He slipped the machine pistol under his arm and beckoned to the police officer. `Come on then. We’re going home!’

  Curtis and Duncan watched the two figures stand momentarily under the light from inside the porch and then stride across the drive and down towards the cliff path. In a few seconds they were out of sight. The house was suddenly quiet, and Curtis looked at Duncan wearily, his face grey with concentration and effort.

  `Let’s follow George, eh? We can leave this place now.’

  Duncan smiled cheerfully and hoisted the German across his shoulder. `I’m glad you decided to listen to the girl, Ralph. She’ll be good company!’

  `We’re not in the ship yet, or out at sea either!’ Curtis was instantly ashamed of the snap in his voice. `Sorry, Steve, I’m about done in.’ But he knew that the girl was the real cause of his irritation.

  `Not bloody well surprised ! Wait till we get back to Alex. I’ll get you something to put you right!’

  They crossed the lawn and started down the narrow track. Curtis stopped only once, and looked back at the deserted house. There’ll be quite a panic in there shortly, he thought grimly.

  7

  T H E wind was veering rapidly to the east, and some of its force could be felt on the beach, as the short rollers plunged unevenly along its length, throwing tongues of spray and spume across the moist sand.

  Curtis peered at his watch and then across the dark,

  pitching water to where he judged the schooner was riding.

  Duncan dumped the German’s body on the ground and stretched his arms with relief. Curtis could hear the German biting and choking on his gag, but did not even spare the man a glance; he concentrated instead on the sea, and Jervis’s white figure which stood stark against the black backcloth like a ghost.

  He was dimly aware of the other figures huddled behind him in the overhanging shadow of the hill, and of the girl’s lowered voice as she spoke to her father. Taylor was standing a little apart from the rest, his head turned towards the hidden village.

  He saw Jervis raise his arm, and imagined that he could see the flash of his torch as he gave the awaited signal to the ship.

  `It’d be a real joke if the perishers have shoved off without waitin’ for the Jerry and his mate, eh?’ Duncan chuckled without humour. `We’d look a right lot of mugs then!’

  ‘Signor Zecchi has informed me that this is the correct time for the schooner’s departure, and he has also explained the signal that is normally given.’ Curtis spoke ‘shortly. `I don’t think we need disbelieve him at this stage.’

  `Thank you.’ There was a trace of sarcasm in the mayor’s reply. `I am honoured that you trust me so!’

  Curtis moved his shoulders in a quick nervous gesture. `I think you know better than to play games!’

  They fell into an uneasy silence once more, and Curtis wondered what Jervis was thinking as he stood on the edge of the water with the tall Italian. Now that the first wave of violence and fury had passed from him, he felt a vague prickle of resentment and disappointment which he could not begin to understand. Coupled with the feeling of emptiness, he knew that in some way he was still blaming himself for everything which had happened.

  He stiffened, and cocked his head on one side. Faintly at first, and then more persistently, came the squeak of oars and the slap of a boat in the trough of the waves.

  `Ready?’ He was awake again, and momentarily his fears moved into second place. `George, watch this lot. Steve, you and I’ll go down to the boat as soon as it beaches.’

  `I’m with you!’ Duncan blew into his cupped hands. `Quite a lively sea for movin’ about, I must say!’

  They saw the boat slide sluggishly over a white-capped roller and slew carelessly across the shingle. Two humped figures bent over the oars, and their faces gleamed white in the moonlight, as Curtis and Duncan ran down into the water.

  Curtis laid his hands on the gunwale and spoke slowly to the police officer, his words plucked from his mouth by the wind. `Tell them that there are extra passengers,’ he said. `You can tell them that we are members of the German Navy if you wish!’

  The officer’s eyes rolled from Curtis to Duncan, who was standing with casual watchfulness behind him, one hand beneath his jacket, and then in quick, excited sentences, he spoke to the oarsmen. One of them shrugged obediently, while the other merely stared indifferently at the water which sloshed across the boat’s bottom-boards.

  Duncan steadied the boat as Taylor shepherded the mayor and his daughter down the beach.

