Caravan to Vaccares

Chapter 10

Fifteen minutes later, with the first shades of evening beginning to fall, the fishing boat, a curiously unperturbed Pierre des Jardins at the wheel, moved placidly up the Canal du Rhône à Sète. The three scientists and their womenfolk, the last of whom had been hauled aboard only seconds before the powerboat had sunk, were seated on the foredeck under the concealed guns of the gypsies, for all the world like vacation trippers enjoying a leisurely cruise in the warm summer evening. All the glass had been knocked out from the broken windows and the few bullet holes in the woodwork of the wheel-house were discreetly camouflaged by El Brocador and Masaine, who were leaning negligently against the starboard side of the structure. Pierre apart, the only two other occupants of the wheel-house were Bowman and Le Grand Duc, the latter with a gun in his hand.

A few kilometres up the canal they passed by the tractor and trailer that had so abruptly left the road when the shooting contest between the Rolls and the powerboat had begun. The tractor was as it had been, a front wheel still over-hanging the canal: clearly and understandably, the driver had deemed it wiser to wait for assistance rather than risk a watery grave for his tractor by trying to extricate it under its own power. The driver, oddly enough, was still there, pacing up and down with a legitimately thunderous look on his face.

Czerda joined the three men in the wheelhouse. He said worriedly: ‘I do not like it, I do not like it at all. It is much too quiet. Perhaps we are going to some kind of trap. Surely some person–’

‘Does that make you feel happier?’ Le Grand Duc pointed in the direction of Aigues-Mortes: two black police cars, sirens wailing and blue lights flashing, were approaching at high speed. ‘Something tells me that our friend the tractor driver has been complaining to someone.’

Le Grand Duc’s guess proved to be correct. The police cars swept by and almost at once started slowing as the tractor driver stood in the middle of the road and frantically waved his arms. They stopped and uniformed figures jumped out of the car and surrounded the gesticulating tractor driver who was obviously retelling his story with a great deal of verve and gusto.

‘Well, if the police are bothering somebody else, they can’t very well be bothering us at the same time,’ Le Grand Duc observed philosophically. ‘Happier now, Czerda?’

‘No,’ Czerda said and looked as if he meant it. ‘Two things. Dozens of people, hundreds for all I know, must have seen what was happening out in the gulf. Why did no one stop us on the way in? Why did no one report what was happening to the police?’

‘Quite frankly, I don’t know,’ Le Grand Duc said thoughtfully. ‘I can guess, though. Same thing happens time and again – when large numbers of people see something happening they invariably leave it to someone else to do something about it. Why, there have been cases of pedestrians watching a man being beaten to death in the street and not lifting a hand to help. Mankind is curiously apathetic about that sort of thing. Maybe it’s a natural reluctance to step into the limelight. I do not profess to know. All that matters is that we came up the harbour without causing an eyebrow to be lifted. Your other question? You had two?’

‘Yes,’ Czerda was grim. ‘What in God’s name are we going to do now?’

‘That is no problem.’ Le Grand Duc smiled. ‘Did I not tell you that we would see the good ship Canton again?’

‘Yes, but how–’

‘How long will it take us to drive to Port le Bouc?’

‘Port le Bouc?’ Czerda furrowed his brow. ‘With the caravan and truck?’

‘How else?’

‘Two and a half hours. Not more than three. Why?’

‘Because that’s where the Canton has instructions to await us if any difficulty arose at the Palavas rendezvous. It will remain there until tomorrow – and we will be there tonight. Don’t you know by now, Czerda, that I always have another string to my bow? Many strings, in fact. And there, tonight, the scientists and their women will be taken aboard. So will Bowman. And so, to eliminate any possibility of risk whatsoever, will the two young ladies and, I’m afraid, this unfortunate fisherman here.’ Pierre des Jardins glanced at Le Grand Duc, lifted an eyebrow, then concentrated on his task again: it was a minuscule reaction for a man listening to what was virtually a death sentence. ‘And then, Czerda, you and your men will be as free as the air for when Bowman and his three friends arrive in China they will simply disappear and never be heard of again. The only witnesses against you will be gone for ever and no breath of suspicion will ever attach itself to you or your men on either side of the Iron Curtain.’

‘If I have ever questioned you in the past, I apologize.’ Czerda spoke slowly, almost reverently. ‘This is genius.’ He looked as a man might look after the Forth Bridge had been lifted off his back.

