Cry of the Hunter by Jack Higgins Read Free Book Online Page B

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.
    Fallon took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one with shaking hands. He leaned back in the seat and sighed contentedly. ‘Thank God that’s over.’
    Murphy laughed excitedly. ‘Didn’t I say you were the genius, Mr. Fallon? Sure I knew you’d get him off that train.’
    Fallon laughed and there was a slight crack in his voice. ‘It was so ridiculously easy. No shooting, no killing. Just a few little smoke bombs.’
    Rogan seemed to have recovered his wind. He leaned forward. ‘Are you Martin Fallon?’ There was incredulity in his voice. ‘Hell, I thought you were dead.’
    There was the hint of a sneer in his voice and Murphy said angrily, ‘A damn good job for you he wasn’t.’
    ‘Keep your shirt on,’ Rogan said. He turned to Fallon. ‘Did you get the keys off that fella?’ Fallon produced the keys and unlocked the handcuffs. Rogan sighed with pleasure. ‘God, how I hate wearing those things. There’s something final about the feel of them when they’re clipped on.’ He laughed harshly. ‘Aye, but I’ve fooled them. I’ve shown them they can’t push Pat Rogan around and get away with it.’
    Fallon was faintly disgusted. There was something unpleasant about the man. He decided that the sooner they parted company the better he would like it. ‘Would you like a cigarette?’ he said.
    Rogan shook his head and said ungraciously. ‘I don’t smoke. I could do with some bloody shoes though. My socks are in shreds.’
    Fallon forced himself to sound pleasant. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘Johnny can get you a pair tomorrow if you give him the size.’
    Rogan grunted and made no reply.