Miss Hazelstone surveyed the holes with satisfaction and went back into the bedroom. Then having fastened the Kommandant by his wrists to the head of the bed with the handcuffs he had noted in the chest of drawers, she walked quietly along the corridor. Five minutes later she had collected a small arsenal from the walls and had erected two formidable barricades which would stop any attempt to rush her long enough for her to start using the scatter gun and other assorted weapons she had piled outside the bedroom door. Finally and for good measure she dragged several mattresses and a chaise longue down the passage and built herself a bullet-proof barricade.
When she had finished, she surveyed her handiwork and smiled. ‘I don’t think we’re likely to be disturbed just yet, Toby,’ she said to the Dobermann which had climbed on to the chaise longue, and patting the dog on the head she went into the bedroom and began to undress Kommandant van Heerden.
11
Downstairs Konstabel Els was having a heated argument with Sergeant de Kock.
‘I tell you,’ he kept shouting, ‘I’m no more like a flaming bishop than—’
‘Than he is?’ suggested the Sergeant, pointing at the manacled figure of Jonathan. ‘He doesn’t look like a bishop either.’
Konstabel Els had to admit that this was true. ‘I don’t care. I’m still not going to walk down the drive dressed up in his clothes. She’d spot me a mile off.’
‘So what? She’s only an old woman. She couldn’t shoot straight if she tried,’ said the Sergeant.
‘Are you mad?’ Els shouted. ‘I’ve seen what that old bird can do with a gun. Why, she blew that Zulu cook of hers to pieces without batting an eyelid. I should know. I had to pick the bugger up.’
‘Listen to me, Els,’ said the Sergeant, ‘she won’t have time to take a pot shot at you. She’ll go to the window to have a look and—’
‘And the next moment I’ll be scattered in little bits over half the fucking Park. No thank you. If anyone has to pick the bits up afterwards, I’ll pick up yours. I’ve had more experience.’
‘If you would let me finish,’ said the Sergeant. ‘As soon as she goes to the window, we’ll rush her down the passage. She won’t have time to take a shot at you.’
‘In that case, why not make him walk down the drive?’ asked Els. ‘I’ll keep him covered, and as soon as you’ve got his sister, we’ll take him in again.’
Sergeant de Kock wasn’t to be persuaded. ‘That sod’s killed twenty-one men already. I wouldn’t let him out of those handcuffs if you paid me,’ he said.
Konstabel Els had an answer to that one, but he decided not to use it.
‘What’s going to be happening to the Kommandant while all this is going on?’ he asked. ‘She’ll kill him for sure.’
‘Good riddance,’ said the Sergeant. ‘He got himself into her clutches, let him get himself out.’
‘In that case, why don’t we just sit tight and starve the old bag out?’
Sergeant de Kock smiled. ‘The Kommandant will be pleased when he hears you wanted to let her knock him off. Now then, stop messing about and get into his clothes.’
Konstabel Els realized his mistake. Without Kommandant van Heerden’s incompetence he was likely to have to answer a charge of killing twenty-one fellow officers. Els decided he had better see to it that the old man didn’t get killed after all. He didn’t want an efficient officer taking his place. He started to put on the Bishop’s clothes.
Upstairs Miss Hazelstone had been having almost as much difficulty getting Kommandant van Heerden out of his clothes as the Sergeant was in getting Els to put on the Bishop’s. It wasn’t that he put up any resistance, but his bulk and unconscious lack of cooperation hardly helped. When he was finally naked, she went to the wardrobe and picked out a pink rubber nightdress with a matching hood and squeezed him into them. She was just putting the finishing touches to her own ensemble when she heard a movement on the bed. Kommandant van Heerden was coming round.
In the days to come the Kommandant was wont to say that it was this fresh and horrifying experience which had led to the trouble with his heart. As he regained consciousness, the first thought to enter the disordered labyrinth of his mind was that he would never touch a drop again. Nothing less than a bottle of Old Rhino Skin could account for the pain in his head and the horrible sensation of something hot and sticky and tight adhering to his face. It was even worse when he opened his eyes. He had evidently gone down with the DTs or perhaps the fever he had suspected in the night had finally struck him down delirious. He shut his eyes and tried to work out what was wrong. His arms appeared to be tied to something above his head and his body dressed in something very tight and elastic. He tried to open his mouth to speak but some horrible stuff prevented a sound coming out. Unable to move or to speak he lifted his head and peered at the apparition that sat down on the bed beside him.
