Le Grand Duc gave him a long, thoughtful stare then turned to Czerda. ‘This would be only a minor detour on our way to Port le Bouc?’
‘Another twenty minutes. No more.’ He nodded towards Bowman. ‘The canal here is deep. Do we need him along, sir?’
‘Only,’ Le Grand Duc said ominously, ‘until we discover whether he’s telling the truth or not.’
Night had fallen when Czerda pulled up in the lay-by at the head of the Valley of Hell. Le Grand Duc, who, along with El Brocador, had been Czerda’s passenger in the front of the towing truck, got out, stretched himself and said: ‘The ladies we will leave here. Masaine will stay behind to guard them. All the others will come with us.’
Czerda looked his puzzlement. ‘We require so many?’
‘I have my purpose.’ Le Grand Duc was at his most enigmatic. ‘Do you question my judgement?’
‘Now? Never!’
‘Very well, then.’
Moments later a large group of people was moving through the terrifying vastness of the tomb-like caves. There were eleven of them in all – Czerda, Ferenc, Searl, El Brocador, the three scientists, the two girls, Bowman and Le Grand Duc. Several carried torches, their beams reflecting weirdly, whitely, off the great limestone walls. Czerda led the way, briskly, confidently, until he came to a cavern where a broken landfall led up to the vague outline of a starlit sky above. He advanced to the jumbled base of the landfall and stopped.
‘This is the place,’ he said.
Le Grand Duc probed with his torch. ‘You are sure?’
‘I am certain.’ Czerda directed his torch towards a mound of stones and rubble. ‘Incredible, is it not? Those idiots of police haven’t even found him yet!’
Le Grand Duc directed his own torch at the mound. ‘You mean – ’
‘Alexandre. This is where we buried him.’
‘Alexandre is of no concern any more.’ Le Grand Duc turned to Bowman. ‘The money, if you please.’
‘Ah, yes. The money.’ Bowman shrugged and smiled. ‘This is the end of the road, I’m afraid. There is no money.’
‘What!’ Le Grand Duc advanced and thrust the barrel of his gun into Bowman’s ribs. ‘No money?’
‘It’s there, all right. In a bank. In Aries.’
‘You fooled us?’ Czerda said incredulously. ‘You brought us all this way – ’
‘Yes.’
‘You bought your life for two hours?’
‘For a man under sentence of death two hours can be a very long time.’ Bowman smiled, looked at Cecile, then turned back to Czerda. ‘But also a very short time.’
‘You bought your life for two hours!’ Czerda seemed more astonished at this fact than he was concerned by the loss of the money.
‘Put it that way.’
Czerda brought up his gun. Le Grand Duc stepped forward, seized Czerda’s wrist and pressed his gun-hand down. He said in a low, harsh, bitter voice: ‘My privilege.’
‘Sir.’
Le Grand Duc pointed his gun at Bowman, then jerked it to the right. For a moment Bowman seemed to hesitate, then shrugged. They moved away together, Le Grand Duc’s gun close to Bowman’s back, round a right-angled corner into another cavern. After a few moments the sound of a shot reverberated through the caverns, its echoes followed by the thud as of a falling body. The scientists looked stunned, a complete and final despair written in their faces. Czerda and his three companions looked at one another in grim satisfaction. Cecile and Lila clung to each other, both, in the reflected wash of torchlight, ashen-faced and in tears. Then all heard the measured tread of returning footsteps and stared at the right-angled corner where the two men had disappeared.
Le Grand Duc and Bowman came into view at the same instant. Both of them carried guns, rock-steady in their hands.
‘Don’t,’ Bowman said.
Le Grand Duc nodded. ‘As my friend observes, please, please, don’t.’
But after a moment of total disbelief, Ferenc and Searl did. There were two sharp reports, two screams and the sound, sharply metallic, of two guns striking the limestone floor. Ferenc and Searl stood in stupefied agony, clutching shattered shoulders. The second time, Bowman reflected, that Searl had been wounded in that shoulder but he could bring himself to feel no pity for he knew now that it had been Searl who had used the whip to flay the skin from Tina’s back.
Bowman said: ‘Some people take a long time to learn.’
‘Incorrect, Neil. Some people never learn.’ Le Grand Duc looked at Czerda, the expression on his face indicating that he would have preferred to be looking elsewhere. ‘We had nothing against you, from a judicial point of view, that is. Not a shred of proof, not a shred of evidence. Not until you, personally and alone, led us to Alexandre’s grave and admitted to the fact that you had buried him. In front of all those witnesses. Now you know why Mr Bowman bought his life for two hours.’ He turned to Bowman. ‘Incidentally, where is the money, Neil?’
‘In Cecile’s handbag. I just kind of put it there.’
The two girls advanced, slowly, uncertainly. There were no longer any signs of tears but they were totally uncomprehending. Bowman pocketed his gun, went to them and put his arms round the shoulders of both.
‘It’s all right, now,’ he said. ‘It’s all over, it really is.’ He lifted his hand from Lila’s shoulders, pressed her cheek with his fingertips till she turned to look at him in dazed enquiry. He smiled. ‘The Duc de Croytor is indeed the Duc de Croytor. My boss, these many years.’
EPILOGUE
Beneath the frowning cliffs of Les Baux, the Baumanière slept peacefully in the light of a yellow moon. Bowman, sitting on a chair and sipping a drink, lifted an eyebrow as Cecile emerged from a room, tripped and almost fell over an extension cord. She recovered herself and sat beside him.
