A Rough Shoot by Geoffrey Household

Author:Geoffrey Household [Household, Geoffrey]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: New York : Bantam Books

The telephoning had to be tackled as soon as possible before the description of me and my car had been circulated too widely. It was improbable, we thought, that the police had any description of Sandorski or even his name. Hiart wouldn’t tell them, for he couldn’t be sure that Sandorski was in England at all, and he was not likely to commit himself when he didn’t know what questions he would have to meet. Though he held a possible winning hand, he must be just as alarmed as we were. It was a comforting thought. About the only one available.

Lex came back from the stream, pale and dirty, but looking slightly more like a traveling lawyer than a criminal. I drove on, steering a slow and uncertain course through the byroads. I was trying to find a safe route round Salisbury, well to the north of it.

We crossed the main road to London between Sherborne and Shaftesbury, using quite unnecessary caution. Half a mile further on, running through Hinton FitzPaine, we saw a telephone kiosk just clear of the last houses. It seemed to be as remote as any, so I drove up a stony little lane, where there was certain to be no traffic at that time of night and where we could safely wait while Sandorski went into the village.

I could not go with him. Lex was the difficulty. We couldn’t very well walk off with the brown paper parcel for which he was responsible. On the other hand, we didn’t want to leave him alone with it. So I had to stay.

“Have you got enough small change?” I yelled after the general.

He was doubtful, so I emptied my trouser pocket into his. There was a fair supply of shillings and sixpences and coppers, enough for a couple of trunk calls to London, especially as it was only eight o’clock and he would get the cheap evening tariff.

I sat there for half an hour talking to Lex. He was a lot more likable than his ideas–a solemn and mistaken crusader, but definitely a crusader. Even war and the law courts hadn’t cured him of a boyish sense of romance. He still believed that-–possibly with himself as chancellor–a despotism could be benevolent. So, I suppose, did Heyne-Hassingham, on condition that he was the despot.

When I heard Sandorski stamping up the lane, I was already beginning to get anxious. I nipped out of the car to meet him. He was quivering with nerves and temper. Even his footsteps were dancing and angry like those of a vicious horse.

“Gone to the Club!” he informed me in a sort of stifled scream.

Then he imitated the voice of the telephone operator, and I thought he would burst his arteries.

“Another one and tuppence, please. Damn their one and tuppences! Damn! Damn! Damn! Got his office building.

Six blasted minutes before some can tell me he’s out.

Cut off twice. Had to use another one and tuppence to get back. What message did he leave? At the Club.

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