The Whip Hand by Victor Canning

Author:Victor Canning [Canning, Victor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Classics, Crime, General, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9781848583672
Google: 3BUEAwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Arcturus Publishing
Published: 2011-05-31T14:00:00+00:00

MAN

Fiftyish. Five ten, brown eyes. Dress – French, Swiss, Austrian better working class. Smoking dropped-stem, big-bowled pipe – German, Austrian type. Sole, right boot, built up, probably walks slight limp.

WALL NICHE

Small roadside altar, or shrine. Figure, carved wood, is of Madonna and Child. No distinguishing features, but probably local workmanship (possibly Bavarian?).

OVERALL

Somewhere Germany, Switzerland, Austria or poss. Haute Savoie. Part of mountain peak background, snow showing.

Before I rang off, I said, “I’ll let you know any change of address. How are things?”

“Some small jobs came up, so I called in Fisk.”

“That’s fine.” Fisk was an ex-policeman who gave me a hand now and then. “That the lot?”

“No. Harvald is coming home at the end of the month on leave.”

I smiled. Harvald was her Suez pilot boy-friend. When he turned up Wilkins took off. A royal command would not have stopped her.

“Don’t worry. If I’m not back, shut up shop or leave it to Fisk. Give Harvald my love. Tell him it’s time he made an honest woman of you.”

There was a snort and the receiver went down at the other end.

I got up from the little table by the window at which I had been speaking and went into the bathroom. As I closed the door behind me, I saw Howard Johnson sitting on the turned down lid of the lavatory seat. He lit a cigarette and grinned at me, no malice showing at all.

I said, “How long have you been here?”

“Idle question.”

I went over to the basin and turned the tap to wash my hands, watching him. “How’s the arm?”

“It wasn’t broken, only badly sprained. It’s almost a hundred per cent now. Interesting talk on the phone with your Wilkins?”

“Yes. Her fiancé is coming back. Means I’ve got to close the office up for a while.” I washed my hands, briefly, watching him, and stepped to the towel rail and picked up a towel. There was nothing I could do about the notes on the slide out by the telephone. And there was nothing I could do for myself, because in addition to the cigarette in his left hand, he was covering me with an automatic in his right.

He said, “All nice and clean now, lover-boy?”

“Sure.” I tossed the towel at the rail and it fell to the ground in a tangle.

“Good,” he said. “Not to worry, though. They haven’t come to a decision on Spiegel yet. I’ve just got a limited set of instructions.”

“We must be thankful for small mercies,” I said.

“That’s the attitude.” He took a step towards me. “Turn round,” he said.

I turned. You can’t make any headway against a force ten blow when you’re in a coracle. He smacked me on the back of the head and I went out like a high-voltage bulb giving up the ghost.

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