-"

"Don't be a fool. I'm not going to rape you. All women are the same, they think you've got nothing else to think about. Now get on with it and hurry up."

I did the best I could on the principle that what we don't see isn't there. I turned my back on him, so I couldn't see whether he watched me or not, but I knew that he did. If he had moved I'm not sure what I would have done, pistol or no pistol. But he didn't stir. He stood stone still, about three yards from me, and I could feel his eyes all over me as I got clumsily, fumblingly into my clothes and tried to fasten them with shaking fingers. I didn't put on the dress I had worn for dinner; he let me take slacks and sweater and an anorak from the wardrobe. I dragged the things on and zipped them up. The warm hug of the woollen clothing was marvellously comforting, and as I pulled on my shoes I was brave enough to tackle him again.

"And when you've got the saddle, what then?"

"Then we shall see."

I stood up. My physical fear of him had been so immediate and overpowering that I had not been able to think clearly about the situation, but now, sharply faced with the prospect of leaving the lighted room that belonged to me and going out with this brutal thug into the dark, my mind had begun to race, ticking the facts up and adding them as neatly as a cash register.

The stallion's saddle, covered with "jewels": Sandor's solicitude for that saddle (I had been right in thinking he was not the type to run errands for Annalisa): the talk of "loose st.i.tching," yes, and the brooch which had hung loosely, and which Elemer had pulled off for me: Sandor's eye on it... he had presumably tackled Elemer immediately, only to hear that the whole harness, jewels and all, had gone up to the Schloss Zechstein. And now, Sandor asking me if I had "tampered with it." Yes, it all came together, with the other facts which (as yet) he didn't know-the Count's interest in my brooch and the portrait of the Countess Maria wearing a sapphire that was in the museum at Munich. . . .

Or was it? If Sandor Balog had, indeed, managed a theft of this magnitude where better could he hide such jewels than among the tawdry glitter of the normal circus trappings? If-as seemed more likely-he was just a courier for the thieves, how better to get them out of the country?

So my innocent interest in the horse had pushed me firmly -and right against Lewis's orders-into the middle of this dangerous affair.

And that it was dangerous there could be no manner of doubt. If Sandor had taken my word for it and gone down again to the stable, I could have made my way to the servants' wing for help before he found that the jewels had gone and came back to get them-and me. But he was taking me with him; I should be in the stable with him-alone with him- when he took the saddle out from the bin and found it stripped of its treasure.

One more thing was certain: for Sandor there was a great deal at stake. Tonight he had shown how ruthless he could be, and I had no doubt that he was prepared to be worse than that. This, I was sure, was a man easily capable of murder.

Murder . . . On the thought, the last of the facts fell into place: the burnt-out wagon and the dying words of Franzl the horsekeeper; the insistent mumble (misinterpreted by Lewis and Annalisa) about "Neapolitano Petra's saddle." Franzl might (as Annalisa had imagined) have been trying to confess the theft of the horse; but the insistence on something as trivial as the saddle implied that, in the moment of dying, he had forgotten that the horse's name meant nothing to them and was trying desperately to pa.s.s on the discovery for which he had been murdered, and Paul Denver with him. It seemed that the Piebald story had, after all, held a hotter clue than we had dreamed of, to Lewis's "mystery."

And what had been worth two deaths to Sandor Balog then might be worth another now.

Well, no jewels were worth a death. And every minute of delay brought Lewis closer. I said quickly: "Just a minute. This saddle you're taking so much trouble for. I know why you want it."

That stopped him. "What do you know?"

"I know about the jewels you've stolen. That brooch that Elemer gave me that came off the saddle, that was one of them, wasn't it?" I would have liked to startle him further by telling him that I had recognized the jewels, but I had no wish to endanger the old Count by hinting that he had known the brooch. Nor was I going to risk my own neck by knowing too much about Franzl. I went on rapidly: "You gave it away when you tackled me tonight outside Annalisa's wagon; why should you care what happens to a piece of gla.s.s off a saddle? And now coming up here after it, it's obvious, I'd be a fool if I didn't see.

Well, it's nothing to do with me, they're not my jewels, and I'm certainly not going to risk anything for them. If you do drag me down to that stable now and I show you the saddle, it won't do you much good.

You don't think I wanted to take that saddle all covered with circus stuff, do you? I took the jewels off."

"Jewels," he said. "Jewels. You took the jewels off the saddle?"

"Yes, I did. I offered to put them in a box and send them back to Annalisa at Innsbruck but she said she didn't want them. You can take them, as far as I'm concerned, you can take the lot. Only just get out of this room and leave me alone. You'll be across the frontier in a few hours, so why should you worry, just go away now and take them with you."

