The Smog by John Creasey Page B

hesitation. “Certainly until I am convinced that there is acute danger of a repetition of what has happened. Why do you wish to know?”
    â€œBecause I want to have the Manor and the ground searched thoroughly,” Palfrey replied. “Had you been planning to move, then I would have waited. As it is, the quicker the better.” He was twisting strands of hair about his forefinger again, and watching Storr. But it was from Philip that the outburst came, he was right back in his savage mood.
    â€œOf all the bloody nerve! You’re telling us you suspect us at the Manor. Why, before I’d let anyone search—”
    â€œDon’t be absurd,” Professor Storr interrupted sharply. “Of course we are under suspicion and of course the authorities must search. The sooner it is done and Dr. Palfrey is reassured, the better it will be for all of us. How long will you need, Palfrey? Do you know?”
    â€œI should imagine at least a day,” Palfrey estimated.
    â€œHow soon can you start?”
    â€œWithin an hour,” answered Palfrey. “We should be able to finish inside the house, if not in the grounds, before dark. There is a platoon of Special Service engineers in the village, I can send for them right away.”
    â€œThen please do that,” Storr said. “If there is any assistance any of us can give you please let me know.”
    â€œAnd then get out of our hair,” growled Philip. There was a long pause, while Palfrey stared at the young man, and then said coldly: “Mr. Montefiore you don’t seem to be aware that you are doing more than anyone or anything else to draw suspicion on this house.”
    Philip glowered, but made no retort. Palfrey turned towards the door and Costain and Storr followed him. Storr went ahead and opened the door, and Palfrey stepped outside.
    He stood absolutely still, staring down.
    The tops of the houses and the church tower had disappeared again, hidden by a thick yellow pall. Worse, far worse, a pale yellowish smoke seemed to be rising out of dozens, hundreds, of cracks and crevices in the drive and in the grassy banks which lined the drive, so that even the gates of the Manor were invisible.
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Chapter Seven
The Discovery
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    â€œOh, my goodness,” Marion exclaimed from just behind the men. “Look!”
    â€œNow we’ll have to get out,” Griselda said, with a break in her voice. “Stephen, you can’t insist on staying.”
    â€œEveryone out the back way, at once,” Palfrey ordered. “Costain, will you drive my car to the back? Professor, will you—”
    He did not complete what he was going to say, for several masked men broke through the smog, dim figures at first, then more sharply defined. As they drew near, the first man pushed his mask to one side and called out: “Dr. Palfrey! We can’t contain this—get everyone away at once.”
    â€œThey’ve already started,” Palfrey said. “Do you know where the stuff is coming from?”
    â€œIt seemed to start near the gates of the Manor,” the man answered. “For God’s sake—”
    He broke off, kicking against a stone and pitching forward – and as he did so a wisp of the smog rose up from the spot where he had tripped. Then Costain, almost by the car, saw a little puff of smog near the car itself. The fumes bit into his throat and he started to cough.
    Marion Kemble was just behind him, and wrenching the passenger door open he turned and pushed her roughly in, then ran round to the other side, and grabbed the wheel. The key was in the ignition. All about them, on higher ground as well as low, the puffs of smog were getting thicker and more frequent. Griselda sprang to the car and scrambled in the back as Costain started off.
    He glanced towards the porch and saw that Palfrey was wearing a small mask, not much different from a hospital mask, but with goggles which fitted