The World in My Pocket

Thomas thought: not quite, pal. You’ll find that out in a moment. Nearly dead, but not quite. He forced his will to lift his gun hand and he felt the gun, like a ton weight, move slightly as Morgan moved into the open doorway of the truck.

Morgan’s gun was pointing at Thomas, but this was merely a precautionary measure. He was quite satisfied that Thomas was dead. No one with that ghastly smashed face and that colour could possibly be alive.

‘We’d better get him out of here and bury him,’ he said and looked at Bleck, who was leaning forward staring through the window of the door, the door pressed against him, looking at Thomas.

Thomas opened his eyes.

‘Look out!’ Bleck yelled and tried to get his gun up, but he was handicapped by the door pressing against him. Thomas squeezed the trigger of his gun as Morgan shot him. The two guns went off simultaneously, sounding like one.

Morgan’s bullet hit Thomas in the throat, killing him instantly.

Thomas’s bullet hit Morgan in the stomach, and he folded at the knees, falling into the cab, his face in Thomas’s lap.

Gypo gave a long, shuddering cry.

For a long moment Bleck remained frozen. Then he pushed the truck door against Morgan’s legs and squeezed himself between the door and the side of the caravan.

He leaned into the cab, pulling Morgan over on to his back.

Morgan looked at him, his eyes glazed.

‘It didn’t work out,’ he muttered, his voice so low Bleck could scarcely hear him. ‘Good luck, Ed. You’ll need it. You’ll all need it.’

Bleck straightened. He found himself thinking that if they ever did succeed in breaking into the truck, they would each have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars now, since, instead of five, there were only four left to share the loot.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I

The cabin consisted of a bedroom, a sitting room, a tiny kitchen and a shower cabinet. It was pleasantly furnished with twin beds in the bedroom and two lounging chairs and settee in the sitting room. With a little improvisation, it was possible to sleep four there.

It had the advantage of being the most isolated cabin along the lake. It was the honeymoon cabin, the man in charge told Ginny with a knowing smile. They were lucky he could offer it.

The last couple who had had it only moved out last night. The man - his name was Hadfield - had got into the Buick with Ginny and Kitson and had directed them to the cabin. From time to time he glanced at Kitson, wondering why he looked so tense and why he scarcely spoke a word. He thought the guy was probably nervous, facing his first night as a husband, although why any man should feel nervous with a girl as pretty as this one, Hadfield couldn’t understand.

The girl was nervous too, but that was to be expected. All nice girls, Hadfield thought sentimentally, were nervous on their honeymoon and he couldn’t do enough for her. He showed her where she could park the caravan, right beside the cabin, and pointed out the boat house where they could hire a boat if they wanted one. He said they wouldn’t be disturbed.

‘Folks here are pretty sociable, Mrs. Harrison,’ he told her after he had unlocked the cabin and had shown her where everything was kept. ‘They drop in on each other, but I guess you two would like a little privacy, anyway for a day or two,’ and he winked at Kitson, who stared stonily at him. ‘I’ll pass the word around. You won’t be bothered until you are good and ready.’

There had been nothing the four of them could do until dark.

That had been the worst period of this eventful day for them.

Ginny had gone into the bedroom and had lain down on the bed. After a while she had dropped off into a sleep of exhaustion.

Kitson had remained on guard, smoking and keeping an eye on the caravan. Bleck and Gypo had been forced to remain in the caravan with the dead bodies of Morgan and Thomas for company. It had been a bad period.

When it was dark, Bleck and Gypo had come into the cabin. Gypo was in a bad way. He flopped into an armchair and hid his face in his hands. He had a big bruise on the side of his jaw where Bleck had hit him. There had been a time, when driving up to Fawn Lake, when Gypo had tried to break out of the caravan. He had started to yell and beat on the walls of the caravan. He had behaved as if he had gone off his head.

Bleck had had to hit him pretty hard. There was no other way of controlling him. When Gypo had come to, he had sat on the floor of the caravan, silent and limp. The eight long hours Bleck and he remained in the caravan, waiting for darkness with the windows shut tight to keep out the flies, had been an experience that neither of them was likely to forget.

Bleck and Kitson had gone into the dark wood to find a suitable place to bury Morgan and Thomas. Among the tools that Gypo had brought with him was a shovel, and finally, when they had found the spot, they took it in turns to dig.