Chavasse turned, sick at heart, and Donner came in from the hall, a Luger in his hand. They looked at each other for a long moment and Donner laughed harshly, but it was the man at his shoulder who did the talking.
'So we meet again, Mr. Chavasse?' Boris Souvorin said pleasantly. 'Did you have an enjoyable swim?'
11
The sound of the Land Rover slowing to a halt outside pulled Asta back to reality just as she was dropping off to sleep. She threw back the bedclothes, ran across to the window in time to see her step-father and a stranger, hurry up the steps into the porch. They were followed by Paul Chavasse, Stavrou and Murdoch a pace or two behind.
Asta dropped the curtain, went across to the door and opened it. The landing was in darkness and she tip-toed along to the end and peered over the banisters.
They were standing in a group in the hall below and Chavasse in whipcord slacks and a white polo-necked sweater, seemed completely relaxed, that slight inimitable smile on his face. For a moment she thought everything was all right and then she noticed the revolver Stavrou was holding.
When Donner spoke, she could hear him perfectly. 'Put him in the cellar for half an hour,' he told Stavrou. 'We'll have words later.'
The library door closed and Stavrou and Chavasse moved away. Asta stayed there, gripping the banister rail with both hands.
'So they've picked up your boyfriend, have they?'
The voice was unnaturally loud in the stillness and when she turned, Ruth Murray was standing no more than a yard away, swaying drunkenly, a glass in one hand, a decanter in the other.
Asta brushed past her and went back to her room. She closed the door behind her, but it was opened again almost immediately and Ruth entered.
'Why don't you go to bed?' Asta said patiently. 'I'm not in the mood.'
'But maybe I am,' Ruth said. 'Maybe I'm in the mood for a lot of things. Truth or consequences for instance.' She put the decanter down carefully and went into the bathroom. When she came out, she was holding the rain-soaked sweater that Asta had worn earlier. 'You've really been having yourself a ball, haven't you, and don't bother to deny it. I saw you come in. I wonder what Max would say?'
'You can always try him.'
Ruth's foolish smile disappeared and in a moment her face was contorted with fury. 'You think you're so damned good, don't you? That all you have to do is whistle and he'll come running. Well I could tell you a thing or two about Mr. Max Donner.'
'You'd be wasting your time.'
'Is that so? Just like your mother. She thought she knew how to handle him and look where it got her.'
When she carried on, it was as if she was talking to herself. 'Everything had to be just right, so they told him to get a wife. A nice normal wife. That's why he married your mother.' She tossed back the contents of her glass and refilled it, brandy slopping to the floor. 'The bloody fool. She found out about him. She found out about the great Max Donner. He couldn't have that, now could he?'
'What are you trying to say?' Asta demanded, and something moved coldly inside her.
'Remember how your mother died? Skin-diving off Lesbos?'
'That's right. She went too deep. Ran out of air.'
Ruth Murray laughed harshly. 'What would you say if I told you her emergency cylinder was empty to start with?'
Asta clutched at the end of the bed to steady herself. 'What are you trying to say?' she said in a whisper.
'What do you think I'm trying to say?' Ruth Murray emptied the last of the brandy into her glass and took it down in one quick swallow. 'Yes, he's quite a man, our Max, or Ivan or Boris or Anton or whatever his damned name is.'
Asta managed to make it to the bathroom before she was sick, leaning over the basin, her whole body retching. And when she finished, a stranger stared out at her from the mirror, eyes burning in a face that was the same colour as the hair.
When she returned to the bedroom, Ruth Murray lay on her back sleeping peacefully. Asta looked down at her for a moment, then she got another pair of slacks and a sweater from the wardrobe and dressed quickly. The revolver Chavasse had given her was beneath her pillow. She slipped it into her pocket and went out.
There was only one thing she was certain of-that she was going to kill Max Donner. She moved along the landing and as she reached the stairhead, Chavasse crossed the hall to the library, Stavrou at his back with a gun. They went inside, Asta drew back into the shadows and waited.
Donner was standing at the fireplace smoking a cigar when Chavasse and Stavrou went into the library. There was no sign of Souvorin or Murdoch.
He looked Chavasse over carefully for a moment and then nodded. 'All right, sport. I'm a busy man and my time's limited, so let's get down to business.'
'A long way from Rum Jungle,' Chavasse said in Russian.
Stavrou grunted, moving in quickly, but Donner held up a hand, his face calm. 'You seem to know more than I thought you did.'
'Clay Crossing in 1933 till you joined up at Kalgoorlie in 1939,' Chavasse said. 'Six years of nothing in between and don't tell me you were going walkabout in the bush.' He helped himself to a cigarette from a silver box on the table. 'Whatever happened to Donner by the way? He must have been really perfect. Austrian immigrant, orphaned, no relatives.'
'He stowed away on a Russian freighter in Sydney Harbour in 1933.'
'Bound for the land of milk and honey?'
'He did all right,' Donner said. 'He had everything he needed.'
'And in return you took everything he had-everything that was Max Donner.'
'What put you on to me?'
Chavasse shrugged. 'The same sort of thing that pulled Gordon Lonsdale down. In the end you have to depend on others. Little people who aren't quite as clever as you are, like that stupid little Admiralty clerk, Simmons, and Ranesvsky.'
'What about Ranevsky?'
'He paid Simmons in new notes. They not only led us to Ranevsky-they also provided us with the interesting fact that he'd cashed a cheque signed by you.'
'That wouldn't get you very far.'
'No-it wasn't even worth mentioning at the trial, but it did start us checking and that was all that was needed, especially when the trail went all the way back to six blank years.'
'Not to worry,' Donner grinned. 'I've had a good run and I'll be out of it soon. One last big coup, that's all.'
'Don't kid yourself,' Chavasse said. 'You're not going anywhere.'
'A good try,' Donner said, 'but it won't work. Craig's man, George Gunn, told me everything I needed to know back there at the lodge.'
'I don't believe you,' Chavasse said.
'All right, try this for size. You're only up here on the snoop to see what I'm up to and Craig was supposed to provide a cover.' He grinned. 'I'm forgetting the most important bit. Nobody makes a move till you report back so I've got all the time in the world.'
For a moment, all that Chavasse felt showed clearly on his face. 'Don't take it to heart, sport. You haven't seen Stavrou in action. George Gunn was a tough bird. He only spilled his guts because he thought it would save the old man's skin.' Donner laughed harshly. 'He was wrong.'
He stood there, a strange, expectant look on his face as if he was waiting for something and Chavasse, fighting with every fibre of his being the overwhelming desire to fling himself forward to destroy this man, helped himself to another cigarette and lit it, hands shaking slightly.
When he spoke, his voice was quite calm. 'That's the way it goes sometimes.'
Donner laughed delightedly. 'You know, I like you, sport. You've got class. I think I'll take you back with me. I bet they could squeeze a lot of good stuff out of you.'
'I'll say this,' Chavasse told him. 'You certainly had everyone fooled with this Souvorin business. When he defected, he was accepted without question. He's spent the best part of a year working in the classified section of the Rocket Research Establishment, Boscombe Down.'