'Now, Doctor, now.' And I leaned against the door harder.
'I will call the police.'
'Fine, we'll wait for them. Either he's properly signed in or he isn't. And if you got him to sign something when he was smashed, then we'll get Doctor Moe up from the village to run a blood or urine test. If he's been dry for two days he shouldn't show any alcohol. If he's registering four hundred, as I expect, then you can use your licence to light your next cigar. The paper or the patient, Doctor. There's no third way.'
But he tried one. He threw the door wide and yelled, 'Trond!'
I looked at Kari. 'Are you convinced?'
I didn't need the nod; her wide cold eyes and set Viking expression were enough.
'Then go and get him.' I stepped into the house behind them.
They'd just reached the stairs when big Trond galloped out from some passage behind them. He was still wearing the short-sleeved white coat and a hopeful expression.
I took the derringer out and aimed it loosely. 'Keep the Reichsmarschall out of this or you'll be treating a different sort of liver trouble.'
Rasmussen glanced down at the little gun.
I said, 'They're thirty-eight Special wadcutters but you don't have to believe that, either. Just ask him afterwards.'
He said something quickly and Trond stopped near the foot of the stairs, slow disappointment spreading across his face.
Kari had just about reached Nygaard's room now, almost out of sight unless I kept well back towards the door. Willie just behind her.
Rasmussen said something else and Trond smiled and turned away.
I snapped the gun around at the doctor himself. 'Stop him. Keep him here!' He looked down the two stubby barrels, shrugged very slightly, and called again. Trond stopped.
Rasmussen said, 'You will have much trouble with the police, I think.'
'There's trouble all over, Doctor. I think it's something going around. How did Mrs Smith-Bang swing you into taking up this ploy?'
The name jolted him. Not much, but enough to keep him busy for a moment. And moments were what I wanted. I just hoped Willie and Kari weren't playing dressing-up-dolls games with Nygaard.
I chattered on, 'I wonder if you know how much all this involves, Doctor? Did you hear of a man called Martin Fen-wick? Shot dead in Arras two weeks ago. Steen, Jonas Steen -murdered in Bergen, last week. Henrick Lie, fake suicide, same place. Did you know all about them, Doctor? And a man called Pat Kavanagh?'
By Christ, hehad heard of Kavanagh. But just then, Kari and Willie hauled Nygaard out of his room and started for the stairs. He had an old uniform greatcoat on, with three stripes at the epaulettes, and I couldn't see what else. But Willie was carrying a bunch of clothing.
The girl was carrying a bottle. "They left this in his room, even!' she called, and threw it over the bannisters. It exploded in a silver-and-brown spray and Trond shied away.
I said conversationally, 'New form of treatment, eh, Doctor? If they can't stand the cure they can go back to the disease without waking you up.'
'You should know it is dangerous to treat a man of that age. The withdrawal symptoms can kill as quickly as the drinking.'
'I'm not questioning your professional knowledge, Doctor, just your financial ethics.'
They were at the bottom of the stairs now, and I could see Nygaard had got some shoes on. I stepped farther into the house, pushing Rasmussen ahead of me, to let them pass behind.
I said, 'Keep him going.' As they reached the door, Nygaard lifted his flabby, sweat-stained face, focused near me, and half smiled. Then they were gone.
The doctor said, 'You were very stupid. How can you escape with him?'
I said, 'If you've got any sense, you'll forget him and us both. Because if we get caught, we talk. You spend your time doing over his room and don't forget to scrub it down for fingerprints, and then you've never heard of him. Make your own peace with Mrs Smith-Bang somehow.'
They'd be on the road by now. If I could give them a minute more, I'd reach the boat at the same time.
Then Kavanagh stepped quietly from behind the stairs and said, 'Hello there, Card. You get around, don't you?' Without the stocking mask, I didn't recognise the square face with strong cheekbones, thin lips, and a sharp widow's peak of very black hair. But the voice, the bandaged right hand – and the big automatic in the left…
Rasmussen had a tight little smile on his face and was edging back out of the Une. Trond was grinning broadly.
Was he any good with his left hand? But it hardly mattered, not at less than ten yards. He had at least seven shots to scatter at me and no professional could miss as badly as I needed him to.
I fired both shots at him and stepped out of the front door. I didn't think I'd hit him, but I'd surprised the hell out of him. He shied instinctively, throwing up the gun hand across his face, and his one shot went somewhere up the stairwell.
The door slammed behind me, shaking the whole porch. I bounced off a rocking-chair, ran to the end, and vaulted down into the doctor's best daffodils. Then across the drive and into the bushes. And there I could stop and reload.
Behind me, the garden reached another twenty yards, all nice thick cover. But beyond that there was a dry-stone wall and then open pasture stretching down to the road one way and up the hillside the other. Using the wall, which stood about hip-high, I could reach the road in complete cover from fire-by breakfast time, maybe.
The lights on the porch and in the hall suddenly went out. I lifted the derringer – then changed my mind. They'd come out cautiously enough anyway; why tell them where I was? I backed off as quietly as I could, weaving among the bushes to the wall; climbed it without knocking anything down – and then went diagonally across the pasture like a frightened rocket. I was practically at the road when I heard the first car start behind me – but it didn't seem to be making much ground.
When I reached the quay, Kari was already down in the boat making urging noises at Nygaard; he was sitting on the edge looking cold, apprehensive, and rather permanent.
Willie was just standing by. 'What was the shooting?'
'An old friend cropped up unexpectedly. Nobody got hurt. Get himin.' I panted.
Kari said, 'I am trying…'
I said, 'Oh, hell,' and grabbed Nygaard by the shoulder of his greatcoat and heaved. He weighed the world, but he shifted. There was a startled squawk and he tumbled down almost on top of David. Willie jerked one rope loose, I took the other, and we swung aboard. Behind us, I heard a second car start – then it was wiped out by the clattering roar of our diesel.
Kari put the tiller hard over and pointed us at the starlit water beyond the dark rocks.
I said, 'Now try for those eight bloody knots.'
Forty
When we were clear of the harbour I told her to swing south and keep following the shoreline – trying to keep us out of sight of the house and the road between it and the main harbour. About then, I remembered to switch off the navigation lights, and that bothered her more than anything else that evening. A bit of kidnapping, a few gunshots, yes, but driving a boat without lights…!
The lights stayed off until we were a good mile from the island and ready to swing round on a new course. This ran about directly south-west into the mouth of the Hogsfjorden and then fifteen miles or more up it to where the car was parked at a small quay where they loaded gravel from a quarry. Nothing else happened there, so past midnight there wouldn't be anybody to ask what we were doing, humping Nygaard ashore.
And it looked as if we were going to be humping him. He'd spent the first busy five minutes lolling about on the deck beside the engine, more than half asleep again already. Then Willie and I had forced him into a pair of socks and put a sweater on under his overcoat – they'd got his trousers on over his pyjamas, back at the sanatorium – and suggested he try the bunk in the cabin. Me, I'd've rather lain down in a bucket of fish heads, which was what it smelt like, but he took it calmly enough. Just patted the diesel's wooden box, grunted, 'Not very good,' and crawled away out of sight.