The Forbidden Territory

XVII — The Fight on the Roof-tops

A hail of bullets spattered the brickwork against which they had been standing a moment before.

“Don’t shoot,” whispered Rex hoarsely, as they moved crouching along the gutter under the protection of a low wall. “The flash will show them where we are.”

“I have nothing to shoot with,” said the Duke, bitterly. “I deserve to be shot myself, at my age, for leaving my weapon behind.”

“Good Lord, I forgot.” Rex thrust the other pistol into his hand. “I found it after you’d gone. Look out!”

They had come to the end of the low wall on the front of the house. A series of roofs at different levels lay before them. They were those of the outhouses that had survived the fire.

“What do we do now?” asked Simon in a whisper.

“Back the way we came,” Rex answered promptly. “More cover in the ruin, and they’ll be round here directly.”

Even as he spoke they could hear voices below them; quick jerky questions and answers. A light flashed on to the roof of one of the outhouses. They crept stealthily back to the far end of their cover, Simon leading.

As he rounded the corner he ran full tilt into a crouching form. Luckily the man had no time to use his gun. Simon felt a hand clutch at his throat; they crashed to the roof together.

Simon kicked and struggled; each moment he thought they would roll over the edge and break their necks in the garden, twenty feet below. Suddenly he realized that he was on top. He struck blindly at the man’s face, but the fellow dodged his blows. The grip on his throat tightened, the darkness seemed to grow blacker before his eyes, there was a buzzing in his ears. Through it Rex’s voice came faintly to him. “Stick it, Simon, good boy; give him top place, and I’ll crack his skull!”

With a last effort Simon flopped forward and rolled over; the Russian, thinking he had overcome his adversary, gave a guttural laugh and sprang on his chest — the laugh ended in a moan as Rex smashed his head in with a blow from the butt end of his pistol. The awful grip on Simon’s throat relaxed, and he crawled out from beneath the body.

The men below had lost no time in hurrying back when they heard the sounds of the struggle. De Richleau stood calmly above the prostrate Simon; he fired four times rapidly into their midst. There was a sharp cry; at least one of his shots had found a mark. The group scattered quickly; the Duke ducked down behind the wall as the return fire spattered about them.

“Give me a hand,” muttered Rex, and Simon helped to prop his late enemy in position against the wall. The appearance of the Russian’s head and shoulders drew a further volley from the bushes below; a bullet thudded into the man’s chest.

“Get his gun, Simon.” The Duke kicked the pistol that lay at the man’s feet. Simon picked it up quickly.

“See that window?” Rex whispered, pointing to the main block. “It’s level with these leads. Think we can make it?”

“Ner,” said Simon briefly, “it’s twenty yards away.”

“This cursed snow,” the Duke agreed; “they’ll see our every movement once we leave this wall.”

“Got to take a chance,” protested Rex. “If they storm the roof both ends of the wall we’re done. Once in that room we’ll hold ’em till daylight — or, better still, maybe we’ll be able to make a break from the window round the corner, across the garden.”

“Yes, I agree, we cannot stay here.” De Richleau peered round the wall. “I can see one fellow from here; I’ll kill him in a minute.”

Rex tapped him on the arm. “Wait — I’ll creep to the other end — see if I can spot another. When you hear me fire, give your bird the works and beat it. You, too, Simon, don’t wait for the Duke; go like smoke. Good luck, both of you!”

Before they could answer he had moved off down the gutter.

“No time to argue, Simon,” said the Duke, in a low tone, as he covered his man from where he crouched. “Don’t lose a second when I fire. If you’re not through that window when I get there, it may cost me my life.”

It seemed an eternity, waiting there in the intense cold; it numbed their fingers round the butts of the automatics. There was a sudden crash of shots from the garden, all directed to Rex’s end of the wall. Simon, whose nerves were at the highest pitch, leapt forward into the open. De Richleau’s pistol cracked behind him; in a second almost he was clambering through the empty window frame, the Duke hard behind him. A single bullet hissed through the snow on to the leads; another moment and De Richleau stood panting at his side.