He was still staring as if I had taken leave of my senses. Then I saw the flicker of calculation behind the narrow dark eyes and acted quickly, concerned not to let him begin thinking. If I could satisfy him by giving him the jewels, hustle him somehow out of the room, get that ma.s.sive door locked on him . . . He might imagine himself safe, ready to cross the border within a matter of hours, with only me and Timothy -foreigners, and comparatively helpless-knowing something about him. It wasn't much of a hope, but it was all there was. It surprised me, in the fleeting moment I had to be surprised, that Lewis and the weight of his Service should be after a crime of this nature, but if this was indeed Lewis's quarry I wasn't fool enough to think that I could deal with him. I knew what Lewis himself would want me to do: stay safe, wait for him, and then help him to lock himself on to Sandor's wake.

I swung quickly round to the dressing-table, dragged open a drawer, and lifted out the glittering pile of stones which lay bundled in a clean handkerchief. I hoped he wouldn't notice that the sapphire brooch wasn't there.

For the first time I approached him of my own will and, ignoring the pistol, thrust the bundle at him. "Here you are. This was what was on the saddle. Now get out, and I hope it chokes you."

He made no move to take them. Then suddenly he laughed. It was the sound of quite spontaneous amus.e.m.e.nt.

I said, disconcerted: "What's the matter? Why don't you take them?"

He said contemptuously: "Jewels? Those are jewels only fit for a horse. Or perhaps a woman. Now don't waste my time."

Then, as I stood with the things still cupped in my hands, gaping at him, he reached one of those narrow calloused hands and scooped three or four of the stones from the bundle. He rolled them in his palm, so that they glittered and shone in the lamplight, green and red and something topaz yellow. He laughed again.

"An emerald, and a ruby, and-what, a yellow diamond? Oh yes, they are very fine, these crown jewels of yours." Then suddenly the smile was gone and that white-toothed animal look was back. "These are gla.s.s. Fool. Do you think I would waste my time over such things as these? Even if they were real, what kind of market would there be for these things in my country? People over there don't want jewels, they want dreams, yes, dreams . . . beautiful dreams for the d.a.m.ned. . . . You can always sell dreams." With a flick of the wrist he sent the stones flying. I heard them hit the floor and roll away behind the window curtain.

I said: "You're crazy."

"Perhaps. And now we go."

I backed away as far as I could and came up against the dressing table. "And if I refuse?" My voice was breathless. "You really think you could get away with shooting me?"

"Oh, this." His glance down at the gun was almost casual. "I should not shoot you. That was just to frighten you." A twist of those strong fingers and the gun was reversed in his hand. "I should hit you with it, see, knock you out, and then ..." A gesture towards the window. "It's a long drop, I believe." He smiled at me. "The only reason I don't do it now is because I still want that saddle, and I don't trust you, my pretty lady."

He had moved over to the door while he spoke, and his hand was on the k.n.o.b, ready to ease it open.

He slanted his head, listening. Then the narrow black eyes glinted at me and he said softly: "Now, tidy the bed and pick up your nightdress. Don't go near the telephone. . . . That's right. And pick up those jewels.

We want the room to look as though you'd dressed and gone out of your own free will, don't we?"

I obeyed him; there seemed nothing else to do. After watching me for a moment he pulled the door open quietly and now was half through it, listening intently for any sound in the corridor. I could hear nothing. I stooped to pick up the red stone. The other two had rolled beyond the heavy curtains which masked the turret embrasure. For the moment, satisfied with my obedience, he wasn't watching me; all his attention was on the silent s.p.a.ces of the corridor. My shoes were light and made no sound on the carpet. I reached casually through the curtains as if to pick up the other fallen stones. . . .

He didn't turn. As silently as I could I slid between the curtains into the dark embrasure, and then like a flash I was fumbling at the catch of the little door that gave on the battlements.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

. . . Blinkin' in the lift sae hie.

robert burns: Willie Brewed a Peck o' Maut

It opened without a sound and I slipped out. I could hardly hope to have more than a few seconds'

start-in fact, I think I hardly even hoped to escape this way, but my flight had been purely instinctive.

There was nowhere else to go.

If I could get the key silently from the lock and relock the door again on the outside, I could not imagine that he would risk making the noise necessary to force it or shoot it open. I had no idea what the time was, but if he had come up after the second house was over, most of the circus would be already on its way. He might well cut his losses, gamble on my having spoken the truth, go down for the saddle, and hurry away with all speed.

But I didn't have time to put this lightning theory to the test. Even as I grasped the key to pull it from the lock he realized what I was doing. I heard a quick exclamation from the room beyond the curtain and the creak of the floor as he started after me.