A Kind of Prisoner by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey [Creasey, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media

15

KIDNAPPED

“Elliott!” Merrick shouted in sudden alarm. “Elliott!”

“Jim—” Judy said; and she looked and sounded scared as she woke with a start. “What’s the matter?”

“Elliott!” Merrick bellowed; he leaned across Judy and shook Elliott savagely; but he couldn’t use much vigour, he hadn’t really the strength; sleep was coming over him in waves. “Judy, wake him up, wake him!” He edged forward on his seat and banged at the glass partition; there was little strength in his banging, he was nearly under.

The chauffeur looked straight ahead, taking no notice.

They were inside-streets, where few people were about, travelling at nearly forty miles an hour, faster than they should in a built-up area. Merrick tried to shout again, but the shout turned into a yawn, and his fist slid down the smooth glass.

“Jim, what is it?” He could just hear Judy’s voice, as if from a long way off. His head was whirling, he could see two chauffeurs, two caps, two Judys, two lots of pavement on each side. “What’s happening to us?”

“Stop the car!” he bellowed.

It went on.

He turned to look at Judy. She was as scared as anyone could be. Her lips were parted, her eyes told him what she felt. Then she yawned.

“Jim, what is it? I can’t keep awake!”

He knew that she was seeing everything double, as he was. He tried to bang on the partition, but a child could have exerted more strength; in any case the chauffeur didn’t intend to hear.

The speaking tube—he could shout into that, might be heard on the pavement. Merrick turned his head and found the tube close to Elliott, who was leaning forward, chin on his chest, breathing gustily and stirring the big moustache.

Of course, gas was coming through the speaking tube.

Merrick touched the handle of the door and pulled at it but found that it wouldn’t move. He mouthed at two women who were standing and talking on the pavement as the car flashed past, and saw the women break off their conversation to stare after him. The car passed a policeman on a bicycle, and Merrick shouted with his mouth wide open; the shout turned into a yawn that hurt his jaws.

“Judy—” he began, desperately, and turned to her.

She had fallen asleep.

“Judy!” He snatched at her hand—but she took no notice. She was dead to the world. He knew that he would be, soon. His head seemed to be swelling, swelling, getting like a huge balloon, grotesque and yet painful, ugly, round, painful, swelling.

Swelling …

Getting dark.

“Now wake up, sir,” a man said in a clear, patient voice. “You can’t stay there all day, you know. Wake up, sir.”

Merrick felt a hand at his shoulder, shaking him; and then felt daylight strike at his eyes. He had no recollection at all, at that moment.

“Drunk?” another man said.

“Don’t smell anything,” said the first. “Two of ‘em. Both in the back, that’s funny.” He shook Merrick’s shoulder again, more vigorously. “Now wake up, sir, please.”

“Eh?” muttered Merrick, vaguely aware that something was expected of him.

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