“The fool!” he gasped; “did you see?”

“Ner — what happened?”

“He deliberately stood up to draw their fire.”

“Hope they didn’t get him.”

De Richleau put his head out of the window. A vicious “phut’ sounded in the woodwork near his head. He drew it in again sharply; Simon flashed his torch quickly round the empty room.

In addition to the window through which they had come there was another overlooking the terraces and gardens at the back of the house. “Lucky that wasn’t under the window.” As he spoke Simon shone his torch on a great jagged rent in the floor several feet in width.

“Put out that light!” whispered the Duke angrily.

Simon obeyed; carefully avoiding the hole, he made his way round to the doorway. There was no door, it had been wrenched off.

“Think they’ll come this way?” he asked.

“Too dangerous!” said the Duke, who was still peering out of the window as far as he dared. “They know we are armed — who would be brave enough to be first man round that doorway?”

A single shot rang out; a volley came from the bushes below in answer. De Richleau gave a sudden laugh. “Rex is all right,” he said; “at least, not dead; he may be wounded. How many shots have you in that pistol?”

Simon unclipped the magazine. “Five,” he said, after some hesitation.

“Good,” the Duke’s voice came back. “It is our turn to make a demonstration now. Stay where you are.”

Simon heard him shuffling round the room. Next moment De Richleau’s hand was on his arm.

“Is there a staircase leading below?” he asked. “One flash of your torch — no more; and hold it sideways, at arm’s length from your body.”

The little ray of light pierced the thick darkness, showing a landing outside the doorway and a narrow wooden staircase. Simon switched out the light and edged out of the room. For another brief moment he flashed it on; nothing was stirring.

“Let us go down,” said the Duke. “Keep as quiet as possible.”

Simon followed him; the wooden stairs creaked abominably. On the floor below the faint light from a broken window made the landing just perceptible.

“We are in luck,” De Richleau murmured. In the dark, Simon could sense from his tone that he was smiling. It came to him suddenly that the Duke was actually enjoying this nightmare. Once free, and with a weapon in his hands, it seemed that he had none of Simon’s desire to slip away, to run, to be safe again; to do anything, short of deserting his friends, in order to get out of range of these smashing, tearing bullets, that made men gulp, or scream with pain.

“See,” the Duke went on, “this window will serve us admirably; from here we can survey the front. I shall fire one shot into those bushes there. You take the right-hand flash as they reply; aim for it and fire three rounds, then duck. I shall fire as I choose, but the right-hand flash is yours; you understand? And no more than three shots. Are you ready?”

“Um,” said Simon, nodding in the dark. “Go ahead.”

De Richleau fired; a burst of shooting answered him at once; eight men at least must have been lurking in the shadows below. One was almost directly beneath the window, less than ten feet away. Simon let fly at him, leaning out to do so. There was a scream of pain at his second shot — then the Duke wrenched him back by the neck, so that his third shot went into the air.

“Are you mad,” De Richleau shouted, “to lean out so?”

“Sorry,” said Simon humbly; “I got him, though!”

“You did,” said the Duke dryly; “it is only by the providence of Heaven that he did not get you! Have you never been in a fight before?”

“Ner,” said Simon nervously. “Ner — never.”

A sudden thud sounded in the room above, accompanied by a fresh burst of firing from the garden. “Rex,” said De Richleau quickly; “let us go up.”

The stairs creaked and groaned as they reascended; the Duke paused on the upper landing.

“You all right, Rex?” asked Simon, stepping forward.

The Duke jerked him back.

“I’m fine,” came a reassuring voice from the lesser darkness by the window. “Thank God,” said the Duke, releasing his grip on Simon’s arm. “For a moment I feared it might be one of them. Mind that infernal hole.”

“Great stuff you gave ’em just now,” Rex went on. “I got across without so much as a farewell wave.”

