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“Not this time yer won’t,” he said showing his teeth and holding his sword behind him. “Not me. I know a trick worth two nor that.”

This led to a general uproar.

At last when the blandishments of his brothers, Dame Alice’s fury, Alleyn’s patience and the sweet reasonableness of Dr. Otterly had all proved fruitless, Alleyn fetched Simon from behind the wall.

“Will you,” he said, “get him to stand facing his brothers and holding his sword by the ribbons, which, I gather, is what he did originally?”

“I’ll give it a whirl if you say so, but don’t depend on it. He’s blowing up for trouble, is the Corp.”

“Try.”

“Roger. But he may do anything. Hey! Corp!”

He took Ernie by the arm and murmured wooingly in his ear. Ernie listened but, when it came to the point, remained truculent. “No bloody fear,” he said. He pulled away from Simon and turned on Ralph. “You keep off.”

“Sorry,” Simon muttered. “N.b.g.”

“Oh, well,” Alleyn said. “You go back, will you?”

Simon went back.

Alleyn had a word with Ralph, who listened without any great show of enthusiasm but nodded agreement. Alleyn went up to Ernie.

He said, “Is that the sword you were making such a song about? The one you had on Wednesday?”

“Not it,” Ernie said angrily. “This’un’s a proper old blunt ’un. Mine’s a whiffler, mine is. So sharp’s a knife.”

“You must have looked pretty foolish when the Betty took it off you.”

“No, I did not, then.”

“How did he get it? If it’s so sharp why didn’t he cut his hand?”

“You mind your own bloody business.”

“Come on, now. He ordered you to give it to him and you handed it over like a good little boy.”

Ernie’s response to this was furious and unprintable.

Alleyn laughed. “All right. Did he smack your hand or what? Come on.”

“He wouldn’t of took it,” Ernie spluttered, “if I’d seen. He come sneaking up be’ind when I worn’t noticing, like. Didn’t you?” he demanded of Ralph. “If I’d held thik proper you wouldn’t ’ave done it.”

“Oh,” Alleyn said offensively. “And how did you hold it? Like a lady’s parasol?”

Ernie glared at him. A stillness had fallen over the courtyard.

The bonfire could be heard crackling cheerfully beyond the wall. Very deliberately Ernie reversed his sword and swung it by the scarlet cord that was threaded through the tip.

Now!” Alleyn shouted and Ralph pounced.

“Crack” screamed: a shrill wavering cry. Mrs. Bünz’s voice could be heard within, protesting, apparently, in German, and the Hobby, moving eccentrically and very fast, turned and bolted through the archway at the rear. At the same time Ralph, with the sword in one hand and his crinoline gathered up in the other, fled before the enraged Ernie. Round and round the courtyard they ran. Ralph dodged and feinted, Ernie roared and doubled and stumbled after him.

But Alleyn didn’t wait to see the chase.

He ran after the Hobby. Through the archway he ran and there behind the old wall in the light of the bonfire was “Crack,” the Hobby-Horse, plunging and squealing in the strangest manner. Its great cylinder of a body swung and tilted. Its skirt swept the muddy ground, its canvas top bulged and its head gyrated wildly. Fox and three of his men stood by and watched. There was a final mammoth upheaval. The whole structure tipped and fell over. Mrs. Bünz, terribly dishevelled, bolted out and was caught by Fox.

She left behind her the strangest travesty of the Fool. His clown’s face was awry and his pyjama jacket in rags. His hands were scratched and he was covered in mud. He stepped out of the wreckage of “Crack” and took off his mask.

“Nice work, young Bill,” Alleyn said. “And that, my hearties, is how the Guiser got himself offstage.”

There was no time for Mrs. Bünz or Simon to remark upon this statement. Mrs. Bünz whimpered in the protective custody of Mr. Fox. Simon scratched his head and stared uncomfortably at young Bill.

And young Bill, for his part, as if to clear his head, first shook it, then lowered it and finally dived at Simon and began to pummel his chest with both fists.

Simon shouted, “Hey! What the hell!” and grabbed the boy’s wrists.

Simultaneously Ernie came plunging through the archway from the arena.

“Where is ’e?” Ernie bawled. “Where the hell is the bastard?”

He saw Simon with the Fool’s figure in his grip. A terrible stillness came upon them all.

Then Ernie opened his mouth indecently wide and yelled, “Let ’im have it, then. I’ll finish ’im.”

Simon loosed his hold as if to free himself rather than his captive.

The boy in Fool’s clothing fell to the ground and lay there, mask upwards.

Ernie stumbled towards him. Alleyn and the three Yard men moved in.

“Leave ’im to me!” Ernie said.

“You clot,” Simon said. “Shut your great trap, you bloody clot. Corp! Do you hear me? Corp!”

Ernie looked at his own hands.

“I’ve lost my whiffler. Where’s ’tother job?”

He turned to the wall and saw the charred slasher. “Ar!” he said. “There she is.” He grabbed it, turned and swung it up. Alleyn and one of his men held him.

“Lemme go,” he said, struggling. “I got my orders. Lemme go.”

Mrs. Bünz screamed briefly and shockingly.

“What orders?”

“My Wing-Commander’s orders. Will I do it again, sir? Will I do it, like you told me? Again?”

Looking larger than human in the smoke of the bonfire, five men moved forward. They closed in about Simon.

Alleyn stood in front of him.

“Simon Richard Begg,” he said, “I am going to ask you for a statement, but before I do so I must warn you —”

Simon’s hand flashed. Alleyn caught the blow on his forearm instead of on his throat. “Not again,” he said.

It was well that there were five men to tackle Simon. He was experienced in unarmed combat and he was a natural killer.

Chapter XIII

The Swords Go In

“He’s a natural killer,” Alleyn said. “This is the first time, as far as we know, that it’s happened since he left off being a professional. If it is the first time it’s because until last Wednesday nobody had happened to annoy him in just the way that gingers up his homicidal reflexes.”

“Yes, but fancy!” Dulcie said, coming in with a steaming grog tray. “He had such a good war record. You know he came down in a parachute and killed quantities of Germans with his bare hands all at once and escaped and got decorated.”

“Yes,” Alleyn said drily, “he’s had lots of practice. He told us about that. That was the last time.”

“D’you meantersay,” Dame Alice asked, handing Alleyn a bottle of rum and a corkscrew, “that he killed Will’m Andersen out of temper and nothin’ else?”

“Out of an accumulation of spleen and frustrated ambition and on a snap assessment of the main chance.”

“Draw that cork and begin at the beginnin’.”

“Aunt Akky, shouldn’t you have a rest —”

“No.”

Alleyn drew the cork. Dame Alice poured rum and boiling water into a saucepan and began to grind up nutmeg. “Slice the lemons,” she ordered Fox.

Dr. Otterly said, “Frustrated ambition because of Copse Forge and the filling station?”

“That’s it.”

“Otters, don’t interrupt.”

“I daresay,” Alleyn said, “he’d thought often enough that if he could hand the old type the big chop, and get by, he’d give it a go. The boys were in favour of his scheme, remember, and he wanted money very badly.”