precious specimens.
“I wonder if we shall ever see Woburn again,” the Russian said, in just the quiet tone that he had used the previous night. “And also – I wonder if any man could be relied on to do what we’ve asked of him.”
“We stand to lose nothing and gain a lot if he’s any good,” Palfrey said, almost flatly. “He might be very good, partly because he’s bitterly angry. That should help. He’d be going round beating the air in his rage if he weren’t doing this for us, so he’d be a target for the other side, anyhow.”
They went on for a while in silence. Then: “We shall soon know,” the Russian said at last. “What will you do, if he should not come out of the Castle alive? If they kill him there, or if they let him come out, and kill him on the road.”
Palfrey said: “I don’t know, Stefan, I simply don’t know.” He had to slow down behind a lorry and trailer, and he watched the big, turning wheels. “At least we’ve something to tell the Cabinet now,” he went on, “they’ll really believe us this time. And the lab can work on the new specimens, too. But if the octi spread from that loch—”
Andromovitch nodded; Palfrey passed the lorry and the Jaguar sped on.
Book II
THE CASTLE
10
The nearer Woburn drew towards the Castle, the more imposing it looked. Obviously soil had been transported, many years ago. The grounds were beautifully kept. Sweeping lawns running right up to the massive grey stone walls, the turrets and the drawbridge, gave that medieval appearance. The arched doorway beyond the drawbridge was open, and no one was in sight. The position was superb; it stood in the narrow entrance to a rocky valley, with mountains towering behind it. No natural fortress could have been better sited, three hundred years ago. Stretching from either side were high stone walls, like a part of Hadrian’s wall, dug out of the past. The wall stopped only when great rocks took its place; and the Castle stood guard over that great, rocky valley.
Woburn turned towards the drawbridge, without being challenged.
The wheels rumbled over the bridge itself, as if some of the original timber were there. Metal chains clanked. He passed through the arched doorway into an enclosed courtyard with the Castle itself in front of him, and the great walls all around. Here were more lawns, sleek as in a cathedral close, and beds of flowers, which Woburn hardly knew at all. Each bed seemed as if it had been freshly turned that morning; the earth was dark, rich brown. The drive itself was of large flagstones, the smaller paths the same.
Tall, arched windows flanked a high, arched doorway which led into the main building itself. This was closed. The whole place had a strange quietness.
Near the wall opposite him, a peacock stood with tail opened wide, staring at the hen, which pecked at weeds growing between the flagstones.
Woburn pulled up outside the front door, and got out.
He had to force himself to move to the front door, but didn’t touch the iron knocker. He heard a sound, and it made him start; then, the door opened.
A manservant dressed in black said: “Good morning.” The sun shone over his head, into a vast, semi-circular hall on suits of armour, medieval weapons, tapestries, paintings.
“Good morning,” Woburn said. “Is— is Miss Eve Davos in?”
“If you will come in, sir, I will find out,” the man said.
It was as simple and as formal as that. Nothing sinister, nothing unusual; instead of that rock strewn valley bounded by mountains, there might have been parkland and lush green. Yet as he stepped across the threshold, Woburn felt chilled.
“If you will be good enough to wait here, sir.”
This hall was vast, and there was no staircase. Against the inside wall was a huge open fireplace, with its gate, dogs and hooks still in position, and huge logs of wood waiting in readiness for the bleak winter. The floor was of stone, with rich Persian carpets. The
“I wonder if we shall ever see Woburn again,” the Russian said, in just the quiet tone that he had used the previous night. “And also – I wonder if any man could be relied on to do what we’ve asked of him.”
“We stand to lose nothing and gain a lot if he’s any good,” Palfrey said, almost flatly. “He might be very good, partly because he’s bitterly angry. That should help. He’d be going round beating the air in his rage if he weren’t doing this for us, so he’d be a target for the other side, anyhow.”
They went on for a while in silence. Then: “We shall soon know,” the Russian said at last. “What will you do, if he should not come out of the Castle alive? If they kill him there, or if they let him come out, and kill him on the road.”
Palfrey said: “I don’t know, Stefan, I simply don’t know.” He had to slow down behind a lorry and trailer, and he watched the big, turning wheels. “At least we’ve something to tell the Cabinet now,” he went on, “they’ll really believe us this time. And the lab can work on the new specimens, too. But if the octi spread from that loch—”
Andromovitch nodded; Palfrey passed the lorry and the Jaguar sped on.
Book II
THE CASTLE
10
The nearer Woburn drew towards the Castle, the more imposing it looked. Obviously soil had been transported, many years ago. The grounds were beautifully kept. Sweeping lawns running right up to the massive grey stone walls, the turrets and the drawbridge, gave that medieval appearance. The arched doorway beyond the drawbridge was open, and no one was in sight. The position was superb; it stood in the narrow entrance to a rocky valley, with mountains towering behind it. No natural fortress could have been better sited, three hundred years ago. Stretching from either side were high stone walls, like a part of Hadrian’s wall, dug out of the past. The wall stopped only when great rocks took its place; and the Castle stood guard over that great, rocky valley.
Woburn turned towards the drawbridge, without being challenged.
The wheels rumbled over the bridge itself, as if some of the original timber were there. Metal chains clanked. He passed through the arched doorway into an enclosed courtyard with the Castle itself in front of him, and the great walls all around. Here were more lawns, sleek as in a cathedral close, and beds of flowers, which Woburn hardly knew at all. Each bed seemed as if it had been freshly turned that morning; the earth was dark, rich brown. The drive itself was of large flagstones, the smaller paths the same.
Tall, arched windows flanked a high, arched doorway which led into the main building itself. This was closed. The whole place had a strange quietness.
Near the wall opposite him, a peacock stood with tail opened wide, staring at the hen, which pecked at weeds growing between the flagstones.
Woburn pulled up outside the front door, and got out.
He had to force himself to move to the front door, but didn’t touch the iron knocker. He heard a sound, and it made him start; then, the door opened.
A manservant dressed in black said: “Good morning.” The sun shone over his head, into a vast, semi-circular hall on suits of armour, medieval weapons, tapestries, paintings.
“Good morning,” Woburn said. “Is— is Miss Eve Davos in?”
“If you will come in, sir, I will find out,” the man said.
It was as simple and as formal as that. Nothing sinister, nothing unusual; instead of that rock strewn valley bounded by mountains, there might have been parkland and lush green. Yet as he stepped across the threshold, Woburn felt chilled.
“If you will be good enough to wait here, sir.”
This hall was vast, and there was no staircase. Against the inside wall was a huge open fireplace, with its gate, dogs and hooks still in position, and huge logs of wood waiting in readiness for the bleak winter. The floor was of stone, with rich Persian carpets. The
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