“Listen,” said the Duke. “I propose that we should try the garden at the back — the stairs are free.”

“That’s O.K. But where’ll we make for when we get there?”

“To Marie Lou. Did she get horses? Are they at her cottage?”

“She did not. Her hick farmer friends had been given the wire about us; they wouldn’t sell.”

A sudden spurt of bullets on the ceiling made Rex duck his head.

“No matter,” De Richleau went on quickly, “we can only go one at a time, and her cottage is the only place that we all know; it is the only place to rendezvous.”

“Can’t we all beat it together?” Rex suggested.

“You know we cannot,” said the Duke sharply, “they would follow us. One of us must run while the others cover his retreat from the window. Simon is to go first.”

“Why me?” said Simon. “You want to get rid of me!”

“Don’t be a fool — you waste time talking. In any case, you have only two shots left in that pistol. Rex, watch that side window while I speak to Simon.”

“Listen.” De Richleau’s voice dropped to a lower, more persuasive tone. “It is a big risk you run; there may be men already at the back of the house. There soon will be. Marie Lou has failed to get horses. Well, then, someone must go to her — at once, she is our only hope — and she is a brave child. I take responsibility for this. Ask her to show you somewhere where we can hide. We will give you half an hour’s start; but when we arrive, be ready. Go now, every moment counts.”

A shattering crash came as Rex fired into the darkness at a moving shape on the roof.

“All right; that’s different,” said Simon.

“That’s better. Good-bye, my son.”

“Missed him,” said Rex from the window, “but I guess he won’t try that cat burglar stuff again for a bit!”

“Lord be praised that we’ve got that boy out of this,” sighed the Duke, as Simon could be heard making his way down the stairs.

“Think he’ll make it?” said Rex.

“Why not? There has been no sign of movement in the garden up to now. Fire again from your window to show that we are still here.” As he spoke De Richleau watched the terrace and lawns below him. He tapped his foot impatiently. “They will be round here in a moment. They must know that this room looks out on the back!”

Simon came out on the terrace. He looked quickly to right and left, then darted down the stone steps. The Duke watched anxiously as he ran across the first lawn. “Fire again, Rex,” he said nervously, “fire again; don’t let them suppose that we’re not here.”

Simon took the second terrace at a jump. To De Richleau he was now only a faint blur against the whiteness of the snow. The Duke breathed more freely. There had been no sign of the enemy, and the darkness swallowed Simon up.

A bullet sang through Rex’s window, and thumped into the wall. Someone was firing from a new angle, but De Richleau did not heed it; he was watching the distance into which Simon had disappeared. Suddenly there was a spurt of flame somewhere in the bushes by the lower lawn, and then a sharp cry.

“Good God,” the Duke groaned, “they’ve got him.”

Another flash, some way to the left, speared the darkness for a second. De Richleau leaned out of the window in his excitement and anxiety. “Don’t shoot,” he yelled at the top of his voice, “he can see you by the flash.” But even as he called his warning there came two more spurts of flame from opposite directions, about fifteen feet apart, and another cry. The Duke gripped the window-sill in his agony. He feared that Simon, already wounded, had used his last shot. At the bottom of the garden all was silence once more.

“Did they get him?” Rex asked in a strained voice.

“God knows — I fear so; they had a man in the bushes by the gate. Never shall I forgive myself if I have sent that boy to his death. I will go down.”

“You’ll stay right where you are,” Rex replied promptly, “and for the land’s sake come away from that window — they’ll pot you where you stand.”

The Duke drew in his head, but he remained staring gloomily into the darkness.

“You couldn’t help it,” Rex tried to hearten him; “you just thought it would be an easy get-away for him; ’sides, I’ll bet little Simon’s all right. Almighty difficult to hit a running man in the dark; he can take care of himself better than you think. I’d back Simon against any Bolshie that ever lived.”

“You mean it kindly, but you’re talking nonsense, Rex. Simon would be as helpless as a child against one of these men, and he’s gone to his death through my foolishness.”