‘Twentyfour hours,’ she said. ‘Only twenty-four hours. I just can’t believe it.’
‘You want to get yourself a pair of spectacles,’ Bowman observed.
‘I have a pair of spectacles, thank you.’
‘Then you want to wear them.’ Bowman put a kindly hand on hers. ‘After all, you’ve got your man now.’
‘Oh, do be quiet.’ She made no attempt to remove her hand. ‘How’s that young girl?’
‘Tina’s in hospital, in Arles. She’ll be around in a couple of days. Her father and Madame Zigair are there with her now. The Hobenauts and Tangevecs are having dinner inside. Not a very festive occasion, I should imagine, but I would say they must be experiencing a certain sense of relief, wouldn’t you? And Pierre des Jardins, by this time, must be home in Le Grau du Roi.’
‘I can’t believe it.’ Bowman peered at her, then realized that she had been only half listening to him and was now on another topic altogether. ‘He – he’s your boss?’
‘Charles? He is indeed. Nobody believes anything about Charles. I’m ex-Army Intelligence, ex-military attaché in Paris. I’ve got another job now.’
‘I’ll bet you have,’ she said feelingly.
‘The only other person who knows anything about this is Pierre, the fishing-boat skipper. That’s why he maintained such a marvellous sang-froid. He’s sworn to secrecy. So are you.’
‘I don’t know if I like that.’
‘You’ll do what you’re told. Charles, I can assure you, is much higher up the pecking order than I am. We’ve been together for eight years. For the last two years we’ve known that Iron Curtain gypsies have been smuggling things across the frontier. What, we didn’t know. This time, of all people, the Russians tipped us off – but even they didn’t know what was really happening.’
‘But this Gaiuse Strome – ’
‘Our Chinese pal in Arles and elsewhere? Temporarily held by the French police. He was getting too close to things and Charles had him copped on a technicality. They’ll have to let him go. Diplomatic immunity. He arranged it all – he’s the Chinese military attaché in Tirhana.’
‘Tirhana?’
‘Albania.’
br /> She reached into her handbag, brought out her glasses, looked at him closely and said: ‘But we were told – ’
‘We?’
‘Lila and myself, we’re secretaries in the Admiralty. To keep an eye on you. We were told that one of you was under suspicion – ’
‘I’m sorry. Charles and I arranged that. There we were, a goodie and a baddie. We could never be seen together. We had to have a channel of communication. Girl-friends chatter. Girls get on the phone to their bosses back home. We had the channel.’
‘You fixed all this?’ She withdrew her hand. ‘You knew – ’
‘I’m sorry. We had to do it.’
‘You mean – ’
‘Yes.’
‘Strawberry birthmark – ’
‘Sorry again.’ Bowman shook his head admiringly. ‘But I must say it was the most complete dossier I’ve ever seen.’
‘I despise you! I detest you! You’re the most utterly contemptible – ’
‘Yes, I know, and I’m not worried. What does worry me is that so far we’ve only managed to fix up two bridesmaids and I said – ’
‘Two,’ she said firmly, ‘will be quite enough.’
Bowman smiled, rose, offered her his hand and together they walked arm in arm to the balustrade and looked down. Almost directly beneath them were the Duc de Croytor and Lila, seated at, inevitably, a loaded table. It was apparent that Le Grand Duc was under a very considerable emotional strain for despite the fact that he held a papersheathed leg of lamb in his hand he was not eating.
‘Good God!’ he was saying. ‘Good God!’ He peered at his blonde companion’s lovely face from a distance of about six inches. ‘I turn pale at the very thought. I might have lost you forever. I never knew!’
‘Charles!’
‘You are a Cordon Bleu cook?’
‘Yes, Charles.’
‘Brochettes de queues de langoustines au beurre blanc?’
‘Yes, Charles.’
‘Poulet de la ferme au champagne?’
‘Yes, Charles.’
‘Filets de sole Retival?’
‘But of course.’
‘Pintadeau aux morilles?’
‘My speciality.’
‘Lila. I love you. Marry me!’
‘Oh, Charles!’
They embraced in front of the astonished eyes of the other guests. Symbolically, perhaps, Le Grand Duc’s leg of lamb fell to the floor.
Still arm in arm, Bowman led Cecile down to the patio. Bowman said: ‘Don’t be fooled by Romeo down there. He doesn’t give a damn about the cuisine. Not where your friend is concerned.’
‘The big bold baron is a little shy boy inside?’
Bowman nodded. ‘The making of old-fashioned proposals is not exactly his forte.’
‘Whereas it is yours?’
Bowman ushered her to a table and ordered his drinks. ‘I don’t quite understand.’
‘A girl likes to be asked to marry,’ she said.
‘Ah! Cecile Dubois, will you marry me?’
‘I may as well, I suppose.’
‘Touché!’ He lifted his glass. ‘To Cecile.’
‘Thank you, kind sir.’
‘Not you. Our second-born.’
They smiled at each other, then turned to look at the couple at the next table. Le Grand Duc and Lila were still gazing rapturously into each other’s eyes, but Le Grand Duc, nevertheless, was back on balance again. Imperiously, he clapped his hands together.
‘Encore!’ said Le Grand Duc.
Alistair MacLean, Caravan to Vaccares
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