It appeared to be an elderly man with unspeakable feminine characteristics and it was dressed in a double-breasted suit of salmon-pink rubber with a yellow pin-stripe. As if that wasn’t bad enough it had on a shirt of off-white latex and a mauve rubber tie complete with polka dots. For a moment the Kommandant gaped at the creature and was horrified to see it leer at him. The Kommandant shut his eyes and tried to conjure the apparition away by thinking about the pain in his head, but when he opened them again it was still there, leering for all it was worth. Kommandant van Heerden couldn’t remember when last he had been leered at by an elderly gent but he knew that it must have been a long time since, and certainly when and if it had last happened, it had not produced anything like the degree of aversion be felt now. He was shutting his eyes for the second time when he opened them again hurriedly and in horror. A hand had settled gently on his knee and was beginning to tickle his thigh. In his revulsion from its touch the Kommandant jerked his legs into the air and for the first time caught a glimpse of what he was wearing and realized what he was not. He was wearing a pink rubber nightdress with frills along the bottom. The Kommandant shuddered and, aware that he had left himself open by his seizure to whatever depredations the ghastly old man had in mind, he straightened his legs abruptly and vowed that no temptation would make him open them again. The apparition continued to leer and to tickle, and the Kommandant turned his head hurriedly away from the leer and faced the wall.
Directly in front of his face was a small table and on it lay something which made the leer seem preferable if not actually alluring, and which forced the Kommandant into an attempt to scream. He opened his mouth, but nothing like a scream came out. Instead he sucked in a mouthful of thin rubber which immediately popped out again and left him gasping and he was just recovering from the attempt when a growl from the passage attracted the old man’s attention. He rose from the bed, picked up a gun and went to the door.
Kommandant van Heerden seized the opportunity to try to break loose from the bed. He bounced and thrashed, oblivious of the pain in his head, and as he thrashed he saw the barrel of the gun point round the door at him. In the face of its menace he lay still and tried to forget what he had seen lying ready for use on the table by the bed. It was a hypodermic syringe and an ampoule marked ‘Novocaine’.
The difficulties which from the word go had been attendant on getting Konstabel Els into the Bishop’s clothes had not been lessened by the discovery that they were not quite his size. The jacket was still the greatcoat it had been the night before, and the trousers made him look like a seal. They made his plan to run down the drive utterly impracticable. It was not a plan he had mentioned to the Sergeant who, he felt, would take it amiss, but now that he had flippers where his boots should have been, running was definitely out. At this rate he would be lucky to waddle let alone run, and Els who had once been privileged to shoot a Kaffir with a wooden leg knew that waddling targets were as good as dead ones. It was at this point that Els had his second attack of rabies.
It was as ineffectual as his first, and after he had got himself severely kicked for biting Sergeant de
Kock in the ankle, and had loosened several teeth by champing on a wrought-iron table leg he had mistaken for wood, he gave up the attempt at deception and was shepherded outside to begin his imitation of a bishop.
‘Do it half as well as you do a dog with rabies and they’ll make you an archbishop, Els,’ said the Sergeant giving him a shove which sent him on his way. As the Sergeant and his men climbed stealthily to the top of the stairs, Els flapped off miserably on what he knew was to be his last walk. His hat was too large for him and made it difficult to see where he was going and when he did try to run he only succeeded in falling flat on his face. He gave up the attempt as more likely to lead to dire consequences than the waddle. Behind him he heard a konstabel snigger. Els felt aggrieved. He knew that he must look like a large black duck. He was certain he would soon be a dead one.