A pistol cracked from the terrace below — De Richleau staggered back, dropping his gun with a clatter on the floor as Rex caught him.

“Steady,” said Rex in a whisper, “steady — tell me you’re all right?”

“Don’t worry,” he managed to gasp, “they got me in the shoulder.”

“Hell’s luck. I was just beginning to think that we might get out of here. Is it bleeding much?”

“No, don’t worry — watch the roof.” De Richleau leant against the wall. After a moment he spoke again. “Bone’s scraped, not broken, I think — bullet’s in the ceiling.”

“Can you use your gun?” Rex asked anxiously.

“Yes. Mustn’t use right arm; bleed too much. I can fire left-handed.”

Rex groped for the pistol on the floor. “I’ll reload it for you,” he said quickly, slipping out the magazine.

“Thanks. A bit quieter, isn’t it? I don’t like it,” said De Richleau suddenly. “They’re up to some mischief.”

“I should worry,” Rex laughed. “Keep clear of that garden window and we’ll be O.K.; they can’t rush us except from the roof or the stairs — and they’d just hate to try either.”

“Yes, we’re safe for the time being, I suppose — if only poor Simon were still with us,” the Duke groaned.

“Maybe he’s only been winged, like you. Anyhow, we’ve knocked the guts out of this racket already, or I’m mistaken. How many do you reckon there were to start with?”

“Twelve, perhaps.”

“Right. Well, there was the big boob who tried to stop you coming through the roof — that’s one. The two bums I outed on my first visit makes three; then the chap with a head like an egg-shell who found the butt of my automatic — that’s four.”

“Simon shot one from the landing window.”

“Yep, that’s five.”

“There was the man I shot from the corner of the wall — I saw him drop,” added De Richleau.

“That’s six, anyhow, and we’ve had quite a few additional hits, according to the shouting,” Rex grinned. “I’ll say there’s not many of the bunch haven’t got sore spots some place.”

“The advantage of fighting upon interior lines,” De Richleau smiled in spite of his pain. “Or shall we say ’a demonstration of the superiority of the defensive when using modern weapons’.”

“That’s the idea. It’s good to hear you talking again like that.” Rex peered from the window. “I’d like to know what these birds are up to, all the same.”

After the almost continuous firing the silence was uncanny. “Perhaps,” De Richleau suggested, “they have gone for reinforcements; the air-park can’t be more than a mile away. They will return with machineguns and a searchlight!”

“It’ll be the end of the party if they do. I guess we’d better get out of this while the going’s good.”

“Yes, no good waiting to be shot like rats in a trap. Let’s try our luck!”

They moved towards the door. No sound came from below. De Richleau swore softly. “How these stairs creak.”

“Which way?” said Rex, when they reached the bottom. “Better go by the garden and see if we can’t pick Simon up.”

“No,” said the Duke miserably; “it’s useless. If he’s not dead or captured, he’ll have reached the cottage by now. There is more cover in front; we can work our way round by the outhouses.”

With the greatest precautions they stole along the passage to the big roofless hall, pausing a full minute before they crossed it. Not a sound met their ears; the great entrance door stood wide open.

“If we have to run for it, do you think you’ll faint?” whispered Rex. “Just put me wise if you think it’s likely. I could carry two like you; but don’t do it on me without warning.”

“I shall not faint,” the Duke assured him, “I’ve lost very little blood. If we’re separated we rendezvous on Marie Lou’s cottage, remember — but in no circumstances until we’ve thrown off the pursuit.”

“We shan’t be separated,” said Rex briefly. “All set?”

For answer De Richleau left the porch, and began to creep along in the deep shadow of the outside wall. On their other side they were protected by thick shrubberies; but for the stars above it was black as pitch. The bushes were a splendid screen, but had the disadvantage that they rustled at every movement.

