«Get the stuff together again,» he whispered urgently. «We're taking it with us. Something's gone wrong.» Within thirty seconds they had ropes and explosives back in their knapsacks, had strapped them on their backs and were on their way.
Bent almost double, careful to make no noise whatsoever, they ran across the roof-tops towards the old house where they had hidden earlier in the evening, where they were now to rendezvous with Louki. Still running, they were only feet away from the house when they saw his shadowy figure rise up, only it wasn't Louki, Mallory realised at once, it was far too tall for Louki, and without breaking step he catapulted the horizontal driving weight of his 180 pounds at the unknown figure in a homicidal tackle, his shoulder catching the man just below the breast-bone, emptying every last particle of air from the man's lungs with an explosive, agonised whoosh. A second later both of Miller's sinewy hands were clamped round the man's neck, slowly choking him to death.
And he would have choked to death, neither of the two men were in any mind for half-measures, had not Mallory, prompted by some fugitive intuition, stooped low over the contorted face, the staring, protruding eyes, choked back a cry of sudden horror.
«Dusty!» he whispered hoarsely. «For God's sake, stop! Let him go! It's Panayis!»
Miller didn't hear him. In the gloom his face was like stone, his head sunk farther and farther between hunching shoulders as he tightened his grip, strangling the Greek in a weird and savage silence.
«It's Panayis, you bloody fool, Panayis!» Mallory's mouth was at the American's ear, his hands clamped round the other's wrists as he tried to drag him off Panayis's throat. He could hear the muffled drumming of Panayis's heels on the turf of the roof, tore at Miller's wrists with all his strength: twice before he had heard that sound as a man had died under Andrea's great hands, and he knew with sudden certainty that Panayis would go the same way, and soon, if he didn't make Miller understand. But all at once Miller understood, relaxed heavily, straightened up, still kneeling, hands hanging limply by his sides. Breathing deeply he stared down in silence at the man at his feet.
«What the hell's the matter with you?» Mallory demanded softly. «Deaf or blind or both?»
«Just one of these things, I guess.» Miller rubbed the back of a hand across his forehead, his face empty of expression. «Sorry, boss, sorry.»
«Why the hell apologise to me?» Mallory looked away from him, looked down at Panayis: the Greek was sitting up now, hands massaging his bruised throat, sucking in long draughts of air in great, whooping gasps. «But maybe Panayis here might appreciate—»
«Apologies can wait,» Miller interrupted brusquely. «Ask him what's happened to Louki.»
Mallory looked at him for a moment, made to reply, changed his mind, translated the question. He listened to Panayis's halting answer — it obviously hurt him even to try to speak — and his mouth tightened in a hard, bitter line. Miller watched the fractional slump of the New Zealander's shoulders, felt he could wait no longer.
«Well, what is it, boss? Somethin's happened to Louki, is that it?»
«Yes,» Mallory said tonelessly. «They'd only got as far as the lane at the back when they found a small German patrol blocking their way. Louki tried to draw them off and the machine-gunner got him through the chest. Andrea got the machine-gunner and took Louki away. Panayis says he'll die for sure.»
CHAPTER 14
The three men cleared the town without any difficulty, striking out directly across country for the Castle Vygos and avoiding the main road. It was beginning to rain now, heavily, persistently and the ground was mired and sodden, the few ploughed fields they crossed almost impassable. They had just struggled their way through one of these and could just see the dim outline of the keep — less than a cross-country mile from the town instead of Louki's exaggerated estimate — when they passed by an abandoned earthen house and Miller spoke for the first time since they had left the town square of Navarone.
«I'm bushed, boss.» His head was sunk on his chest, and his breathing was laboured. «01' man Miller's on the downward path, I reckon, and the legs are gone. Couldn't we squat inside here for a couple of minutes, boss, and have a smoke?»
Mallory looked at him in surprise, thought how desperately weary his own legs felt and nodded in reluctant agreement. Miller wasn't the man to complain unless he was near exhaustion.
«Okay, Dusty, I don't suppose a minute or two will harm.» He translated quickly into Greek and led the way inside, Miller at his heels complaining at length about his advancing age. Once inside, Mallory felt his way across to the inevitable wooden bunk, sat down gratefully, lit a cigarette, then looked up in puzzlement. Miller was still on his feet, walking slowly round the hut, tapping the walls as he went.
«Why don't you sit down?» Mallory asked irritably. «That was why you came in here in the first place, wasn't it?»
«No, boss, not really.» The drawl was very pronounced. «Just a low-down trick to get us inside. Twothree very special things I want to show you.»
«Very special. What the devil are you trying to tell me?»
«Bear with me, Captain Mallory,» Miller requested formally. «Bear with me just a few minutes. I'm not wastin' your time. You have my word, Captain Mallory.»
«Very well.» Mallory was mystified, but his confidence in Miller remained unshaken. «As you wish. Only don't be too long about it.»
«Thanks, boss.» The strain of formality was too much for Miller. «It won't take long. There'll be a lamp or candles in here — you said the islanders never leave an abandoned house without 'em?»
«And a very useful superstition it's been to us, too.» Mallory reached under the bunk with his torch, straightened his back. «Two or three candles here.»
«I want a light, boss. No windows — I checked. O.K.?»
«Light one and I'll go outside to see if there's anything showing.» Mallory was completely in the dark about the American's intentions. He felt Miller didn't want him to say anything, and there was a calm surety about him that precluded questioning. Mallory was back in less than a minute. «Not a chink to be seen from the outside,» he reported.
«Fair enough. Thanks, boss.» Miller lit a second candle, then slipped the rucksack straps from his shoulders, laid the pack on the bunk and stood in silence for a moment.
Mallory looked at his watch, looked back at Miller.
«You were going to show me something,» he prompted. «Yeah, that's right. Three things, I said.» He dug into the pack, brought out a little black box hardly bigger than a match-box. «Exhibit A, boss.»
Mallory looked at it curiously. «What's that?»
«Clockwork fuse.» Miller began to unscrew the back panel. «Hate the damned things. Always make me feel like one of those bolshevik characters with a dark cloak, a moustache like Louki's and carryin' one of those black cannon-ball things with a sputterin' fuse stickin' outa it. But it works.» He had the back off the box now, examining the mechanism in the light of his torch. «But this one doesn't, not any more,» he added softly. «Clock's O.K., but the contact arm's been bent right back. This thing could tick till Kingdom Come and it couldn't even set off a firework.»
«But how on earth--?»
«Exhibit B.» Miller didn't seem to hear him. He opened the detonator box, gingerly lifted a fuse from its felt and cotton-wool bed and examined it closely under his torch. Then he looked at Mallory again. «Fulminate of mercury, boss. Only seventy-seven grains, but enough to blow your fingers off. Unstable as hell, too — the little tap will set it off.» He let it fall to the ground, and Mallory winced and drew back involuntarily as the American smashed a heavy heel down on top of it. But there was no explosion, nothing at all.