The realization of what had happened was instantaneous and Bowman wasted no time on self-recriminations. There would be a time for those but the time was assuredly not when Koscis and Hoval were standing there taking very little trouble to conceal the immediacy of their homicidal intentions. Bowman lunged swiftly and completely unexpectedly – for a man with a knife does not usually anticipate that one without a knife will indulge in such suicidal practices – towards Koscis, who instinctively drew back, lifting his knife high in self-defence. Prudently enough, Bowman didn’t complete his movement, but threw himself to his right and ran across the few intervening yards of forecourt leading to the patio steps.
He heard Koscis and Hoval pounding across the gravel in pursuit. They were saying things, to Bowman unintelligible things, but even in Romany the burden of their remarks was clear. Bowman reached the fourth step on his first bound, checked so abruptly that he almost but didn’t quite lose his balance, wheeled round and swung his right foot all in one movement. Koscis it was who had the misfortune to be in the lead: he grunted in agony, the knife flying from his hand, as he fell backwards on to the forecourt.
Hoval came up the steps as Koscis went down them, his right arm, knife pointing upwards, hooking viciously. Bowman felt the tip of the knife burning along his left forearm and then he’d hit Hoval with a great deal more force than Hoval had earlier hit him, which was understandable enough, for when Hoval had hit him he’d been concerned only with his personal satisfaction: Bowman was concerned with his life. Hoval, too, fell backwards, but he was luckier than Koscis: he fell on top of him.
Bowman pushed up his left sleeve. The wound on the forearm was about eight inches long but, although bleeding quite heavily, was little more than a superficial cut and would close up soon. In the meantime, he hoped it wouldn’t incapacitate him too much.
He forgot about that trouble when he saw a new one approaching. Ferenc was running across the forecourt in the direction of the patio steps. Bowman turned, hurried across the patio to the steps leading to the upper terrace and stopped briefly to look back. Ferenc had both Koscis and Hoval on their feet and it was clear that it was only a matter of seconds before all three were on their way.
Three to one and the three with knives. Bowman carried no weapon of any kind and the immediate prospect was uninviting. Three determined men with knives will always hunt down an unarmed man, especially three men who appeared to regard the use of knives as second nature. A light still showed from Le Grand Duc’s room. Bowman pulled down his black face mask and burst through the doorway: he felt he didn’t have time to knock. Le Grand Duc and Lila were still playing chess but Bowman again felt that he didn’t have time to worry about mildly surprising matters of that nature.
‘For God’s sake, help me, hide me!’ The gasping, he thought, might have been slightly overdone but in the circumstances it came easily. ‘They’re after me!’
Le Grand Duc looked in no way perturbed, far less startled. He merely frowned in ducal annoyance and completed a move.
‘Can’t you see we’re busy?’ He turned to Lila who was staring at Bowman with parted lips and very large rounded eyes. ‘Careful, my dear, careful. Your bishop is in great danger.’ He spared Bowman a cursory glance, viewing him with distaste. ‘Who are after you?’
‘The gypsies, that’s who. Look!’ Bowman rolled up his left sleeve. ‘They’ve knifed me!’
The expression of distaste deepened.
‘You must have given them some cause for offence.’
‘Well, I was down there–’
‘Enough!’ He held up a magisterial hand. ‘Peeping Toms can expect no sympathy from me. Leave at once.’
‘Leave at once? But they’ll get me–’
‘My dear.’ Bowman didn’t think Le Grand Duc was addressing him and he wasn’t. He patted Lila’s knee in a proprietorial fashion. ‘Excuse me while I call the management. No cause for alarm, I assure you.’
Bowman ran out through the doorway, checked briefly to see if the terrace was still deserted. Le Grand Duc called: ‘You might close that door after you.’
‘But, Charles–’ That was Lila.
‘Checkmate,’ said Le Grand Duc firmly, ‘in two moves.’
There was the sound of footsteps, running footsteps, coming across the patio to the base of the terrace steps. Bowman moved quickly to the nearest port in the storm.
Cecile wasn’t asleep either. She was sitting up in bed holding a magazine and attired in some fetching negligée that, in happier circumstances, might well have occasioned admiring comment. She opened her mouth, whether in astonishment or the beginning of a shout for help, then closed it again and listened with surprising calmness as Bowman stood there with his back to the closed door and told her his story.
‘You’re making all this up,’ she said.
Bowman hoisted his left sleeve again, an action which by now he didn’t much like doing as the coagulating blood was beginning to stick wound and material together.
‘Including this?’ Bowman asked.
She made a face. ‘It is nasty. But why should they–’
‘Ssh!’ Bowman had caught the sound of voices outside, voices which rapidly became very loud.
An altercation was taking place and Bowman had little doubt that it concerned him. He turned the handle of the door and peered out through a crack not much more than an inch in width.
Le Grand Duc, with Lila watching from the open doorway, was standing there with arms outspread like an overweight traffic policeman, barring the way of Ferenc, Koscis and Hoval. That they weren’t immediately recognizable as those three was due to the fact that they’d obviously considered it prudent to take time out to wrap some dirty handkerchiefs or other pieces of cloth about their faces in primitive but effective forms of masks, which explained why Bowman had been given the very brief breathing space he had been.
‘This is private property for guests only,’ Le Grand Duc said sternly.
‘Stand aside!’ Ferenc ordered.
‘Stand aside? I am the Duc de Croytor–’
‘You’ll be the dead Duc de–’
‘How dare you, sir!’ Le Grand Duc stepped forward with a speed and coordination surprising in a man of his bulk and caught the astonished and completely unprepared Ferenc with a roundhouse right to the chin. Ferenc staggered back into the arms of his companions who had momentarily to support him to prevent his collapse. There was some moments’ hesitation, then they turned and ran from the terrace, Koscis and Hoval still having to support a very wobbly Ferenc.
‘Charles.’ Lila had her hands clasped in what is alleged to be the classic feminine gesture of admiration. ‘How brave of you!’
‘A bagatelle. Aristocracy versus ruffians – class always tells.’ He gestured towards his doorway. ‘Come, we have yet to finish both the chess and the canapés.’
‘But – but how can you be so calm? I mean, aren’t you going to phone? The management? Or the police?’
‘What point? They were masked and will be far away by this time. After you.’
They went inside and closed their door. Bowman closed his.
‘You heard?’ She nodded. ‘Good old duke. That’s taken the heat off for the moment.’ He reached for the door handle. ‘Well, thanks for the sanctuary.’
‘Where are you going?’ She seemed troubled or disappointed or both.
‘Over the hills and far away.’
‘In your car?’
‘I haven’t got one.’
‘You can take mine. Ours, I mean.’
‘You mean that?’
‘Of course, silly.’