The Duke suppressed an oath as he stumbled over the body of the man that Simon had shot from the landing window. He was quite dead. They passed the low brew-house where they had been held prisoner, and beneath the higher level of the wall behind which they had sheltered. With the wall the shrubbery ended.

They peered out from the last bushes, straining their eyes and ears for the least movement. If Leshkin had gone for reinforcements it seemed impossible that he had not left the rest of his men posted about the grounds to keep watch. Yet there was no sign of them.

Rex crept forward into the open, his automatic held ready for instant action. De Richleau followed, peering into the shadows on the right. The snow silenced their footfalls. They rounded the corner of the first outhouse.

Almost simultaneously Rex and the black shadow fired at point-blank range. The Russian pitched forward with a sharp cry. Rex crashed backwards, carrying De Richleau with him as he fell.

The Duke’s pistol went off with the impact, the bullet hissing through the trees. He rolled from under Rex, and covered the Russian from his position on the ground. It was unnecessary. The man lay, face downward, a pool of blood running from his head, staining the snow.

Rex lay where he had fallen. His groans were terrible. He writhed in agony on the ground. De Richleau asked no questions. He staggered to his feet, changed his pistol to his right hand, and, seizing Rex by the collar, dragged him back in the shelter of the bushes.

It took all his strength, and with the effort his wounded shoulder began to lose blood again. It was some thirty feet, and he accomplished it with only a few seconds to spare.

Shouts and running footsteps came from three directions. Leshkin’s voice could be heard yelling commands; a group of men gathered round the dead soldier. One switched on a torch. For a second De Richleau was tempted to fire into their midst. He lowered his weapon — it would have been madness — there were four of them beside the Kommissar. An angry order, and the torch went out; but there was time for the Duke to see that they were looking at the roof.

A sudden volley of shots in that direction confirmed his idea that they believed their comrade to have been shot from Rex’s old position at the window. There was a whispered consultation, and then Leshkin and his men withdrew.

What a golden opportunity to escape now, thought the Duke, if only it were not for Rex. He sighed. Rex had ceased groaning, and lay quite still. The Duke feared that he was dead. “Rex,” he whispered softly.

“Yes,” to his surprise came the reply.

“Thank God,” breathed De Richleau. “I thought they had finished you. Are you badly hurt?”

“It was a darned near thing,” Rex said, as he sat up slowly. “Another inch either way, and it would have been me for the golden shore.”

“Are you all right? Aren’t you wounded?”

“No, not a scratch. The bullet hit the steel buckle of my belt. Gosh, it was agony — like the kick of a mule, and every ounce of breath knocked out of my body. I’ll bet my tummy’s black and blue.”

“Can you walk — or run if need be? They believe us to be still upstairs.”

Rex got painfully to his feet. “O.K. Let’s quit this party. I guess we’ve had enough for one night”

“We will break right away from the house, then, this time,” whispered the Duke. “If we make a big circle to the left we should strike the road.”

As he spoke they left the cover of the bushes once more, creeping forward among the trees that bordered the drive.

They heard footfalls to their left, and stood stockstill; Leshkin had evidently posted a man there to watch the window. The steps moved away, and they proceeded stealthily. Another five minutes and they were able to break into a quick walk.

Guided by the stars, they made in the direction in which they believed the road to run, and a quarter of an hour later they came to it. Turning left again they walked quickly on, keeping a sharp look-out for the track that led to Marie Lou’s cottage.

They passed three other cottages on the way, but these were dark and silent. At last they found the path and struck off to the right along it.

“If only Simon’s there,” said Rex, breaking the long silence.

“If he’s not, it’s a thousand to one against our ever seeing him again.” The Duke seemed suddenly to have grown very old and tired.

The windows of Marie Lou’s cottage were shuttered, and only a crack of light showed through. With a sigh of thankfulness at finding their one refuge again, De Richleau thrust open the door.

Mademoiselle Marie Lou stood upon the threshold, clasping her little mother-of-pearl revolver, her big eyes wide with fear; but of Simon Aron there was no sign.