Conrad pushed open the door of the changing room and groped for the light switch. He could hear O’Brien’s heavy breathing just behind him.
“Where the hell’s the switch?” he asked, still groping.
O’Brien turned on a flash-light and swung the big beam around the room.
“Bit more to your left.”
Conrad turned on the lights and walked into the luxuriously furnished room. Facing him were the shower cabinets, each equipped with a fitted wardrobe, a chair and a shower. In one of these cabinets, he thought, Frances had hidden and had watched Maurer wash his blood-stained hands.
Mallory, a police photographer, came in and set up his camera. He looked inquiringly at O’Brien who was examining the floor.
“This must be it, Paul,” O’Brien said, and pointed to a brass grill that covered a six-inch-square hole in the floor.
Conrad joined him, and O’Brien directed the beam of his flash-light down into the drain. The light picked out a mass of dry leaves that lay at the bottom of the drain.
“I wonder where they came from?” Conrad said. “Must have been washed in from an outside vent. Doesn’t look as if any water’s passed through the drain for some time. If the pencil is down there, it should be dry, and the blood won’t have been washed off.”
O’Brien examined the grill covering the drain.
“Cemented in. No wonder Maurer couldn’t retrieve his pencil. Did you bring the tools, Mallory?”
“I dumped them just outside. I’ll get them.”
Conrad sat back on his heels and lit a cigarette.
“If the pencil’s down there, we’ve got him,” he said quietly. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been after that thug for years.”
“You haven’t got him yet,” O’Brien reminded him. “Don’t be too hopeful.”
“Sergeant…!”
The sharp note in Mallory’s voice made both men straighten up.
“There’s someone outside.”
Mallory was standing in the doorway of the changing room, silhouetted against the light. Even as he spoke there came a crash of gunfire and he staggered back, holding his arm.
With a muttered oath O’Brien jumped forward and flicked up the light switch, plunging the changing room into darkness.
“You hurt?” he asked, pulling Mallory away from the door.
“Got it in the arm,” Mallory said, and sat down abruptly on the floor.
Conrad had gone over to the door, and keeping well back, he peered into the darkness. He couldn’t see any tiling.
O’Brien joined him.
“Maurer’s mob,” Conrad said, and groped in his hip pocket for his gun. “There’s a telephone somewhere around, Tom. Better get some boys up here.”
O’Brien grunted and closed the door.
“Watch out how you use the light,” Conrad went on. “I think I spotted the telephone standing on a table to your left.”
O’Brien snapped on his flash-light and located the telephone. Out in the darkness a riot gun started up. The black of the night was split by yellow flashes. Lead smashed a window and scattered a shower of glass that whizzed over Conrad’s and O’Brien’s ducking heads. Plaster came down from the opposite wall, filling the room with dust.
“Hell!” O’Brien muttered, flattened out and began a slow crawl across the room to the telephone.
Conrad aimed at where the flashes had come from and fired a probing shot into the darkness.
Automatics cracked; pencil points of flame appeared in a semicircle, bullets hummed through the smashed window and thudded into the opposite walls.
“There’s quite a bunch of them out there,” Conrad said. “Get moving, Tom!”
O’Brien had got the telephone down on the floor. Conrad could hear him dialling.
“It’ll take them the best part of a quarter of an hour to get out here unless there’s a prowl car near by. If these punks rush us…”
Conrad crawled over to where Mallory was sitting.
“You bleeding?”
“A little. It’s okay. Just nicked me. I wish I had a gun.”
Conrad caught a movement at the window. He swivelled round, his arm coming up. He fired as a shadowy figure moved away. He heard the thunk of lead against bone, and then the sound of a body slumping to the ground.
“Well, that’s one of them,” he said grimly.
The still night was made hideous by machine-gun fire. Plaster came down on top of him as he hurriedly flattened out on the ground. Slugs sprayed against the opposite wall: glass and wood splinters joined company with ricochetting bullets.
“Like Tunisia all over again,” Mallory muttered as he flattened out beside Conrad. He never let a chance go by of reminding anyone of his war service.
“Got headquarters yet?” Conrad called over to O’Brien.
“Just about. The goddamn phone’s gone dead, but I got through in time.”
