“And in spite of everything he could do it did.” 140

Guyon nodded. “De Beaumont is the last of one of our most noble families, his only heir a brother who is a professor of political history at the Sorbonne. A man with pronounced left-wing sympathies. One of his ancestors was one of the few nobles to give wholehearted support to the revolution in 1789, another was a general under Napoleon. For one hundred and fifty years the de Beaumonts have been one of the greatest of French families.”

“Something of a national calamity if he had to be arrested.”

“Exactly. The government was more than happy when he chose to reside in the Channel Islands. At the time it seemed to dispose of him as an immediate problem.”

“Which he has now become,” Mallory said, “and in more ways than one.”

“You are thinking of his threat to dispose of de Gaulle during his visit to St. Malo next month?” Guyon shook his head, lay on the other bed, pillowing his head on his hands. “I’m not too worried about that. They won’t get de Gaulle. He’s indestructible, that one. Like one of those rocks out there on the reef after a storm. A little more weathered, but still standing.”

“Which leaves us with the Granville affair,” Mallory said. “And the hell of it is there doesn’t seem to be a damned thing we can do about it.”

He lit a cigarette and lay on his back, gazing at the ceiling, going over the events of the previous couple of hours in his mind. After a while he said softly: The first rule in this game is that the job must come before everything else. Most men I’ve worked with, in your position, would have played along with de Beaumont, would even have executed me if necessary.”

“Perhaps I saw the situation differently,” Guyon said.

"You moved so fast you didn’t even notice the difference in weight the blanks made. Why?”

“Something I’ve been asking myself on and off for the past hour or more. It’s not easy to explain. Let’s just say that suddenly people have become important to me again and leave it at that.”

He turned his face to the wall and Mallory lay there, smoking his cigarette, thinking how strange it was that a young man, all feeling burned out of him by the flames of two savage wars, should be brought back to life by that oldest and most elemental of human emotions – love.

He was cold and stiff and his limbs ached. He pulled the blanket over his legs and checked his watch. It was almost 5 a.m. and he lay in the darkness listening to the rain and the wind. After a while he drifted into sleep again.

He became aware that someone was prodding him and opened his eyes. Raoul Guyon squatted beside him. Grey light seeped into the room through the barred window and Mallory swung his legs to the floor.

“Still raining?”

Guyon nodded. “Hasn’t let up all night. It’s almost eight.”

Mallory walked to the door and peered through the iron grille into the corridor outside. A young sailor sat in a chair reading a book, a heavy service revolver in the holster at his waist.

Mallory crossed to the window. The casement opened easily enough, but the bars set in the ledge on either side were strong and firm. He looked into the grey morning, out along the reef to lie de Roc. Rain slanted down and visibility was poor, a cold mist drifting close to the surface of the water.

“I wonder what they’re doing over there?” Guyon said at his shoulder.

“They must have realised by now that something’s gone wrong.” Mallory shrugged. “If they’ve any sense at all they’ll have brought in Owen Morgan and gone to Guernsey for help in your launch.”

“Surely de Beaumont will have considered that possibility?”

“He probably has. That’s what’s worrying me.”

There was a rattle of bolts and the door opened. As they both turned, Marcel entered and stood to one side, a revolver in his right hand. The young sailor followed, carrying a tray which he placed on the bed. They withdrew without saying a word, bolting the door again.

The food was simple, bread and cheese and hot coffee, and Mallory suddenly realised how hungry he was. They sat on either side of the tray to eat and finished off by sharing his last cigarette.

Afterwards he lay on the bed waiting for something to happen, while Guyon paced restlessly up and down the cell, the rain hammering against the window. It was almost ten o’clock when the door opened again and de Beaumont entered, Marcel at his back.

He seemed in a good humour and smiled cheerfully. “Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you spent a good night? Your quarters are adequate?”

“I’ve seen worse,” Mallory admitted.

“Anything I can get you?”

“The condemned man’s last wish?” Mallory shrugged. “We could do with some cigarettes. That’s about all.”

Marcel took a packet of Gauloise from his pocket and threw them on the bed. “Anything else?” de Beaumont said politely.

Mallory put a cigarette in his mouth and tossed the packet to Guyon. “I don’t think so.”

“Then you will excuse me? You’ll be interested to know that Jacaud and his men left for Pointe du Chateau fifteen minutes ago as scheduled. Under the circumstances I think it’s time I paid a visit to our friends on fie de Roc.”

“I wouldn’t count on anyone being there to meet you.”

“Oh, they’ll be there, all right. I can assure you of that.”

De Beaumont smiled faintly as if enjoying some private joke, nodded to Marcel and passed outside. The door closed and the bolts were rammed home with a harsh finality.

Guyon turned with a gesture of despair and Mallory motioned him to silence. When he went to the door the young sailor was back on his chair reading a magazine.

Mallory crossed to the window and looked outside. A minute or two later he heard the sound of an engine and Foxhunter came into view, running alongside the reef towards lie de Roc.

“There he goes.”

Guyon moved to the window, peered out and frowned. “But why has he taken Foxhunter?

“Easier to handle than Fleur de Lys on the short run and there’s too much sea for the speedboat.”

Guyon, thinking of Fiona, dropped his cigarette and stamped on it viciously. “I didn’t like his last remark. He sounded far too sure of himself. As if he knew for certain that the General and the girls would still be on the island.”

“I imagine he does/ Mallory said. “It’s been a long night. He could have been up to anything, but that isn’t important at the moment. He probably only intends to bring them back here for safe custody until he’s ready to move out.”

“You may be right.”

“It’s Henri Granville I’m thinking about, sitting in the middle of the Gironde Marshes not knowing that sometime after noon there’ll be a knock at the door. I can see the smile on Jacaud’s face now.”

“And nothing we can do about it.”

“Plenty, if we could get out of here. There’s always the radio room in the tower, or the Fleur de Lys would be a better bet. A boat of that size is bound to have a radio telephone.”

Guyon shook his head. “Those marshes are one of the most isolated places on the entire coast. Even if we managed to contact my people in Paris it would still be too late for Henri Granville. They’d never reach him in time.”

“But we could,” Mallory said. “L’Alouette will have to make the entire run submerged. That will take her a good three hours.”

“It’s almost an hour since she left,” Guyon pointed out.

“Fleur de Lys has twice the speed. We could still beat Jacaud to the punch.”

“Only if we get out of here within the next half-hour,” Guyon said. “And I stopped believing in miracles a long time ago.”

“We don’t need a miracle. Just a little luck,” Mallory pulled him down on the bed. “Now listen carefully.”

It was cold in the passage and the young sailor shivered and got to his feet. He stamped vigorously to restore his circulation and walked a few paces away from the chair. He was bored. He was also a little afraid. In the beginning the whole affair had seemed like a great adventure, a crusade. Now he was not so sure. He turned to move back to his chair and a muffled cry sounded from inside the cell.