Warned by the Dobermann’s growl Miss Hazelstone peered down the corridor and listened to the boots creaking on the stairs. Behind her the Kommandant, evidently in ecstasy at the thought of the pleasures that lay ahead of him, thrashed wildly on the bed. She pointed the gun round the door at him and the anticipatory wriggles ceased abruptly. A voice from the stairs shouted, ‘He’s on his way. The Bishop is going down the drive now.’
‘I’ll just go and have a look,’ Miss Hazelstone shouted back, and stayed where she was.
It was doubtful who was most astonished by what followed. Certainly Sergeant de Kock was amazed to find himself in the land of the living after Miss Hazelstone had fired her first volley as the assault force tried to breast her first barricade. He wasn’t to know that she had fired high less to avoid casualties than to preserve her defences. This time sixty-four large holes appeared in the ceiling and the corridor was filled with a fine fog of powdered plaster. Under cover of this smokescreen the Sergeant and his men fell back thankfully and gathered among the potted plants in the hall.
Miss Hazelstone on the other hand surveyed her handiwork for a moment with satisfaction, and then went back to the bedroom window to watch whatever it was that was trying to run up the drive.
That it was nothing like her brother was obvious at first glance. With the enormous hat wedged down over his ears preventing him from seeing where he was heading and with the trouser bottoms splaying out behind him with each step he took, Els hopped across the Park. Miss Hazelstone burst out laughing and hearing the laughter Konstabel Els redoubled his efforts to win the sack race. As Miss Hazelstone fired, he fell on his face involuntarily. He need not have bothered. Miss Hazelstone was laughing too much to aim straight. Her bullets crashed through the leaves of a tree some distance from him and merely wounded a large and well-fed vulture that had been digesting its breakfast there. As it fluttered to the ground near him and belched, Konstabel Els lying helpless on the grass looked at it speculatively. He could see nothing in the world to laugh at.
Kommandant van Heerden felt the same way about the laughter. It bore too many of the hallmarks of the expert in refined living to leave him in any doubt who the creature in the salmon-pink suit was. Nobody else of his acquaintance laughed like that, shot like that or had such a marked propensity for administering intramuscular injections of novocaine.
Miss Hazelstone returned to her seat on the bed and picked up the hypodermic. ‘You won’t feel anything,’ she said inserting the ampoule. ‘Not a thing.’
‘I know I won’t,’ shouted the Kommandant inside the rubber hood. ‘That’s what’s bothering me,’ but Miss Hazelstone didn’t hear him. The grunts and muffled screams that came out of the hood were quite indistinguishable as words.
‘Just a little prick to begin with,’ said Miss Hazelstone soothingly. She lifted the skirt of his nightdress and the Kommandant tried to make it even smaller. Eyeing the needle he found was the best way of maintaining his flaccidity, and he concentrated on it with grim determination.
‘You’ll have to do better than that,’ said Miss Hazelstone after a moment’s speculation and evidently thinking at cross purposes to the Kommandant.
Inside the hood the Kommandant continued his attempt to explain that he wasn’t afflicted with the same complaint as the Zulu cook.
‘It’s just the opposite with me,’ he yelled. ‘I take hours and hours.’
‘You are a shy man,’ said Miss Hazelstone, and thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps you would find a little whipping helpful. Some men do, you know,’ and she got up from the bed and rummaged in the wardrobe, emerging at last with a particularly horrid-looking riding crop.
‘No I wouldn’t,’ yelled the Kommandant. ‘I wouldn’t find it helpful at all.’
‘Yes or no?’ said Miss Hazelstone as the muffled cries subsided. ‘Nod for yes, shake your head for no.’
Kommandant van Heerden shook his head as hard as he could.
‘Not your cup of tea, eh?’ said Miss Hazelstone. ‘Well then, how about some nasty pictures.’ This time she fetched a folder from the wardrobe and the Kommandant found himself gazing fascinated at photographs that had evidently been taken by some lunatic with a taste for contortionists and dwarfs.
‘Take the disgusting things away,’ he yelled as she pressed an exceptionally perverse one on his attention.
‘You like that one, do you?’ Miss Hazelstone asked. ‘It’s a position Fivepence was particularly fond of. I’ll see if I can get you in the right position.’