‘Elementary, elementary.’ Le Grand Duc waved a disparaging hand. ‘Now, then. We shall be in sight of the jetty shortly and we don’t want to give the young ladies any shocks to their delicate nervous systems, the kind of shock, for instance, that might prompt them to drive away at speed with the truck and caravan before we even reach the jetty. Everybody into the fish-hold now and to keep out of sight till the word is given. You and I will remain here – seated, of course – while Bowman takes the vessel alongside. Understood?’

‘Understood.’ Czerda looked at him admiringly. ‘You think of everything!’

‘I try,’ Le Grand Duc said modestly. ‘I try.’

The three girls with a youngster seated on a scooter were at the head of the jetty as Bowman, apparently alone, brought the boat alongside. They ran down, secured the ropes he threw them and jumped aboard. Cecile and Lila were half-smiling, half-apprehensive, wondering what news he bore: Carita remained in the background, aloof and rather remote.

‘Well?’ Cecile demanded. ‘Well, tell us. What happened?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Bowman said. ‘Things have gone wrong.’

‘Not for us,’ Le Grand Duc said jovially. He stood up, gun in hand, accompanied by Czerda, similarly equipped, and beamed at the girls. ‘Not really, I must say. How nice to see you again, my dear Carita. Had a pleasant time with the two young ladies?’

‘No,’ Carita said shortly. ‘They wouldn’t speak to me.’

‘Prejudice, sheer prejudice. Right, Czerda, everyone on deck and in the caravan inside a minute.’ He looked towards the head of the jetty. ‘And who is that youth with the scooter?’

‘That’s José!’ Czerda was as near a mood of excited anticipation as it would ever be possible for him to achieve. ‘The boy I sent to get the money that Bowman stole from me – from us, I mean.’ He stepped out on deck and waved an arm. ‘José! José!’

José swung his leg over the scooter, came down the jetty and jumped aboard. He was a tall thin youth with an enormous shock of black hair, beady eyes and a prematurely knowing expression.

‘The money?’ Czerda asked. ‘You have the money?’

‘What money?’

‘Of course, of course. To you, only a brown paper parcel.’ Czerda smiled indulgently. ‘But it was the right key?’

‘I don’t know.’ José’s mental processes quite evidently knew nothing about the intelligent expression on his face.

‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

‘I don’t know whether it was the right key or the wrong key,’ José explained patiently. ‘All I know is that there are no safe-deposit boxes in the railway station in Aries.’

There was a fairly lengthy silence during which a number of thoughts, none of them particularly pleasant, passed through the minds of several of those present, then Bowman cleared his throat and said apologetically: ‘I’m afraid this is all rather my fault. That was the key to my suitcase.’

There was another silence, more or less of the same length, then Le Grand Duc said with immense restraint: ‘The key to your suitcase. I would have expected nothing else. Where are the eighty thousand francs, Mr Bowman?’

‘Seventy thousand. I’m afraid I had to deduct a little of it. Current expenses, you know.’ He nodded to Cecile. ‘That dress alone cost me–’

‘Where are they?’ Le Grand Duc shouted. He was through with restraint for the day. ‘The seventy thousand francs?’

‘Ah yes. Well, now.’ Bowman shook his head. ‘There’s so much happened since last night–’

‘Czerda!’ Le Grand Duc was back on balance again but it was a close thing. ‘Put your pistol to Miss Dubois’s head. I shall count three.’

‘Don’t bother,’ Bowman said. ‘I left it at the Les Baux caves. By Alexandre.’

‘By Alexandre?’

‘I’m not an idiot,’ Bowman said tiredly. ‘I knew the police might be there this morning. Rather, would be there and might find Alexandre. But it’s close by.’

Le Grand Duc gave him a long, thoughtful stare then turned to Czerda. ‘This would be only a minor detour on our way to Port le Bouc?’

‘Another twenty minutes. No more.’ He nodded towards Bowman. ‘The canal here is deep. Do we need him along, sir?’

‘Only,’ Le Grand Duc said ominously, ‘until we discover whether he’s telling the truth or not.’

Night had fallen when Czerda pulled up in the lay-by at the head of the Valley of Hell. Le Grand Duc, who, along with El Brocador, had been Czerda’s passenger in the front of the towing truck, got out, stretched himself and said: ‘The ladies we will leave here. Masaine will stay behind to guard them. All the others will come with us.’

Czerda looked his puzzlement. ‘We require so many?’