  The girl turned as if to make one last protest to Curtis, but as she stared at his set, shadowed face, she sighed and stepped lightly into the boat. Taylor followed them, his lips pursed in a silent whistle and, at a nod from Curtis, Duncan ran up the beach for the German.

  One of the oarsmen looked up, startled, as the body was dumped behind them in the bottom, but Duncan glared and growled unintelligibly under,his breath, and the man bent uneasily across his oar.

  Jervis sat upright in the stern, his shoulders squared and his face shaded by the cap.

  Before pushing the boat into deep water, Curtis examined the placing of everyone in it with silent care. He nodded to Jervis, satisfied that he was sitting in the most conspicuous position, and where any lookout was bound to see the German uniform, before realizing that anything unusual was happening.

  He had done all he could, and with a grunt he pushed the boat clear.

  The oars rose and fell, and the boat rose and plunged

  across the waves. With its extra load it was sluggish and unsteady, and the bottom was soon filled with water, which moved across their feet and splashed persistently along the worn gunwale. The land seemed to fade almost at once, and but for the glint of the moon along the sand spit and the dim hump of the hill, it had already lost its identity.

  They saw the schooner’s hull first, her smooth white side pitching angrily, as she tugged at the anchor cable, and then, as the boat moved slowly under her high stern, the tall, circling masts and the flapping, carelessly-furled sails loomed over their heads.

  Across the stern Curtis could just see the vessel’s name, Ametisa, scrawled in wide gilt lettering, which had once, no doubt, been the pride of her owner or captain.

  The bow oarsman opened his mouth as if to hail the deck, but Duncan punched him in the arm and shook his head.

  The boat scraped alongside and Curtis stood up, his limbs suddenly light, and reached for the schooner’s rail. He heaved himself up and over in one quick movement, his boots skidding on the wet deck.

  He glared round, his eyes searching desperately amongst the unfamiliar shapes and shadows of the darkened ship.

  Duncan stood beside him, and then Jervis, Taylor’s small figure rose and fell in the boat alongside, his shoulders stooped like a small idol, as he sat quietly watching the others in the boat, his pistol in his hand.

  . What the oarsmen thought, Curtis neither knew nor cared, and he rested momentarily against the scored gunwale of the ship, unsure of what to do next.

  At that very moment, a figure seemed to rise out of the deck between the masts, his uniform buttons glinting in the circle of light which followed him through the opened hatch.

  Duncan stepped easily forward and waited for the man to climb on to the deck. As he bent to refasten the hatch, Duncan drove his boot into the lowered head, and then caught his body before he could fall on to the wet planking.

  `One less,’ he said calmly, and pulled a pistol from the man’s belt. Still holding the limp figure, he tossed the gun over the ship’s side.

  Curtis spoke quietly over the gunwale: ‘Signor Zecchi! Up here quickly!’ Turning to Duncan, who was busy tying up the policeman with his belt, he whispered: `We’ll grab the skipper now!’

  The mayor arrived on deck, his eyes blinking around him.

  `Come on,’ snapped Curtis. `Steve, stay on deck!’

  He propelled the mayor to the after hatch, aware that Jervis was following behind, the Schmeisser pointing dangerously at his legs. He slid back the hatch and almost fell down the steep ladder beyond, and ducked beneath a swinging oil lamp, which cast an uncertain glow along the short passage with its three closed doors. Curtis paused uncertainly, the mayor pressed against him, and Jervis’s white legs still on the ladder.

  As if in reponse to his unspoken question, a door opened, and the fat stomach of the captain appeared in the passage. He was still wearing the greasy cap which Curtis had seen earlier, and his round, unshaven jowls dropped even lower as he stared at Curtis’s gun and then at his face.

  He opened his mouth to speak, his breath fanning across Curtis in a curtain of sour wine and tobacco, but the mayor shook his head authoritatively and held up his hand.

  `Stay still, Capitano,’ he commanded quietly. `This is a British officer!’ He waited patiently, but the Italian sailor merely goggled at Curtis, his throat moving and bobbing above his red shirt. `He is taking your ship!’

  ‘Do you speak English?’ Curtis spoke sharply, aware of the time all this explanation was taking.

