Free Hostage by Geoffrey Household Page A

follow. I suspected a trap, but it was more likely that he wished to tell me something.
    I kept him in sight on a parallel course well out in the open. The patch of yellow vanished into some bushes at the edge of the gorge and did not reappear. As soon as I was sure that no one was following me or showing any interest I strolled casually over to a point where I could see behind the cover he had chosen and at a safe distance from it.
    I found that I was on the edge of a valley with a steep slope, rough and partly covered by scrub, which fell down to a road running up from the Avon to Clifton. The slope was topped by a low face of rock, eroded and easy to climb down. On the strip of turf at the bottom one was completely hidden unless somebody looked over the edge of the little cliff.
    At first Shallope was nowhere to be seen: but when I peeped round a buttress of rock, there he was sitting on a ledge with a narrow terrace of turf at his feet calmly lighting a pipe and quite obviously waiting for me. I was very willing to oblige. If he expected conversation it could end whenever I wished in a perfect spot where his body might not be found until some pair of lovers slid down to that private and inviting terrace.
    I joined him, standing well below him. Where he himself sat, comfortable as in a chair, he could be seen from a bend in the road quarter of a mile below. He said good morning cheerfully, without any of that jumpiness which Elise and I had noticed. Now that his job was done he was much more at ease. That offended me. He was very near to ease for ever. But at his next remark I drew back my hand from the sheathed knife hanging under my left shoulder.
    ‘It’s fortunate we met at Blackmoor Gate,’ he said. ‘I would not have led you here otherwise.’
    ‘We reckoned on that,’ I replied, giving nothing away.
    He left his perch and sat on the strip of turf, I followed his example. To judge by cigarette ends, a couple of paper bags and a used french letter this idyllic spot was known to a few connoisseurs who appreciated its privacy.
    ‘Is this method to continue?’ he asked.
    ‘You mean meeting on the Down?’
    ‘Yes, I do.’
    He sounded a shade suspicious. Evidently there was something I ought to explain.
    Playing for time, I said that one must always change the approach; and then, wondering what our usual method of contacting him was and how I would do it myself, I arrived at the solution. Shallope sat down on his rocky throne at a set time and anyone who wanted to talk to him had only to walk along the road below to see him.
    ‘The yellow sweater and the same person often on the road at the same hour could attract attention, you see,’ I explained.
    ‘You think there is any danger?’
    ‘There is always danger.’
    ‘You know, I doubt if up to the present we have committed any crime.’
    He made that astonishing remark with such an air of worried innocence that he had another reprieve. He must at least be given time to talk.
    ‘And when it goes off?’
    ‘Perhaps you can tell me. You’ve all assured me that I needn’t fuss, but I still do not see how you can keep the shipping lanes clear. A warning goes out giving the exact time and position. That can be done and I accept it. Shipping will have an hour or more to sheer off. I accept that too. But suppose a destroyer or speed boat tried to reach the spot in time? It might be practically melted.’
    I began to see where all this was leading.
    ‘There’s still some doubt whether the bomb will be on a raft or buoy,’ I said.
    ‘Oh, a buoy! I thought that was settled. It will be broadcasting: Keep Off. Keep Off.’
    His academic voice had taken on a higher pitch in correcting me. His ‘Keep Off’ sounded very like the seagull which might be sitting on the buoy.
    I asked him if it would have the desired effect, whatever that was supposed to be. I meant the explosive effect but he took my question in a different sense.
    ‘I know it will. It must. People