A Dangerous Fortune(160)
“We should act fast,” Tonio said.
“We’ll go into town right away. Dan Robinson lives with Maisie in south London. Greenbourne will be at his country house, but I can telephone him from the bank.” Hugh stood up. “Let me tell Nora.” He extricated his feet from Sol’s wood-block castle and went out.
Nora was in the bedroom, putting on an elaborate hat with fur trimmings. “I have to go into town,” Hugh said as he put on a collar and tie.
“Who’s going to look after the boys, then?” she said.
“You, I hope.”
“No!” she screeched. “I’m going shopping!”
“I’m sorry, Nora, but this is very important.”
“I’m important too!”
“Of course you are, but you can’t have your way about this. I have to speak to Ben Greenbourne urgently.”
“I’m sick of this,” she said disgustedly. “Sick of the house, sick of this boring village, sick of the children and sick of you. My father lives better than we do!” Nora’s father had opened a pub, with a loan from Pilasters Bank, and was doing extremely well. “I ought to go and live with him, and work as a barmaid,” she said. “I’d have more fun and I’d be paid for doing drudgery!”
Hugh stared at her. Suddenly he knew he would never share her bed again. There was nothing left of his marriage. Nora hated him, and he despised her. “Take your hat off, Nora,” he said. “You’re not going shopping today.” He put on his suit jacket and went out.
Tonio was waiting impatiently in the hall. Hugh kissed the boys, picked up his hat and coat, and opened the door. “There’s a train in a few minutes,” he said as they went out.
He put on his hat and shrugged into his coat as they hurried down the short garden path and out through the gate. It was snowing harder and there was a layer an inch thick on the grass. Hugh’s home was one of twenty or thirty identical houses built in a row on what had been a turnip field. They walked along a gravel road toward the village. “We’ll call on Robinson first,” Hugh said, planning their schedule. “Then I can tell Greenbourne that the Opposition is already on our side…. Listen!”
“What?”
“That’s our train. We’d better hurry.”
They quickened their pace. Fortunately the station was on the near side of the village. The train came into sight as they crossed a bridge over the line.
A man was leaning on the parapet, watching the approaching train. As they passed him he turned, and Hugh recognized him: it was Micky Miranda.
And he had a revolver in his hand.
After that everything happened very quickly.
Hugh cried out, but his shout was a whisper compared to the noise of the train. Micky pointed the gun at Tonio and fired at point-blank range. Tonio staggered and fell. Micky turned the gun on Hugh—but as he did so, steam and smoke from the engine billowed over the bridge in a dense cloud, and suddenly they were both blind. Hugh threw himself to the snowy ground. He heard the gun again, twice, but he felt nothing. He rolled sideways and got to his knees, peering into the fog.
The smoke began to clear. Hugh glimpsed a figure in the mist and rushed at him. Micky saw him and turned, but too late: Hugh cannoned into him. Micky fell and the gun flew from his hand and sailed in an arc over the parapet and down onto the railway line. Hugh fell on top of Micky and rolled clear.
They both struggled to their feet. Micky stooped to pick up his walking cane. Hugh rushed at him again and knocked him down, but Micky kept hold of the cane. As Micky scrambled to his feet again Hugh lashed out at him. But Hugh had not punched anyone for twenty years and he missed. Micky struck at him with the cane and hit his head. The blow hurt. Micky hit him again. The second blow maddened Hugh and he roared with rage, rushed at Micky and butted his face. They both staggered back, breathing hard.
Then there was a whistle from the station, indicating that the train was leaving, and panic showed on Micky’s face. Hugh guessed that Micky had planned to escape by train, and could not afford to be stuck in Chingford for another hour so close to the scene of his crime. The guess was right: Micky turned and ran to the station.
Hugh gave chase.
Micky was no sprinter, having spent too many nights drinking in brothels; but Hugh had passed his adult life sitting behind a desk, and he was not in much better shape. Micky ran into the station as the train was pulling out. Hugh followed him, blowing hard. When they charged onto the platform a railwayman shouted: “Oy! Where’s your tickets?”
By way of reply Hugh yelled: “Murder!”
Micky ran along the platform, trying to catch the receding rear end of the train. Hugh charged after him, doing his best to ignore the stabbing pain in his side. The railwayman joined in the chase. Micky caught up with the train, grabbed a handle and jumped on a step. Hugh dived after him, caught him by the ankle and lost his grip. The railwayman tripped over Hugh and went flying.
When Hugh got to his feet the train was out of reach. He stared after it in despair. He saw Micky open the door of the carriage and move gingerly from the step into the train, closing the door behind him.
The railwayman got up, brushing snow off his clothes, and said: “What the ’ell was all that about?”
Hugh bent over, breathing like a leaky bellows, too weak to speak.
“A man has been shot,” he said when he caught his breath. As soon as he felt strong enough to move he walked back toward the station entrance, beckoning the railwayman to follow. He led the man to the bridge where Tonio lay.