said he’d be here by eight, but he’ll probably be late. Neither of us expected Favel to be so quick – I don’t suppose Serrurier expected it, either. Rawsthorne might be held up, even in a car with diplomatic plates. Damn that bloody fool Dawson,’ he said feelingly. ‘If he hadn’t messed things up we’d have been away in Wyatt’s car hours ago.’
He looked at the map. ‘Wyatt said we should find a place above the hundred-foot mark and facing north. This damned map has no contour lines. Eumenides, can you help me here?’
The Greek looked over Causton’s shoulder. ‘There,’ he said, and laid his finger on the map.
‘I dare say it is a nice place,’ agreed Causton. ‘But we’d have to go through two armies to get there. No, we’ll have to go along the coast in one direction or another and then strike inland to get height.’ His finger moved along the coast road. ‘I don’t think there’s any point in going west towards Cap Sarrat. There are units of the Government army strung along there, and anyway, it’s pretty flat as I remember it. The civil airfield is there and Favel will probably strike for it, so altogether it’ll be a pretty unhealthy place. So it’ll have to be the other way. What’s it like this road, Eumenides? The one that leads east?’
‘The road goes up,’ said Eumenides. ‘There is … there is …’ He snapped his fingers in annoyance. ‘It fall from road to sea.’
‘There are cliffs on the seaward side – this side?’ asked Causton, and the Greek nodded. ‘Just what we’re looking for,’ said Causton with satisfaction. ‘What’s the country like inland – say, here?’
Eumenides waved his hand up and down expressively. ‘’Ills.’
‘Then that’s it,’ said Causton. ‘But you’d better discuss it further with Rawsthorne when he comes.’
‘What about you?’ asked Julie. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Someone has to do a reconnaissance,’ said Causton. ‘We have to find if it’s a practicable proposition to go that way. I’m going to scout around the east end of town. It’s safe enough for one man.’
He rose from his knees and went to the window. ‘There are plenty of civilians out and about now; the police haven’t been able to bottle them all up in their houses. I should be able to get away with it.’
‘With a white skin?’
‘Um,’ said Causton. ‘That’s a thought.’ He went over to his bag and unzipped it. ‘A very little of this ought to do the trick.’ He looked with distaste at the tin of brown boot-polish in his hand. ‘Will you apply it, Julie? Just the veriest touch – there are plenty of light-coloured Negroes here and I don’t want to look like a nigger minstrel.’
Julie smeared a little of the boot-polish on his face. He said, ‘Don’t forget the back of the neck – that’s vital. It isn’t so much a disguise as a deception; it only needs enough to darken the skin so that people won’t take a second look and say “Look at that blanc”.’
He rubbed some of the polish on his hands and wrists, then said, ‘Now I want a prop.’
Julie stared at him. ‘A what?’
‘A stage property. I’ve wandered all through the corridors of power in Whitehall and got away with it because I was carrying a sheaf of papers and looked as though I was going somewhere. I got a scoop from a hospital by walking about in a white coat with a stethoscope dangling from my pocket. The idea is to look a natural part of the scenery – a stethoscope gives one a right to be in a hospital. Now, what gives me a right to be in a civil war?’
Eumenides grinned maliciously, and said, ‘A gun.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Causton regretfully. ‘Well, there ought to be plenty of those outside. I ought to be able to pick up a rifle and maybe a scrap of uniform to make it look convincing. Meanwhile, where’s that pop-gun of yours, Eumenides?’
‘In the bar where I lef’ it.’
‘Right – well, I’ll be off,’ said Causton. There was a heavy explosion not far away and the windows shivered in their frames. ‘It’s warming up. A pity this place has no cellars. Eumenides, I think you’d all better move downstairs – actually under the stairs is the best place. And if that Warmington woman gets hysterical, pop her one.’
Eumenides nodded.
Causton paused by the door. ‘I don’t think I’ll be long, but if I’m not back by eleven I won’t be coming back at all, and you’d better push off. With the townspeople coming out now the road might be difficult, so don’t wait for me.’
He left without waiting for a reply and ran down the stairs and into the bar. There were soda-water bottles stacked on the counter but no sign of the gun. He looked about for a couple of minutes then gave up, vaguely wondering what had happened to it. But he had no time to waste so he crossed the foyer and, with a precautionary glance outside, stepped boldly into the street.
II
Mrs Warmington was still drugged with sleep, for which Julie was thankful. She opened one drowsy eye and said, ‘Wha’ time is it?’
‘It’s quite early,’ said Julie. ‘But we must go downstairs.’
‘I wanna sleep,’ said Mrs Warmington indistinctly. ‘Send the maid with my tea in an hour.’
‘But we must go now,’ said Julie firmly. ‘We are going away soon.’ She began to assemble the things she needed.
‘What’s all that noise?’ complained Mrs Warmington crossly. ‘I declare this is the noisiest hotel I’ve ever slept in.’ This declaration seemed to exhaust her and she closed her eyes and a faint whistling sound emanated from the bed – too ladylike to be called a snore.
‘Come on, Mrs Warmington.’ Julie shook her by the shoulder.
Mrs Warmington roused herself and propped up on one elbow. ‘Oh, my head! Did we have a party?’ Slowly, intelligence returned to her eyes and her head jerked up as she recognized the din of the guns for what it was. ‘Oh, my God!’ she wailed. ‘What’s happening?’
‘The rebels have started to bombard the town,’Julie said.
Mrs Warmington jumped out of bed, all traces of sleep gone. ‘We must leave,’ she said rapidly. ‘We must go now.’
‘We have no car yet,’ said Julie. ‘Mr Rawsthorne hasn’t come.’ She turned to find Mrs Warmington pushing her overfed figure into a tight girdle. ‘Good grief!’ she said, ‘don’t wear that – we might have to move fast. Have you any slacks?’
‘I don’t believe in women of … of my type wearing pants.’
Julie surveyed her and gave a crooked smile. ‘Maybe you’re right at that,’ she agreed. ‘Well, wear something sensible; wear a suit if it hasn’t got a tight skirt.’
She stripped the beds of their blankets and folded them into a bundle. Mrs Warmington said, ‘I knew we ought to have gone to the Base last night.’
