Come on, let’s get out of here.’ She opened the door and went out, leaving Julie to bring the large bundle of blankets.
Eumenides was at the head of the stairs. He looked at the blankets and said, ‘Ver’ good t’ing,’ and took them from her.
There was a faint noise from downstairs as though someone had knocked over a chair. They all stood listening for a moment, then Mrs Warmington dug her finger into the Greek’s ribs. ‘Don’t just stand there,’ she hissed. ‘Find out who it is.’
Eumenides dropped the blankets and tiptoed down the stairs and out of sight. Mrs Warmington clutched her bag to her breast, then turned abruptly and walked back to the bedroom. Julie heard the click as the bolt was shot home.
Presently Eumenides reappeared and beckoned. ‘It’s Rawst’orne.’
Julie got Mrs Warmington out of the bedroom again and they all went downstairs to find Rawsthorne very perturbed. ‘They’ve started shelling the town,’ he said. ‘The Government troops are making a stand. It would be better if we moved out quickly before the roads become choked.’
‘I agree,’ said Mrs Warmington.
Rawsthorne looked around. ‘Where’s Causton?’
‘He’s gone to find the best way out,’ said Julie. ‘He said he wouldn’t be long. What time is it now?’
Rawsthorne consulted a pocket watch. ‘Quarter to nine – sorry I’m late. Did he say when he’d be back?’
She shook her head. ‘He didn’t think he’d be long, but he said that if he wasn’t back by eleven then he wouldn’t be coming at all.’
There was a violent explosion not far away and flakes of plaster drifted down from the ceiling. Mrs Warmington jumped. ‘Lead the way to your car, Mr Rawsthorne. We must leave now.’
Rawsthorne ignored her. ‘A little over two hours at the most,’ he said. ‘But he should be back long before that. Meanwhile …’ He looked up meaningly at the ceiling.
‘Causton said the best place for us was under the stairs,’ said Julie.
‘You mean we’re staying here?’ demanded Mrs Warmington. ‘With all this going on? You’ll get us all killed.’
‘We can’t leave Mr Causton,’ said Julie.
‘I fix,’ said Eumenides. ‘Come.’
The space under the main staircase had been used as a store-room. The door had been locked but Eumenides had broken it open with a convenient fire axe, tossed out all the buckets and brooms and had packed in all the provisions they were taking. Mrs Warmington objected most strongly to sitting on the floor but went very quietly when Julie said pointedly, ‘You’re welcome to leave at any time.’ It was cramped, but there was room for the four of them to sit, and if the door was kept ajar Rawsthorne found he had a view of the main entrance so that he could see Causton as soon as he came back.
He said worriedly, ‘Causton should never have gone out – I’ve never seen St Pierre like this, the town is starting to boil over.’
‘He’ll be all right,’ said Julie. ‘He’s experienced at this kind of thing – it’s his job.’
‘Thank God it’s not mine,’ said Rawsthorne fervently. ‘The Government army must have been beaten terribly in the Negrito. The town is full of deserters on the run, and there are many wounded men.’ He shook his head. ‘Favel’s attack must have come with shocking suddenness for that to have happened. He must be outnumbered at least three to one by the Government forces.’
‘You said Serrurier is making a stand,’ said Julie. ‘That means the fighting is going to go on.’
‘It might go on for a long time,’ said Rawsthorne soberly. ‘Serrurier has units that weren’t committed to battle yesterday – Favel didn’t give him time. But those fresh units are digging in to the north of the town, so that means another battle.’ He clicked deprecatingly with his tongue. ‘I fear Favel may have overestimated his own strength.’
He fell silent and they listened to the noise of the battle. Always there was the clamour of the guns from the out-skirts of the town, punctuated frequently by the closer and louder explosion of a falling shell. The air in the hotel quivered and gradually became full of a sifting dust so that the sunlight slanting into the foyer shone like the beams of searchlights.
Julie stirred and began to search among the boxes which Eumenides had packed at the back. ‘Have you had breakfast, Mr Rawsthorne?’
‘I didn’t have time, my dear.’
‘We might as well eat now,’ said Julie practically. ‘I think I can cut some bread if we rearrange ourselves a little. We might as well eat it before it becomes really stale.’
They breakfasted off bread and canned pressed meat, washing it down with soda-water. When they had finished Rawsthorne said, ‘What time is it? I can’t seem to get at my watch.’
‘Ten-fifteen,’ said Julie.
‘We can give Causton another three-quarters of an hour,’ said Rawsthorne. ‘But then we must go – I’m sorry, but there it is.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Julie quietly. ‘He did tell us to go at eleven.’
Occasionally they heard distant shouts and excited cries and sometimes the clatter of running boots. Eumenides said suddenly, ‘Your car … is in street?’
‘No,’ said Rawsthorne. ‘I left it at the back of the hotel.’ He paused. ‘Poor Wyatt’s car is in a mess; all the windows are broken and someone has taken the wheels; for the tyres, I suppose.’
They relapsed into cramped silence. Mrs Warmington hugged her bag and conducted an intermittent monologue which Julie ignored. She listened to the shells exploding and wondered what would happen if the hotel got a direct hit. She had no idea of the damage a shell could do apart from what she had seen at the movies and on TV and she had a shrewd idea that the movie version would be but a pale imitation of the real thing. Her mouth became dry and she knew she was very frightened.
The minutes dragged drearily by. Mrs Warmington squeaked sharply as a shell exploded near-by – the closest yet – and the windows of the foyer blew in and smashed. She started to get up, but Julie pulled her back. ‘Stay where you are,’ she cried. ‘It’s safer here.’
Mrs Warmington flopped back and somehow Julie felt better after that. She looked at Eumenides, his face pale in the dim light, and wondered what he was thinking. It was bad for him because, his English being what it was, he could not communicate easily. As she looked at him he pulled up his wrist to his eyes. ‘Quar’ to ‘leven,’ he announced. ‘I t’ink we better load car.’
Rawsthorne stirred. ‘Yes, that might be a good idea,’ he agreed. He began to push open the door. ‘Wait a minute – here’s Causton now.’
Julie sighed. ‘Thank God!’
Rawsthorne pushed the door wider and then stopped short. ‘No, it’s not,’ he whispered. ‘It’s a soldier – and there’s
