Shadow of Doom by John Creasey Read Free Book Online Page B

muttered. It was like a refrain in his mind, like the absurd fancy at one time that he could snatch off the mask of the man at the desk. It had become an automatic response – he knew nothing, he must tell no one, not even this girl, because they might be overheard.
    â€˜That’s right,’ she said warmly. ‘Make yourself say that, don’t admit anything at all.’
    He said: ‘You don’t seem to believe me.’ It sounded weak, his voice was querulous, and he felt anxious to talk about something else – about her. ‘Why do you stay? They can’t force you against your will.’
    â€˜They can,’ she said. ‘My mother—’
    She broke off, and there were tears in her eyes. At great discomfort, he leaned forward and gripped her hand. She forced the tears back. She raised her head, and took her hand away.
    â€˜I prefer not to talk about it,’ she said. ‘I can do a little, as I am doing for you.’
    â€˜It’s incredible!’ said Charles. ‘I can’t believe there have been others.’
    â€˜There have!’ For the first time her voice was sharp. ‘Don’t underestimate them, that would be foolish. They know all the beastly tricks, they’ve had plenty of practice. I—’ She broke off again, and the fear came back. ‘Hush!’ she enjoined.
    At first he could hear nothing; and then he heard faint sounds of movement. He thought at first they were in the passage, then he realised that they were in the next room. There were voices, but he could not distinguish what was said. He thought a man and a woman were in there.
    The girl’s face hardened. She stood up quickly and pushed the chair further away, stepped to the wash-basin and began to collect the first-aid equipment. In a low voice, she said: ‘Don’t let them think I’ve said anything.’
    He was not able to speak to her again, for the door opened and a man came in. It was a shock that he was not wearing a black mask. He was dark-skinned, good-looking and well dressed. He was also tall and thin, and Charles thought at first that he was the man who had questioned him, but this voice was entirely different, deeper, slower, that of an educated Englishman, without a trace of accent.
    â€˜How is he, Muriel?’ he asked.
    â€˜I have seen worse,’ she said, quietly.
    â€˜Nothing seriously wrong with him?’
    â€˜No.’
    The man approached Charles and stood looking down, with a supercilious smile on his lips. He stood there for some minutes, while Charles peered up, more than ever conscious of his swollen eyes. It was becoming difficult to see out of one of them.
    â€˜It’s a good thing for you that you convinced them that you knew nothing,’ he said, ‘or you would have been in a bad way, Lumsden.’
    â€˜Someone else is going to be in a bad way before I’ve finished,’ said Lumsden, speaking with difficulty.
    â€˜Threats?’ murmured the other. ‘They won’t serve you. I shouldn’t harbour thoughts of vengeance, if I were you. In fact you’ve little cause for complaint, and you’ll have less soon. Take my advice, and don’t go shouting about this to the police, or you will get hurt.’
    Charles said nothing.
    â€˜And take another piece of advice from me,’ said the man. ‘Have nothing to do with Palfrey. He’s the cause of all this. He isn’t what he seems.’ He turned abruptly. ‘Come along, Muriel.’
    They went out.
    Left alone, Charles examined his surroundings for the first time. He was in a large room, a bedroom with a double bed. There were two doors; he had not noticed the second one before. It led to the room where he had first heard movement. Someone was still moving about in there – someone was singing – singing! It was a woman who sounded incongruously light-hearted. He listened intently at first. The singing stopped