‘No, I don’t,’ the Kommandant screamed. ‘I loathe it. It’s revolting.’ But before he could shake his head to indicate his desire not to have his back broken, Miss Hazelstone had seized the hood with one hand and one of his legs with the other, and was trying to bring them together. With a desperate heave he broke loose and sent her spinning across the room.
Out in the Park, Els had recovered his composure. Once he had established that he was not about to become part of the vulture’s daily intake of protein, Els decided that his impersonation of the Bishop had gone on long enough. He got up and hobbled to a tree and rid himself of the ridiculous trousers. Then clad in his vest and pants he returned to the house, and found Sergeant de Kock covered in white dust and suffering from shock.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ the Sergeant said. ‘She’s got barricades up and nothing will get past them.’
‘I know something that will,’ said Els. ‘Where’s that elephant gun?’
‘You’re not using that fucking thing,’ Sergeant de Kock told him. ‘You’ll bring the whole building down round our ears, and besides it’s evidence.’
‘What does it matter, so long as we get the old bag?’
‘Never mind about her, if you fire that gun inside the house, you’ll blow the end wall out and probably kill the Kommandant as well.’
Els sat back and thought. ‘All right,’ he said at last, ‘you let me have the machine-guns out of the Saracen turrets and I’ll fix her for sure.’
Sergeant de Kock was doubtful. ‘Go carefully, Els,’ he said, ‘and try not to shoot the Kommandant.’
‘I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything,’ said Els, and when the four Browning machine-guns had been taken out of the armoured cars, he silently stole up the stairs with them. He laid the four guns on a small coffee table pointing down the corridor and tied them down. Konstabel Els had learnt the value of overwhelming firepower up at the blockhouse and he was putting his experience of it to good use. True, the Brownings hadn’t anything like the power of the elephant gun, but what they lacked in calibre they made up for in rapid fire.
‘Five thousand rounds a minute pumped down the passage will make matchwood of all that furniture and mincemeat of the old girl,’ he thought happily, and went downstairs to collect more belts of ammunition. On his return he fastened a cord to the triggers of the guns and prepared his next move.
The Dobermann lying asleep on the chaise longue and dreaming of his battle with Els smelt the Konstabel coming. It had long entertained the hope that it would be able to renew the challenge Els had thrown down to it on the lawn and now it sensed that the chance had come. It stretch
ed lazily and dropped to the floor. With no warning growl and with a stealth and silence surpassing even that of the Konstabel it crept down the corridor and threaded its way through the barricades of furniture.
Miss Hazelstone had not been in the least put out by the Kommandant’s rejection of her attempts to get him into an interesting position. The very violence and strength of his effort had increased her admiration for him.
‘What a strong boy you are,’ she said picking herself up off the floor. ‘Quite the little judo expert,’ and for the next few minutes the Kommandant had to resist the manual encouragement to virility Miss Hazelstone seemed determined to administer. By dint of concentrating on Konstabel Els as a sexual object, the Kommandant even managed to maintain his lack of interest and finally Miss Hazelstone had to admit herself defeated.
‘One can see you’re no great shakes as a ladies’ man,’ she said to the Kommandant, and before he could expostulate with so much as a meaningless grunt that if she must dress as a man she couldn’t expect anything else, she had picked up the hypodermic again. ‘Perhaps an injection of novocaine will put lead in your pencil,’ she said. ‘You’ll probably feel like a new man afterwards.’
‘I feel like a new man now,’ the Kommandant shouted through the hood, squirming furiously, but Miss Hazelstone was too intent about her business to take any notice of his protests. As the needle approached the Kommandant shut his eyes and waited, already numb with terror for the jab and at that moment all hell broke loose on the landing. Miss Hazelstone dropped the syringe and seizing her gun made for the door. The sounds emanating from the passage indicated that some terrible and bestial encounter had just begun, and the Kommandant, stung into action by the hypodermic which Miss Hazelstone had dropped in her haste and which had landed like a dart in his groin and was leaking novocaine into some artery or other, made one last desperate attempt to escape. With a herculean effort he managed to reach the floor and dragging the bed behind him leapt out of the window.