The Secret War by Dennis Wheatley, Tony Morris

better, and on learning that although still shaky he was fairly fit, settled down to bombard him with a fresh series of questions. Lovelace dealt with them to the best of his ability, but one almost took him off his guard. It was a sudden inquiry. “Do you know anything about the
Millers of God?
”
    For a moment he feared that his imposture had been discovered, and that Zarrif had only been playing with him; but his one hope lay in keeping up his part.
    â€œYes,” he said slowly. “It’s a sort of society, isn’t it, which threatens people who speculate in currencies to such an extent that nations are forced into a corner and driven off gold.”
    â€œIt threatens those and others. What more do you know of it?” Zarrif’s piercing eyes seemed to probe the deepest corners of his visitor’s mind.
    â€œNothing—only rumours picked up in travelling here and there.”
    â€œI see. You have nothing definite you can give me. Well …” The wizened old man’s questions switched to another subject, and Lovelace breathed again.
    A few moments later he pretended to be seized withanother attack. Zarrif showed no surprise, but treated him with the same consideration as before.
    When Lovelace returned to the big, gloomy room he apologised and said: “If there’s any more information you want I’ll come out to-morrow morning. I’ll be all right again by then.”
    Zarrif nodded. “There is still much that I wish to hear. If you are free to return to Abyssinia I should like to have you with me. It is always of great value to be able to consult a man who has been so recently at the scene of action.”
    Lovelace hesitated a moment.
    â€œYou will not find it necessary to work for a long time afterwards if you do as I suggest,” Zarrif went on quietly. “I pay my people well, as anyone who has been in my service will tell you.”
    â€œAll right—I’m game,” Lovelace replied, simulating a stab of pain. “What time do we start?”
    â€œMy secretary, Cassalis, will meet you by the bookstall at the airport at one-thirty to-morrow. We shall leave shortly after. Good night.”
    Zarrif pressed the bell upon his table, and three minutes later Lovelace heard the iron gates of the house clang to behind him.
    He found the hired car up on the hillside. It was partly concealed by a group of cypresses. The moon had risen and showed the plain below almost as clearly as in daylight, but it showed something else as well. Valerie was seated in the driver’s seat beside Christopher.
    â€œWhat the hell’re you doing here?” Lovelace snapped at her angrily. “Didn’t I tell you …”
    â€œNever mind what you told me,” she cut him short as she got out. “I’m my own mistress and I take orders from no one. I’m only here to mind the car and get you away more quickly.”
    For a second he was minded to call off the whole business, but Christopher was beside him now, trembling with excitement and urging him to give his orders. Nosuch opportunity to get Zarrif might ever occur again. With sudden decision he gripped Christopher by the arm.
    â€œYou see the left end of the house. The last three windows on the first floor are those of Zarrif’s bedroom. The next is the bathroom, and the fifth the lavatory. If you look carefully you’ll see a dark streak running down from it. That’s the two ends of a rope I bought this afternoon, took in round my waist, and threw out of the window a few minutes ago after passing it behind the pipe that runs up to the cistern. It’ll bear you easily and it’s not difficult to climb.
    â€œYes!” breathed Christopher. “Yes!”
    Lovelace pulled the step-ladder and bag out of the back of the car. “Come on,” he said, and led the way off the road down the rocky slope.
    Christopher had Valerie in his arms. With feverish lips he