The Secret Vanguard by Michael Innes Page B

matter if one had a tiptop organization at command. And now here she was, and there above her was a young man tied up with rope. And in the tiptop organization the two of them had the job of picking a hole. It was surprising, Sheila thought, that she had little tendency just to lie back and gape at the unreality and extravagance of what had befallen her. Only a few hours before –
    Her thoughts were scattered by a creak almost at her ear. A flicker of light played for a moment on what appeared to be a whitewashed wall; there was a clatter as of a tin or pannikin set sharply down; the creak was repeated; the darkness was once more entire. She waited for some minutes and then got unsteadily to her feet. It was time to explore.
    The bed was a mere pallet; it stood on a flagged floor round which rose walls of undressed stone, faintly damp. There was what appeared to be a fireplace but up which no gleam of light was to be seen; there was a small high window, heavily shuttered; there was a stout door and by the door a bench. Sheila was feeling over the surface of this when Evans spoke again.
    ‘All safe now. I guess they’re not honouring us with a resident jailer. Have you gotten anything out of that visit?’
    ‘A mug of what feels like milk and a hunk of what is certainly bread.’
    ‘You’re the lucky one. I got nothing but the flash of a lantern. There must be a German equivalent for place aux dames . Say, why did you get into that car?’
    ‘I was going to be met. And the chauffeur knew my name – I don’t know how.’
    ‘I do. I know it myself. It’s on your baggage. S Grant.’
    ‘Oh, of course. Well–’
    ‘What’s the S for?’
    ‘Sheila.’
    ‘That’s swell.’
    ‘The chauffeur took my things and I followed him to the car. There were people in it. I was a little surprised they didn’t get out. But I jumped in. And that’s all I remember.’
    ‘I’ll say it is.’
    ‘Ought I to drink this milk?’
    ‘Sure.’
    Sheila drank. She had, she noticed, asked for and obeyed an order. And the result was a further improvement in nervous tone. ‘How did you come in on it?’ she asked.
    ‘I was going to take the train to Drumtoul – I’ve been hitch-hiking about. I saw you get off and the fellow collect your baggage. And I thought I’d have another look. Drumtoul wasn’t all that important.’
    ‘Why ever should you have another look? Did I seem deadly scared?’
    ‘No. Just that sometimes one likes to.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Mind you, I’d seen you,’ said the voice of Evans anxiously. ‘I’d seen you quite clearly by the station lamp. It wasn’t like reckoning to take another look at just anybody. You do see that?’
    There was a problem here for a sage. Sheila said nothing.
    ‘Sheila.’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Sheila.’
    ‘Yes, Dick Evans.’
    ‘Forget it. I went into the little yard and the train went out and there you were climbing into the car. Then one of them flashed a torch – it was a mistake – and they were putting your head in a bag. Not another soul about – the station doesn’t run to any staff. So I piled in. For a bit I felt good. But there were just too many of them. Four, I reckoned.’
    ‘You were always a bit of a rabbit, weren’t you?’ Sheila felt shockingly and primitively happy; at the same time she wondered if Dick Evans was a young man of genteel appearance. ‘Did they put your head in a bag, too?’
    ‘No – just slugged it. And here we are.’
    ‘What’s here?’
    ‘I expect it’s a shepherd’s cottage at the other end of nowhere. And, at the moment, buried in night. Not, incidentally, the night you might think. I reckon we got here in the small hours, and you’ve slumbered through a longish day since then. Have you drunk that milk?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Is there a bed or something?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Then lie down and go to sleep.’
    ‘About getting yourself out of that rope–’
    ‘That,’ said the voice of Evans rather grimly, ‘is going to take some