  `Si! Ver’ good English!’ He glanced round desperately. `Where you come from? I not understand what is happening!’

  `Get on deck and call your men! And be quick about it!’ Curtis stared at the fat, sweating face in exasperation. `You are sailing at once!P

  ‘But, signore ‘ he spread his palms appealingly. The gun moved lower. `Call them!’

  Jervis squeezed back to allow him to pass, then ran up the ladder after him.

  The captain peered worriedly at Jervis and shook his head, before reaching up to the bell, which hung on a bracket on the mast.

  Duncan uncoiled himself from the rail, his eyes on the captain. `He O.K., Ralph?’

  ‘We’ll see! Any sign of the others?’

  Duncan laughed shortly. `They’re up in the fo’c’sle, playin’ dice, by the sound of it.’

  `Where are the wounded?’

  Duncan shrugged. `Not a sign of ‘em yet.’

  The bell jangled loudly, and Duncan loped across the deck to halt beside the narrow door leading into the fo’c’sle.

  Light spewed across the ship as the door swung open, and a blue cloud of tobacco smoke billowed up between the legs of the six men who stamped irritably into the cold air.

  Three of them were uniformed Carabinieri and the others seamen, their ragged jerseys and dirty duck trousers clashing with the smart boots and belts of their companions.

  There was an exclamation of surprise, and one of the policemen dived backwards to the door, which, just as suddenly, slammed hard into his face. He reeled back, his hand clamped across his bleeding mouth, as Duncan stepped from behind the door, the gun balanced in his hand like a toy.

  `Stand still, you jokers! Unless you want to step off!’ He grinned savagely at each of them and gestured towards the trussed figure on the deck. `One of yer mates! See?’

  They stared round the deck, drawing together as if for support, while Curtis spoke rapidly to the captain.

  `Where are the rest? You should have a bigger crew than this P

  Counting the two oarsmen still in the dinghy, there were only five seamen.

  `I am trying to tell you,’ began the captain, his voice resigned and tired. `These are all I have! My other boys desert, two … three days ago, I forget! They get worried ‘bout the invasion, they wanna get home to their families! Me? I got no family, justa this boat!’ He clenched his thick fists in sudden despair. `Now you gonna take her away from me!’

  `Where are the soldiers who were brought aboard?’ Curtis made an effort to control his rising temper. `Come on, man! Where have you put them?’

  ‘They below, in the hold,’ he answered sulkily. `I was told to put ‘em there!’

  Curtis stared at him in disbelief. `Wounded men? In the hold?’ He seized the man savagely by the front of his shirt, and thrust his face forward. `By God, you bloody Wops sicken me! If any more of them die, I swear you’ll regret you were born!’ He felt the fat body quiver. `Now, prepare to get under way, just as you were ordered!’

  `I do my best.’ He moved his hands vacantly, his face twisting worriedly. `Is a ver’ difficult channel!’

  Duncan’s voice grated across the deck. `You’ll get us clear though, won’t you, Captain? Just for us?’

  The captain glanced at the hard, mocking eyes and swallowed unhappily. Then he jerked his hands at the stunned sailors and pointed to the capstan. One of the men started towards the hatch over the small engine-room, but Curtis shook his head.

  `Come up, George, and get the engine started.’

  Signor Zecchi coughed. `You leave little to chance, I see.’

  Curtis ignored him, his aching brain groped for possible flaws in his plan, and he tried to keep his mind away from the silent wounded below his feet, at least until they were clear of the anchorage. He watched dully, as the girl appeared on the deck and stood shivering beside her suitcase. The two sailors heaved the wriggling German after her, and then towed the dinghy round to the davits aft.

  Curtis turned to the police officer. `Get your men in a line, quick!’ To Duncan: `Search them, and make sure they’re well locked up!’

  Surprisingly, the captain said over his shoulder, `There is a good storeroom down there.’ He pointed to another hatch. `They will be safe in there.’

  When Duncan had herded the Carabinieri away, and the German had been dragged after them, Curtis eyed the captain thoughtfully. `Aren’t they friends of yours then?’

