that passed me at the end of the street?’
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘He’s gone to the newsagents along the road for the morning paper. He’ll be back for breakfast before he leaves.’ And then her eyes widened and her voice changed. ‘You’re Martin Fallon.’
He turned without answering and ran down the steps along the path out into the street. He turned the corner and stared into the grey morning, but there was no sign of Stuart returning. He began to run along the pavement, his lungs labouring for breath, his feet slipping on the wet flagstones. He was thinking of Philip Stuart driving his car casually along in the quiet morning, while underneath him his exhaust pipe grew steadily hotter. Five minutes, Fallon thought, that’s all it takes. He stumbled and fell flat on his face, grazing his right arm badly. For a moment he lay there and then he pushed himself to his feet and ran on. Jesus Christ, what a bloody mess! he thought, and then he saw the black saloon coming towards him out of the rain.
He staggered into the road, arms outstretched and the car skidded to a halt a bare two feet away from him. He caught a glimpse of Stuart’s startled face through the windscreen and then he was alongside the car, wrenching open the door and grabbing at him. ‘Martin!’ Stuart cried in amazement. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Fallon dragged him bodily out of the car so that he slipped and fell into the road on his knees. ‘Bomb!’ he managed to gasp as his lungs fought for air. ‘Bomb under car. Let’s get out of here.’
He turned and ran for the far side of the road, Stuart at his heels, and then there was a tremendous explosion and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large piece of metal flying through the air. He flung himself face down on the pavement and huddled there, his head buried in his arms. As the echoes of the explosion died flatly away on the morning air, there was a tremendous rushing sound and a further small explosion as the petrol went up.
He lifted his head and breathed deeply. Stuart was lying slightly behind him. Fallon got to his knees and said, ‘You all right, Phil?’
Stuart struggled to one knee. There was an expression of bewilderment on his face. ‘Martin,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand. What’s going on?’
Fallon opened his mouth to answer him and then there was the roar of engines and two patrol cars came along the street fast and skidded to a halt with a squeal of brakes. Fallon laughed bitterly. Mrs. Stuart hadn’t wasted any time. ‘Tell your wife she did a good job,’ he said hastily to the astonished Stuart and started to run along the pavement.
He cut diagonally across the road, dodged past one car and took to his heels. He had only gone a few yards when another car turned out of a side street in front of him and slewed across the road. Behind him Stuart called, loud and clear, ‘Martin, don’t be a fool!’
Fallon slowed as three constables piled out of the car in front and came towards him. Despair and a furious anger rose in his throat. Before him on the pavement there was a twisted piece of metal from the car. It was the only available weapon. He picked it up and turned and ran, crouching, back towards Stuart and the other two cars. He heard a voice shout. ‘Look out! He’s got a gun!’ and then Stuart’s terrible cry. ‘No – don’t shoot!’
That was the last thing he heard because there was the sudden, flat report of a revolver and something kicked him violently in the chest. He was lying on the pavement, his head pillowed against the wet flagstones, and there was a confused murmur of voices and a forest of legs surrounding him. A face came close to his and a voice sounded from a very long way off, and then the face disappeared into a whirlpool of coloured lights and he plunged into darkness.
CHAPTER SIX
T HERE was a light that came very close and went away again. It did this several times. Fallon found it extremely
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘He’s gone to the newsagents along the road for the morning paper. He’ll be back for breakfast before he leaves.’ And then her eyes widened and her voice changed. ‘You’re Martin Fallon.’
He turned without answering and ran down the steps along the path out into the street. He turned the corner and stared into the grey morning, but there was no sign of Stuart returning. He began to run along the pavement, his lungs labouring for breath, his feet slipping on the wet flagstones. He was thinking of Philip Stuart driving his car casually along in the quiet morning, while underneath him his exhaust pipe grew steadily hotter. Five minutes, Fallon thought, that’s all it takes. He stumbled and fell flat on his face, grazing his right arm badly. For a moment he lay there and then he pushed himself to his feet and ran on. Jesus Christ, what a bloody mess! he thought, and then he saw the black saloon coming towards him out of the rain.
He staggered into the road, arms outstretched and the car skidded to a halt a bare two feet away from him. He caught a glimpse of Stuart’s startled face through the windscreen and then he was alongside the car, wrenching open the door and grabbing at him. ‘Martin!’ Stuart cried in amazement. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Fallon dragged him bodily out of the car so that he slipped and fell into the road on his knees. ‘Bomb!’ he managed to gasp as his lungs fought for air. ‘Bomb under car. Let’s get out of here.’
He turned and ran for the far side of the road, Stuart at his heels, and then there was a tremendous explosion and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large piece of metal flying through the air. He flung himself face down on the pavement and huddled there, his head buried in his arms. As the echoes of the explosion died flatly away on the morning air, there was a tremendous rushing sound and a further small explosion as the petrol went up.
He lifted his head and breathed deeply. Stuart was lying slightly behind him. Fallon got to his knees and said, ‘You all right, Phil?’
Stuart struggled to one knee. There was an expression of bewilderment on his face. ‘Martin,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand. What’s going on?’
Fallon opened his mouth to answer him and then there was the roar of engines and two patrol cars came along the street fast and skidded to a halt with a squeal of brakes. Fallon laughed bitterly. Mrs. Stuart hadn’t wasted any time. ‘Tell your wife she did a good job,’ he said hastily to the astonished Stuart and started to run along the pavement.
He cut diagonally across the road, dodged past one car and took to his heels. He had only gone a few yards when another car turned out of a side street in front of him and slewed across the road. Behind him Stuart called, loud and clear, ‘Martin, don’t be a fool!’
Fallon slowed as three constables piled out of the car in front and came towards him. Despair and a furious anger rose in his throat. Before him on the pavement there was a twisted piece of metal from the car. It was the only available weapon. He picked it up and turned and ran, crouching, back towards Stuart and the other two cars. He heard a voice shout. ‘Look out! He’s got a gun!’ and then Stuart’s terrible cry. ‘No – don’t shoot!’
That was the last thing he heard because there was the sudden, flat report of a revolver and something kicked him violently in the chest. He was lying on the pavement, his head pillowed against the wet flagstones, and there was a confused murmur of voices and a forest of legs surrounding him. A face came close to his and a voice sounded from a very long way off, and then the face disappeared into a whirlpool of coloured lights and he plunged into darkness.
CHAPTER SIX
T HERE was a light that came very close and went away again. It did this several times. Fallon found it extremely
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