Free Assassins at Ospreys by R. T. Raichev Page B

expression changed and she clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God. The door –’ She shook her forefinger. ‘Look! It’s ajar! Oh, Len, why didn’t you shut it?’ She gesticulated frantically.
    Without a word Colville lumbered out of the room.
    Beatrice Ardleigh looked at Antonia with wild eyes. ‘Do you think she might have heard? Was I shouting? I was shouting, wasn’t I? Oh my God.’
    ‘I don’t think you were that loud,’ Antonia tried to reas-sure her.
    ‘I was shouting, Antonia . She must have heard every word I said. She knows now that I lied to her.’
    The next moment Colvillle re-entered the room. He stood by the door and leant against the wall. His ruddy face was visibly paler. His eyes had a dazed look. He appeared to have had a shock of some kind.
    ‘Darling, what is it?’ Beatrice cried. ‘Was it Ingrid?’
    He swallowed. Then he gave an awkward laugh and passed his hand across his face. ‘It must have been, but it looked nothing like her.’ Aware how absurd this sounded, he shook his head.
    ‘What the hell do you mean, Colville?’ Major Payne asked.
    There was a pause. ‘If I didn’t know that at this very moment Bee was here in this very room,’ Colville said hoarsely, ‘I’d have said it was . . . her .’
    ‘You thought it was me? What – what are you talking about?’ Suddenly Beatrice looked terrified.
    ‘It was your doppelganger, Bee. Your double. I saw your double going up the stairs.’ He swallowed. ‘She even smelled like you. She smelled of Ce Soir Je T’Aime.’

9

Partners in Crime
    Father Lillie-Lysander had ‘gone off’ at five in the after-noon. It was over two hours later that he came to. He found he was lying across his bed, spread-eagled, still wearing his sumptuous dressing gown. He had no recollection of going into his bedroom, but he must have done. It was dark now. He had missed the twilight – he liked the twilight. An atmosphere of tenebrous deliquescence . That was how Baron Corvo would have put it.
    Twilight. He remained lying with his eyes open. He had a special feeling for twilight. He got a thrill out of it. Well, he seemed to be one of those men who – how did it go? – rebelled against the light and knew not the way thereof, nor abided in the paths thereof.
    Suddenly he laughed. He had remembered a joke Robin had made concerning the long black cassock favoured by Jesuits, about one of its rather peculiar features – the sleeve-like strip of material attached to each shoulder – the so-called wings. These curious appendages, Robin had said, are a vestigial legacy of the days when the Holy Fathers had four arms and could distribute the Body of Christ in two directions at once.
    Lillie-Lysander wondered idly what his bishop’s reaction might be if he went to him and made a full confession – about the way he felt, the thoughts he had, the things he did. Would the old fool call for an exorcism? For public defrocking? The bishop would probably have him flogged if he could! He might even be inspired to write a sermon on the subject.
    Be vigilant, my brethren (Lillie-Lysander improvised). These cunning, crafty and artful creatures manage to pass them-selves off as men of God, but they are only wolves in sheep’s clothing. They preach not the Gospel of Truth but their own diabolical philosophies and counsels. They make the black night their morning and ally themselves with the terrors of the pit. Yes, they feel secure only when surrounded by deep shades of darkness –
    Father Lillie-Lysander rose gingerly from the bed. He felt only the tiniest bit woozy – a trifle swimmy. He had read somewhere that drugs killed brain cells. Surely that was an exaggeration? He was proud of his brain; he wouldn’t want to harm it. He should be fine in a couple of minutes. After he had had a cup of coffee and some break-fast – he was feeling ravenous – or did he mean dinner? It was morning, wasn’t it?
    He knew he needed to do something rather