Free The Darke Chronicles by David Stuart Davies

and demanding to see the manager. The waiter scurried away from his table and Stone rose from the table, scraped his chair noisily on the floor and strode towards the gentlemen’s lavatories.
    ‘It must take a lot of energy and self-sufficiency to be as objectionable as that all the time,’ observed Darke.
    Carla nodded. She was feeling tired and the wine had gone to her head. She glanced at her watch: it was half past eleven. ‘Heavens,’ she cried, ‘I didn’t know that it was so late.’
    ‘I’ll order coffee and then I’ll take you home.’
    ‘Thank you. It has been a long evening, and not one without a surprise or two.’
    Darkecaught the waiter’s eye and requested coffee for two, a large cognac for himself and the bill.
    Twenty minutes later, Luther Darke and Carla were retrieving their coats from the foyer. As they did so, Charles Stone barged through in front of them, grabbing his own hat and overcoat before stomping out of the restaurant.
    ‘Manners maketh the man,’ observed Darke softly, as he helped Carla with her coat.
    Once outside, they both pulled their collars about their faces. The night had turned chilly. A pale crescent moon and a smattering of stars decorated the clear, cloudless sky. Across the city they could hear Big Ben chiming midnight. Then suddenly other sounds intruded upon the night: strident, desperate calls for help, followed by a terrified scream. Glancing up the hill in the direction of the cries, they saw two figures silhouetted against the feeble rays of a gas lamp. They appeared to be grappling with each other in a violent struggle. The figures were just beyond the sphere of light and it was difficult to see clearly, but one of them, a man, was shouting in desperation, ‘Help! Murder! For God’s sake, help!’
    ‘You wait here,’ said Darke, making off up the hill at great speed.
    ‘Certainly not,’ snapped Carla, following on his heels.
    As they grew nearer, the figures disappeared out of sight around a bend in the road. There followed a loud guttural scream and then silence.
    When Darke turned the corner he came upon a body stretched out on the pavement. He knelt down and saw that it was Charles Stone, the obnoxious diner. He was alive and breathing heavily, his face bathed in sweat and grime. He gazed up at Darke, his eyes wild with fear. ‘I’ve been attacked,’ he panted hoarsely. ‘Did he get away?’
    Darke glanced around him. Apart from Carla, there was no one else in view. The street was empty and silent.
    Carla knelt beside Darke and helped cradle Stone’s head in her hands. ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked.
    ‘I… Idon’t think so. Not badly, anyway. Just … shocked … he wanted my wallet. He had a knife. My God, it was awful.’
    ‘Well, you’re safe now,’ said Carla.
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Do you think you can stand up?’ Darke took hold of Stone’s arm.
    ‘Yes, I think so.’ Slowly, they raised the man to his feet. There were no traces of swagger and bounce in Charles Stone’s demeanour now: he was shaken and afraid. ‘Thank heavens there was someone around. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t come to my rescue.’
    ‘Where did he go, this fellow?’ asked Darke, glancing around the empty thoroughfare. ‘Did he slip down this alleyway here?’
    ‘No, no. He ran off up the street, away from you.’
    ‘You seem very sure.’
    ‘Very sure.’
    ‘Perhaps you should see a doctor,’ suggested Carla.
    ‘No, no. I’ll be fine. I just need a brandy to calm me down. If you two kind people will see me home. I only live less than five minutes’ walk away … I don’t feel safe enough to go on my own.’
    ‘Of course,’ said Carla.
    ‘Thank you, and then I can reward you for your endeavours.’
    ‘Naturally, we’ll see you home,’ said Darke. ‘But no rewards are required.’
    Carla nodded.
    ‘Oh, I shall insist,’ Stone smiled. ‘This way, then.’
    While making their way slowly up the hill, Stone introduced himself