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Cry of the Hunter. Jack Higgins
Читать онлайн.Название Cry of the Hunter
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007290390
Автор произведения Jack Higgins
Жанр Приключения: прочее
Издательство HarperCollins
He had noticed an empty compartment half-way along the coach. As he passed it, he took out another bomb, broke the fuse, and tossed it up on to the luggage rack. He did the same in his own compartment where the fat man still slept peacefully in the corner. He passed the end compartment and noticed that the remaining three detectives were still playing cards and then, behind him, he heard a woman scream, high and piercing, and a man cried out, ‘Fire! Fire!’
Fallon didn’t hesitate for a moment. He pulled the communication cord that stretched above the carriage door and tossed another bomb into the entrance to the next carriage. He opened the door and stepped out on to the running board as the train began to slow.
The rain lashed his face and the wind pushed him against the side of the train. He gripped the handrail firmly and slammed the door back into place with all his strength. Then he reached up and secured a grip on the edge of the roof and pulled himself along until he was just able to see into the end compartment. Two of the detectives had disappeared, leaving Rogan handcuffed to the third. The shouts and screams seemed to rise to a crescendo as the train lurched and skidded to a halt and the detective turned to Rogan, his face white with fear as smoke swept into the compartment. He shouted something that Fallon could not hear and taking out a key, unlocked the handcuff from his left wrist. He snapped it over Rogan’s free wrist, chaining his wrists together, and then, as another cloud of black smoke swept into the compartment, he turned towards the window.
As the train ground to a halt, Fallon moved back quickly to the carriage door and dropped down on to the track. He crouched low as the window of the compartment was pulled down and the detective and Rogan leaned out, coughing and gasping as the fresh air cut into their lungs. Fallon jumped up and caught hold of the detective by his coat lapels. The man was taken completely by surprise. His body dipped over the sill and he fell heavily to the track. He groaned and tried to get up and Fallon hit him in the side of the neck. He crouched down and quickly ran his hands through the man’s pockets. His searching fingers fastened over the handcuff keys and he straightened up and said urgently, ‘For God’s sake, Rogan! What are you waiting for?’
Rogan was only half-way out of the window and Fallon reached up impatiently and dragged him bodily down. Rogan scrambled to his feet cursing. ‘I was looking for my bloody shoes,’ he said. ‘The bastards took them off.’
‘To hell with your shoes,’ Fallon snarled. ‘Let’s get moving.’ He pushed Rogan forward and they began to run back along the track towards the wood. As he ran, Fallon took out the two remaining smoke bombs which he had carried in his pockets, broke the fuses, and dropped them. Within a few moments the smoke rose behind them, blocking the lights of the train from view.
Both men ran without speaking, saving their breath for the running. Fallon led the way, crashing through the undergrowth like a wild beast, never stopping, his arms raised to protect his face from the flailing branches. He stumbled out on to the track that led down through the trees and paused. Rogan cannoned into him with a curse and then a voice from the darkness said, ‘Is it yourself, Mr Fallon?’
Fallon ran forward and bumped into Johnny Murphy. ‘Thank God!’ he said. ‘Get that motor running and let’s be out of here.’ He opened the rear door of the Austin and pushed Rogan in before him. The engine roared into life and the car reversed quickly down the track and turned into the main road. Within a few seconds they were speeding through the night towards Castlemore.
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