“Let’s get over to the door. We’ve got to stop them rushing us.”
Conrad crawled to the splintered door and peered cautiously into the darkness. On the far side of the pool he caught sight of a man running along the tiled walk. O’Brien took a snap shot at him, and the man disappeared into the shadows with a yelp of pain.
“We’re not bad, are we?” Conrad said, and grinned. “That’s two in the bag.”
“I’m going to make a grab for the tools,” O’Brien said. “We’ve got to get that pencil.”
“Watch it,” Conrad cautioned. “Better wait.”
O’Brien crawled forward, ignoring Conrad’s warning. He got his head and shoulders beyond the doorposts and his hand had hold of the tool-case when a burst of automatic rifle fire made him duck down. Bullets whizzed over his head. He began to move back cautiously.
“I’ve got it.” He looked back into the darkness. “Here, Mallory, see if you can get the drain cover off.”
More machine-gun fire started up and for a long moment the three men lay pressing themselves into the floor as a hail of lead tore down more plaster and pulverized the walls.
“Look out!” Conrad snapped as he raised his head. He had seen two men come running along the tiled walk, guns in hand.
Both O’Brien and Conrad fired at them. One of them swerved and fell into the pool. The other tossed his gun high into the air, took two staggering steps and fell flat on his face.
“That’s three up,” Conrad said. “I’ve only four more slugs left. What have you got?”
“I’ve a couple of spare clips,” O’Brien said. “You hold your fire and let me take care of this.”
He crawled nearer to the door.
Mallory said “I’ve got it! The sonofabitch didn’t want to come, but it’s come.”
“See if you can find the pencil. Careful how you handle it,” Conrad said, watching O’Brien. “Don’t let them see you, Tom.”
O’Brien fired out into the darkness, cursed under his breath and fired again.
Two machine-guns opened up on him. In the brilliant flashes Conrad saw him suddenly lifted off the ground and swept backwards as if riding a giant wave.
“Get his gun and guard the door,” Conrad said and crawled over to O’Brien. He bent over him trying to see in the darkness. “Tom! Are you hurt?” He knew it was a stupid question. O’Brien had caught the full blast of the machine-guns.
Conrad pulled out his flash-light and shielding it with his coat, he turned it on.
O’Brien looked up at him in the dim light, his face, the colour of putty, was twisted in agony.
“It wasn’t an accident, Paul,” he gasped, struggled to say something else and then choked blood.
Conrad lifted his head.
“Take it easy, Tom. Don’t try and talk.”
O’Brien struggled, clutching hold of Conrad’s arm.
“Ferrari… my kid…” He managed to get out, then his eyes rolled back and he slumped against Conrad.
Conrad touched the artery in his neck, shook his head and lowered him to the floor. He turned quickly as Mallory started firing.
He was in time to see three men coming along the tiled walk, bent double and running. Mallory hit one. The other two opened up with riot guns.
Conrad fired over Mallory’s ducking head and saw the second man pitch into the pool. The remaining man rushed forward, spraying lead in front of him, sending a creeping carpet of death towards the open doorway.
Conrad wriggled back, dragging Mallory with him. For a long moment of time, they huddled against the wall while slugs sang around the room.
Then more guns started up on the far side of the pool: sharp reports of revolvers, and then the yammering sound of a Thompson.
The man firing into the changing room stopped firing. Conrad was in time to see him bolt back the way he had come.
Gunfire raved and crashed outside.
“Sounds like our boys have arrived,” Conrad said shakily. He went cautiously to the door. As he looked out into the darkness the gunfire suddenly ceased and a silence fell over the pool that could almost be felt.
Out of the darkness came the burly figure of Sam Bardin.
“Paul?”
“Right here.” Conrad came out into the open. “Phew! That was quite a battle.”
“Got the pencil?”
“I haven’t had time to ask. Poor Tom bought it.”
“He did? That’s tough.” Bardin turned on his flashlight and swung the beam around the ruined changing room. “They certainly made a hash of this. There’re five of Maurer’s mob outside, deader than mackerel. Two others got away.”
“Find that pencil?” Conrad asked Mallory.
“Sure,” Mallory said. “I’ve got the sonofabitch,” and he waved the gold pencil above his head.