The Island of Peril (Department Z) by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey [Creasey, John]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Ipso Books
Published: 2016-08-26T04:00:00+00:00

13

More of Parnell

It was, Loftus said some hours afterwards, a most unfortunate chapter of accidents but, he added severely, Gay was as much to blame as anyone.

Her suspicions of Carruthers, Best and Thornton had been ill-found. True, they had made no attempt to establish their bona fides beyond presenting their cards of authority; equally true, Gay had presented no request for their further identification. The arrival of a husky and uniformed Superintendent from Horsham, a man good-tempered despite the late hour and full of assurances that Loftus and Company were all they claimed to be, brought peace and also a measure of apology. The Superintendent hinted but did not say direct that he believed Mr. Loftus to be connected with a little-known branch of the Service. To which, when he had gone, Loftus added:

‘Little-known, Gay Parnell, but famous in small circles. You don’t mind the Gay, do you? It’s too attractive to be hidden by a Miss.’

‘The Superintendent didn’t use the word unorthodox,’ said Gay, ‘but he certainly implied it.’ She smiled, without realising just how much confidence this large and homely-looking man gave her—a man who could say outrageous things and behave in an outrageous manner without really causing offence, and certainly without suggesting that he was taking too much on himself. ‘If you prefer it, Gay.’

‘And I,’ he told her gravely, ‘am Bill.’ He introduced the others in turn—including Spats Thornton, who was quite clearly much taken with Gay Parnell.

‘Now that’s over and the air’s cleared,’ said Loftus, who had used the intervening time in thinking hard, ‘you might tell us the full story.’

‘Well. . . .’ the bright, clear blue eyes regarded him with candour. ‘There isn’t much more, is there? Roy’s engaged on some secret work, and he fell for this Duveen woman. I didn’t trust her from the start—in the end, we simply didn’t mention her name at all. It made rather a bore of breakfast,’ she added, ingenuously.

Loftus smiled. ‘And what was the work? Is the work, rather?’

‘I don’t know.’

Loftus eyed her quizzically.

‘You’ve no idea at all?’

‘Well, I know Roy’s a chemist. I believe,’ she added off-handedly, ‘that he’s quite clever.’

‘And he works on his own?’

‘No, he——’

The interruption startled Loftus—not prepared, in that out-of-the-way spot, for the wail of sirens. The girl jumped up abruptly, her face paling.

‘Damn!’ she said. ‘We’d better go downstairs.’

‘To a cellar?’

‘Yes. It’s quite comfortable—the Professor saw to that.’ She did not enlarge on that somewhat ambiguous statement, but led the way down the hall. The maid who in her alarm had lost all prejudice against the four men, gripped Martin Best’s arm and refused to release it until they were safely in a well-built and certainly well-equipped shelter under the kitchen quarters.

There were easy chairs, canvas beds, small tables—and electric lighting, with reserve torches and lamps. There was a small kitchen with an electric stove, and within minutes an appetising odour of coffee filled the shelter.

Loftus was silent.

He still wanted to know for whom Roy Parnell worked, but he was perturbed by the similarity between this shelter and the one at Hayling.

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