  The captain shrugged and spat over the gunwale. `Facisti ! They stink!’

  The deck quivered, and there was a dull roar from the engine-room, but after a few coughing protests, the motor settled down to a confident rumble.

  The captain spat on his hands and took the wheel, whilst from forward came the clink of cable as the capstan heaved in the anchor.

  He leaned comfortably on the wheel and pouted his thick lips expressively. `We won’t get far, signore! Patrol boats! Bombers! No, we won’t get far!’

  He spun the wheel and peered at the compass, which danced loosely in its ancient brass binnacle. A thin spindley lever at his side protested as he pushed his bulk against it, until it squeaked level with a worn plate stating “Velocita massima!”, and as the propeller churned a cheerful white froth beneath her counter, the Ametisa swung drunkenly into the wind and thrust her sharp stem over the first long roller.

  Curtis watched for a few minutes, then beckoned to Jervis. `You stay here on the poop, and watch the deck. Nobody is to go below until Steve has searched all the crew’s quarters.’ He glanced at the captain’s squat shape, his fat straddled legs braced behind the wheel, and raising his voice, ;he added, `And if we go aground, shoot him!’

  He turned away from Jervis before he could answer, and stood for a moment against the rail, his hands resting heavily on its worn and grooved surface. The sudden realization that the ship was his-brought home to him by the steady beat of the engines and the swish of foam against the pitching hull -seemed to bring all conscious thought to an end. The weight of his body grew heavier on his arms, and his head sagged forward over the rail. He was shivering, and had to clench his teeth to withstand his weakness, which felt like real pain.

  ‘Signore?’ The mayor moved quietly at his elbow. `May we go below now?’

  Curtis levered himself away from the rail, his fingers slipping reluctantly from its support. He peered at the mayor through half-closed eyes, and nodded wearily.

  The girl’s voice was cold and unforgiving. `Perhaps he wishes us to be locked in the store with the others!’

  He stumbled past her and led the way down the steep ladder to the cabin flat. The lamp swung more jerkily than before, and the narrow passage leaped and staggered with the ship’s lively movements. The hissing roar of the sea was muffled, and the air was thick and stale. He pushed open the first door and glared at the bare cabin, with its neat bunk and newly-painted sides. Another lantern swung crazily from a deck beam, casting strange shadows across the cabin’s clinical bareness and the framed portrait of Adolf Hitler. A small safe was bolted to the bulkhead, but apart from a narrow wardrobe containing some more items of German uniform, there was nothing dangerous in sight.

  `You can have this one, signorina. It was evidently your friend’s cabin, so it’s bound to be fairly clean!’

  She looked at him without speaking, her slim body swaying to the motion of the ship. She placed the suitcase on the bunk, and with her eyes still on his face, she slowly ran her fingers along the black plait across her shoulder.

  Curtis took the mayor’s arm impatiently, and led him to the other cabin.

  It was completely the opposite to the other. The captain’s possessions were scattered across the bunk and on the deck, while on the rickety table stood two empty vino bottles and a half eaten sandwich. Over the bunk a series of voluptuous pin-ups smiled and reclined in crude abandon.

  There was a pistol in one of the desk drawers, and a mountain of old letters and papers.

  `Stay here!’ he ordered curtly. `I think you now understand our position well enough?’

  The mayor inclined his head gravely, but Curtis had the impression that he was secretly amused.

  `Don’t touch anything. Go to bed, if you like.’

  He lurched for the door, the air suddenly beginning to stifle him. More than anything else he wanted to lie down, and the sight of that filthy bunk tempted him more than anything

  he could remember. He paused for a second in the doorway and looked back at the plump, dignified Italian.

  `I am sorry you have been caused all this inconvenience, and I appreciate your daughter’s courage, whatever her reasons,’ he faltered, and the mayor stared at him, his black eyes expressionless. `Perhaps it will all turn out for the best for you, too.’ He stopped, angry with himself, and ran up the ladder.

  Duncan greeted him with an easy smile. `All quiet, Ralph. I think the captain here has cottoned on to the general idea. I don’t reckon his boys’ll give any trouble now.’