Redhead by John Creasey

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

It was just after midnight that the Bugatti swung round by Black Rock and hummed over the disused drawbridge. As they caught sight of the mansion Storm realised more keenly than ever the loneliness of the Grange, and its perfect suitability for criminal enterprises.

Every possible light in the house was now blazing. Grimm had reduced the chances of a surprise attack under cover of darkness to a minimum.

He greeted them exuberantly, and the success of their sortie was passed on with admirable brevity and considerable enthusiasm. They felt that the first trick had been turned to their favour, and there followed a hectic and entirely amiable set-to, in the course of which the best part of a tankard of beer was poured over Storm’s trousers.

‘Darn you!’ he exploded, viewing the agent of destruction – the large and untidy Martin Best, now doubled up with laughter. ‘That’s the kind of senseless horseplay you would shine in. Look at my trousers!’

‘I am looking,’ stuttered Best.

Storm was realising that beer soaking into one’s nether garments was not only sartorially ruinous, it was cold. He had just reached the point of remembering that he had left his heavy cases behind him, and carried not even a spare pair of breeks, when a mournful voice broke into his gloom.

‘Your blue, sir, or your grey? I brought – ’

Storm leapt into the air with relief.

‘Horrors,’ he said emphatically, ‘believe me, I’ll lend you half-a-crown one day. Grey, boy, and quickly. When did you arrive?’

‘By the eight-twenty train.’

‘Poor devil had to walk,’ grinned Righteous Dane. ‘That wall-eyed cab horse in the village rolled over when he saw the bags.’

‘You walked?’ queried Storm.

‘Unfortunately yes, sir. It wouldn’t budge – the horse I mean. So – ’

‘Go to bed,’ grinned Storm. ‘I’ll get my own trousers.’

At one o’clock, reclad and happily demolishing cheese and biscuits, Storm and the other members of the company discussed affairs with considerable verve. The rescue of the girl had put new blood in their veins and a mild murmur from Grimm to the effect that it might be wise to make a call at Whitehall was cried down.

There was some justification for their attitude. Storm saw the move as asking for trouble while Redhead was still at large. As soon as they could make sure of getting Redhead and, possibly, Zoeman, they would chat readily enough with the Men Who Mattered. But not before.

Nothing had happened to disturb the peace of Ledsholm Grange since the murder of Harries, suggesting that Zoeman had followed Wenlock out of the neighbourhood. But they could not count on this.

Although every door apart from that in the main hall had been locked and every window shuttered and barred, the task of making sure that there was no forced entry was as near impossible as made no difference. Storm, who had secured a rough plan of the Grange earlier in the day, drafted out a scheme for defence. It might be needed only for one night, but one night might be enough to put paid to their earthly accounts.

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