The Secret War by Dennis Wheatley, Tony Morris Page B

do?” She suddenly pressed against him and he held her tighter yet while her shoulders shook with a fresh burst of sobs.
    â€œI ought to have gone in with him, although I never promised that,” he muttered. “He’s such a boy. I had half a mind to, but—well, as you turned up I felt I couldn’t leave you—in case things go wrong.”
    â€œI’m glad I came, then—after all. This isn’t your show. He must see it through himself …” She broke off suddenly. “Look! There he is, going up the rope. He’s nearly reached the window.”
    Christopher was swarming up the double rope hand over hand. Another moment and he gripped the window-sill. Cautiously he raised his head. The moon gave sufficient light for him to see that the room was empty. Heaving himself up, he wormed his way over.
    Once inside the house he paused only long enough to get his pistol out of his pocket. He gripped the butt firmly in his right hand and advanced on tiptoe; his left hand outstretched to grasp the shadowy protuberance of the door knob. It turned noiselessly under his touch;the door swung open and he stepped cautiously through it. From the plan of the house he knew that he was now in the small hallway. The valet’s room must be opposite him, a few paces away, and Zarrif’s bedroom to his left. The moonlight which silvered the bathroom behind him hardly penetrated sufficiently to lessen the close, heavy darkness. The gloom was only broken by a thin pale ribbon of light on the floor to the right; indicating the door of the room in which Lovelace had faced the grey, elderly Armenian less than a quarter of an hour before. Christopher passed his tongue over his dry lips and tried to still his breathing. It sounded like a rushing wind, which must alarm the household if he could not control it, as he stood there with the sweat streaming down his forehead. Nerving himself for the final effort, he ran his finger-tips lightly down the door until he found the handle, gave it a sudden twist, and flung it open.
    Zarrif was seated quietly writing at his desk. As Christopher entered he swung round; his hand shot out towards his desk bell; but Christopher was quicker, and Zarrif withdrew his arm at the whispered caution when he saw the big black pistol, with its thick attachment like a silencer, pointed at his head.
    â€œWhat do you want?” he challenged huskily, coming to his feet. “What do you want?”
    â€œYour life!” whispered Christopher, his black eyes blazing in his thin, dead-white face. He stepped forward and thrust his weapon to within a yard of Zarrif’s mouth. “You’ve forfeited it by your proved attempts to promote mass-murder. I am a
Miller of God
, sent to execute justice upon you.”
    For a second Paxito Zarrif’s green eyes flickered towards his bell again; but now it was beyond his reach. He drew himself up and his voice held a contemptuous ring as he answered “I have had a long life and an interesting one. Shoot, then, if you wish—
assassin
!”

CHAPTER VIII

LOVE AND LOYALTIES
    The car sped at a furious pace back down the hill towards Athens.
    â€œI couldn’t do it,” Christopher sobbed, his head on Valerie’s breast. “I couldn’t do it! He was an old man and quite defenceless. He stood there waiting for me to kill him and my courage failed me.”
    â€œDarling!” She sought to comfort him as they rocked together in the back of the car over the bumpy road. “I understand. Please, please, don’t give way so. I think I’m glad.”
    â€œGlad? But you don’t understand!” he exclaimed angrily. “Paxito Zarrif deserved death. The
Millers of God
appointed me to be his executioner, and Lovelace took a big risk to give me a perfect opportunity. Then, just because I found Zarrif to be frail and old, and he stood up to me, I chucked my hand in and ran away.”
    Lovelace, in