Free The Flood by John Creasey

more unlikely. Short of positive evidence that he’s involved, we can’t do a thing. The evidence we have is that he knows when a man is sent to pry at the Castle. We’ve one more there, one who has been there for some time, but—” Palfrey spread his hands. “He hasn’t yet sent us any information, and we haven’t heard from him for a week. We don’t know that he’s still there and alive.”
    Woburn said roughly: “It can’t be as bad as that.”
    “I assure you, it is just as bad as that,” said Andromovitch quietly.
    Somehow, that seemed to put the whole thing beyond question; to turn the horror into a kind of reality which made it more horrible still.
    “There’s another pointer,” Palfrey went on, and this time he sounded almost diffident. He coiled a few strands of the silky hair about his forefinger, and pulled at it. “This attack on you. Miss Davos went back to the Castle and, of course, told them what you’d done – told them that you’d seen the octi. Within a few hours, you were attacked. I think it possible that someone was desperately anxious that you should not describe the octi to anyone in authority.”
    Woburn didn’t speak.
    “It wouldn’t be difficult for them to find out that you’d been kept away from the Press,” continued Palfrey. “The whole of the area was cordoned off. Davos, or whoever is working on the octi, certainly knows that I’m investigating them. He might reasonably assume that I’d come up here to see you. The attack was first made to look like an accident, but when that failed, the men risked shooting you, they were so anxious to kill. See it this way, Woburn. To prevent our meeting, they made an attack which had the merit of crude simplicity. A false invitation in Davos’s name, and a boulder in a deadly spot. It should have succeeded, and the men had cudgels to finish you off. Had it come off, there would have been another ‘accidental’ death, for the boulder could have been pushed off the road.”
    Woburn burst out: “I don’t understand why you do nothing! Surely you could hold Davos on suspicion, you could find some way of making him talk.”
    “We could, but we daren’t. We know he has agents – groups of people, scientists particularly, in many parts of the world. We believe he has some very great force at his disposal. If we act precipitately, he might use it; or his agents might. We need to find out just what his secret weapon is.” Palfrey released the strands of hair, and patted them sharply back on to his forehead in a little kiss curl. Childish. “You see? The octi may be all or part of this secret. Before we risk an open clash with Davos, we need to be sure. At least, we have to try to be sure. The disasters have been on a limited scale, as far as we know. So we have a little time left.” He paused, just for effect, sipped his drink, and went on: “Remember the East Coast floods, a few years ago? Remember Lynmouth? Remember the North Sea floods in Holland? Remember the floods in Italy and those in India, which drowned twenty thousand people?” He sipped his drink again, while Woburn just stared, hands clenched, teeth gritting. “We’ve been given certain natural explanations of all these disasters,” Palfrey went on. “Tidal waves, excessive rains, rivers overflowing, melting snows – but in every case the magnitude of the flooding puzzled experts. There was a much smaller incident round the coast of Devon, a few months ago, when a tidal wave, so called, swamped thousands of holiday-makers. There was no known explanation. But – add all these up, Woburn. Put the story into the hands of a good newspaperman, who’ll write it up for sensation. What do you think the people living near the coast would feel like? What would you feel like?”
    Woburn answered, heavily: “All right, you can’t risk letting the news out, but – what are you going to do?”
    “We’ve several things in hand,” Palfrey said, almost as if he was