‘I have my purpose.’ Le Grand Duc was at his most enigmatic. ‘Do you question my judgement?’

‘Now? Never!’

‘Very well, then.’

Moments later a large group of people was moving through the terrifying vastness of the tomb-like caves. There were eleven of them in all – Czerda, Ferenc, Searl, El Brocador, the three scientists, the two girls, Bowman and Le Grand Duc. Several carried torches, their beams reflecting weirdly, whitely, off the great limestone walls. Czerda led the way, briskly, confidently, until he came to a cavern where a broken landfall led up to the vague outline of a starlit sky above. He advanced to the jumbled base of the landfall and stopped.

‘This is the place,’ he said.

Le Grand Duc probed with his torch. ‘You are sure?’

‘I am certain.’ Czerda directed his torch towards a mound of stones and rubble. ‘Incredible, is it not? Those idiots of police haven’t even found him yet!’

Le Grand Duc directed his own torch at the mound. ‘You mean–’

‘Alexandre. This is where we buried him.’

‘Alexandre is of no concern any more.’ Le Grand Duc turned to Bowman. ‘The money, if you please.’

‘Ah, yes. The money.’ Bowman shrugged and smiled. ‘This is the end of the road, I’m afraid. There is no money.’

‘What!’ Le Grand Duc advanced and thrust the barrel of his gun into Bowman’s ribs. ‘No money?’

‘It’s there, all right. In a bank. In Aries.’

‘You fooled us?’ Czerda said incredulously. ‘You brought us all this way–’

‘Yes.’

‘You bought your life for two hours?’

‘For a man under sentence of death two hours can be a very long time.’ Bowman smiled, looked at Cecile, then turned back to Czerda. ‘But also a very short time.’

‘You bought your life for two hours!’ Czerda seemed more astonished at this fact than he was concerned by the loss of the money.

‘Put it that way.’

Czerda brought up his gun. Le Grand Duc stepped forward, seized Czerda’s wrist and pressed his gun-hand down. He said in a low, harsh, bitter voice: ‘My privilege.’

‘Sir.’

Le Grand Duc pointed his gun at Bowman, then jerked it to the right. For a moment Bowman seemed to hesitate, then shrugged. They moved away together, Le Grand Duc’s gun close to Bowman’s back, round a right-angled corner into another cavern. After a few moments the sound of a shot reverberated through the caverns, its echoes followed by the thud as of a falling body. The scientists looked stunned, a complete and final despair written in their faces. Czerda and his three companions looked at one another in grim satisfaction. Cecile and Lila clung to each other, both, in the reflected wash of torchlight, ashen-faced and in tears. Then all heard the measured tread of returning footsteps and stared at the right-angled corner where the two men had disappeared.

Le Grand Duc and Bowman came into view at the same instant. Both of them carried guns, rock-steady in their hands.

‘Don’t,’ Bowman said.

Le Grand Duc nodded. ‘As my friend observes, please, please, don’t.’

But after a moment of total disbelief, Ferenc and Searl did. There were two sharp reports, two screams and the sound, sharply metallic, of two guns striking the limestone floor. Ferenc and Searl stood in stupefied agony, clutching shattered shoulders. The second time, Bowman reflected, that Searl had been wounded in that shoulder but he could bring himself to feel no pity for he knew now that it had been Searl who had used the whip to flay the skin from Tina’s back.

Bowman said: ‘Some people take a long time to learn.’

‘Incorrect, Neil. Some people never learn.’ Le Grand Duc looked at Czerda, the expression on his face indicating that he would have preferred to be looking elsewhere. ‘We had nothing against you, from a judicial point of view, that is. Not a shred of proof, not a shred of evidence. Not until you, personally and alone, led us to Alexandre’s grave and admitted to the fact that you had buried him. In front of all those witnesses. Now you know why Mr Bowman bought his life for two hours.’ He turned to Bowman. ‘Incidentally, where is the money, Neil?’

‘In Cecile’s handbag. I just kind of put it there.’

The two girls advanced, slowly, uncertainly. There were no longer any signs of tears but they were totally uncomprehending. Bowman pocketed his gun, went to them and put his arms round the shoulders of both.

‘It’s all right, now,’ he said. ‘It’s all over, it really is.’ He lifted his hand from Lila’s shoulders, pressed her cheek with his fingertips till she turned to look at him in dazed enquiry. He smiled. ‘The Duc de Croytor is indeed the Duc de Croytor. My boss, these many years.’