The Killer Mine

I hesitated. What the hell was I to do? There were two of them. They stood watching me. My limbs were stiff with the pain. I suddenly felt weak and humiliated. It was as though I had walked into a net carefully spread for me and it had tightened about me, so that I was helpless.

'Well?' Manack snapped.

'Okay,' I mumbled. I looked across at Mulligan. 'If I ever meet you again,' I said, 'watch out for yourself.'

'Okay,' he replied. 'Mais pour ca, je ne passerai pas des nuits blanches.' And he laughed.

I turned then and left the room.

CHAPTER FOUR The Room of the Past

I shut the door behind me and stood undecided for a moment in the passage. Manack was talking. But his voice came to me as an unintelligible drone through the thick oak. The passage was a pool of lamplight fading into dark shadows. The chill of it struck through me, reminding me of my wet clothes. I shivered. What the hell was I going to do now? I could, of course, walk right out of the house. There was nothing to stop me — nothing at all — except that I was a deserter. I felt bitter and angry and helpless. Manack was dangerous; far more dangerous than Mulligan. That talk about implicating me with the affair of the revenue cutter — he'd meant that. Those eyes of his and the wild look he'd had. That was nerves. He was the sort of man who lived on his nerves. He was like a man walking a tight-rope. That was it — a man walking a criminal tight-rope. That sort would take any risk.

Through the oak door I heard Mulligan's voice on a higher note. Then Manack's voice cut in, sharp and peremptory. I was shivering and my teeth chattered. I couldn't hear what they were saying. Irresolutely I set off down the passage to the kitchen. I'd feel better with dry clothes and some food inside me. The thought of food brought the juices up under my tongue. I hadn't eaten all day. Time enough when I'd eaten to decide what I was going to do.

When I opened the kitchen door the girl was still at her ironing. She looked up and smiled. It was a slow, friendly smile. I went over to the fire. The smell from the pots was good. 'What time do you feed?' I asked.

She glanced at the alarm clock on the mantelpiece. It was just after eight-thirty. 'About nine,' she said. 'We're late tonight. I'll show you your room afterwards. It's being got ready now. Have you any things?'

'No,' I said. I had got myself right in front of the fire and my clothes were beginning to steam.

'Well, I'm afraid you won't be able to borrow any pyjamas,'

She was looking straight at me. 'You're a bit larger than any of the men in this house except Mr Manack, and he wears a nightshirt.' Then she noticed the steam rising from my clothes.

'You'd better get your clothes dried.' She stripped the blanket off the ironing board. 'Here you are,' she said, and tossed it over.

Take them off and wrap that round you.' And when I hesitated, she said, 'Don't worry about me. I'm used to half-naked men around. Wheal Garth's a pretty wet mine.'

As I stripped off my things and hung them on the clothes horse, I saw her looking at me several times curiously. I felt flattered. It was good to have a girl around again. But then she said, There's something strangely familiar about you.'

'How do you mean?' I asked, wrapping the blanket round me and slipping out of my wet trousers.

'I don't know,' she answered, with a puzzled frown. 'Almost is though I'd seen you before.'

'Ever been out of England?' I asked.

She shook her head and smiled. 'Never been out of Cornwall,' she said.

Then you can't have seen me before,' I told her, This is the first time I've been back in England since I was four.'

'Oh.' But the puzzled frown was still on her face. 'What's your name?' she asked.

'Jim,' I said. 'Jim Pr — ' I just stopped myself in time. 'Jim O'Donnel. I'm a Canadian.'

She smiled. 'You're a deserter, aren't you?'

That startled me. I started to deny it. But I stopped and said, 'How did you know?'

'You have to be a deserter or a jailbird to get a job here.' There was a trace of bitterness in her voice, and she bent over her ironing.

'What's the racket?' I asked.

She looked up then, her face stony and sullen. 'Ask Captain Manack,' she said.

I didn't say anything then. I turned and let the glow of the fire warm my belly through the blanket. A chair was set beside me and two hands took hold of my shoulders and pressed me into it. Her hands were still touching me as I sat down and her face was close to mine. It was a nice face, flushed with the heat of the fire and the lips slightly parted to show the gleam of white, even teeth. The lips had no make-up on, but they were red. I suddenly wanted to kiss them. God, it was ages since I had had a woman.

I think she sensed my urge for she drew quickly back, but her eyes sparkled and I knew she wasn't angry. She was a big girl, but well proportioned with firm breasts that thrust at the cotton of her blouse, so that I could see the outline of her nipples.

I looked quickly down into the hot glow of the fire. I heard her go back to her ironing. 'You've got fine shoulders,' she said softly. 'You're not a miner, are you?'

'Yes,' I said.

'You said this was the first time you'd been back in England since you were four,' she said. 'What were you doing over here at the age of four?'

'Getting myself born,' I told her.

'Getting born? You mean you were born over here? Where?' There was a note of excitement in her voice.

'Redruth,' I said.

'Then you're Cornish?'

'I suppose so — by birth,' I added cautiously. 'My father was, anyway.'

'Your father was a Cornishman?' She seemed unusually interested. 'What about your mother?'

'She was Cornish too.'

'Is your mother still in Canada?'

'No,' I replied. And then for some reason I added. 'I don't know where she is. She ran off with somebody else. That's why we went to Canada.'

I suddenly realised that she had stopped ironing. I looked round quickly to find her leaning on the iron, staring at me with her eyes wide and that puzzled expression on her face. 'What's your name?' she asked.

'I told you,' I said. 'O'Donnel.'

'No, no,' she said impatiently. 'Your real name?'

At that moment the door opened and Manack came in. He glanced quickly from me to the girl and then back to me again. 'I see you've made yourself at home,' he said, and I thought there was a trace of sarcasm in his tone.

'I'm getting myself dried,' I explained.

'The men here have their own quarters,' he said.

'The stove's not lit in there,' the girl put in. 'They haven't come in yet, and it's not worth lighting it now. They'll go straight to bed if they're to get up at the time you want them in the morning.'

Manack nodded. 'Come into my office,' he said to me. 'Mulligan's gone. I want to talk to you about the job I want done. Don't bother to put any clothes on. If Kitty can put up with you half-undressed, no doubt I can.'

I followed him along the passage to his office. He shut the door. 'Better get near the fire,' he advised and poured me out a stiff drink. 'Take it you don't mind Italian cognac?'

'I'm pretty used to it,' I said.

His eyes watched me as I raised my glass and drank. They were steel grey and their movements were quick as though he found it a strain to look at anything for more than a few seconds. His hands were long and slender, and when his fingers weren't drumming on the arm of his chair or running through his thick, wiry hair, they hung loosely from the wrist. Sitting there with only a blanket and a pair of pants on I felt at a disadvantage. He knocked back his drink and poured himself another. 'Rotgut,' he said. 'Still, it's better than nothing. If that revenue cutter hadn't butted in we'd have been drinking French brandy or champagne. Damn 'em.' He filled my glass. The liquor was warming. 'What's your name?' The question came abruptly.