Cut to the Chase (38 page)

They didn't, but what they did do was almost as bad. They swept past again catcalling and Wallace heard them shouting ‘There was an old monk of St Pauls…!'

‘Why the hell aren't they in bed at this time?' he muttered.

‘Sign of the times,' growled McKay.

They dodged into an alleyway and took off the cowls. They had served them well, but now was the time to bid them a regretful farewell. Wallace felt the cold air of the evening hit him and felt a pang of regret.

‘Look, there's a bus.'

‘Where's the stop?'

‘Just down the road, come on.'

They ran down the road to the bus stop, it hauled up with a scream of brakes as they hailed it. They boarded and sat down near the front, the conductor approached.

‘Broadwaters,' Wallace said and indicated that McKay had the money. He punched a couple of tickets and left them.

‘How did you know where to ask for?'

‘It was on the front of the bus,' Wallace said, glad that for a second time he had used his wits before McKay had.

They spent the night in a haystack somewhere along the Kidderminster – Stourbridge road. Luckily it wasn't a cold night and the next morning they enjoyed a good sunrise while they picked the straw off each other. They were ravenously hungry again.

‘What time do the pubs open?' Wallace asked.

‘About 11 o'clock.'

‘Shit! I could do with a beer now.'

After tramping along the road they found a small shop that seemed to sell everything from pins to groceries. Chocolate and an apple was hardly gourmet stuff but it went down well.

‘What do we do now?'

‘I'm all for keeping away from roads,' said McKay. ‘I've a feeling that the police are looking for us after whoever it was put them onto us. Come on, we'll go this way.'

They headed up a country lane; the surroundings were so idyllic that it was difficult to remember they were on the run.

‘Why can't we ask the High Commission to send a car?'

‘They'll want to have nothing to do with us with the police on our track. You're still wanted for murder, remember?'

‘I'm hardly likely to forget it,' Wallace snorted. ‘But they've got to see us sometime if they want these computer drives.'

‘They'll probably be glad to see them, yes,' McKay agreed. ‘But as yet they don't know anything about them.'

‘I suggest we ring them and tell them.'

‘What's on them?'

‘Well…er…details of their organisation,' Wallace floundered.

‘Whose organisation for a start and can you be sure about that?'

‘Well…no…but what the hell! Kalim seems worried enough about it. Can't we tell them that we have something and ask them to pick us up?'

‘And if they're followed and they are caught picking us up? What if we're apprehended on the way back to London? The police are probably watching the High Commission anyway for any signs of activity and to see if we roll up.'

‘They couldn't arrest us in an Embassy limousine.'

‘They're hardly likely to send one are they?' McKay said scathingly. ‘I can see the headlines now. Australian High Commission picks up political assassin and escorts him to their offices. High Commissioner gives unsatisfactory explanation to Scotland Yard…the hell they will!'

Wallace subsided into angry muttering. Quite clearly they were on their own; he supposed he should have been grateful to have McKay with him.

They reached a main road with another railway running parallel to it. There was no option but to walk along the pavement. The railway ran along a high viaduct and then veered away from the road, but slowly came down to the same level.

‘Do we hitch a lift?'

A signpost indicated that they were between Stourbridge and Kidderminster, an equal distance from each.

‘Don't know, I just feel uneasy, let's get off the road here.'

McKay led the way up a small lane. They left the main road behind and were surrounded by green fields.

‘Where's the blasted railway?'

‘The other side of this paddock, I'd say,' said McKay. ‘Yes, look! There it is!'

They could see the roof of a passenger train as it headed for Kidderminster. It gave a blast on its horn as it passed over a level crossing.

‘Why didn't you want to hitch a lift?'

‘Because…just because…I guess,' said McKay. ‘If you were searching for two men who absconded from Kidderminster and presumably wanted to reach London, where would you look?'

‘Either on the road to Birmingham or the road to Worcester.'

‘Or the road to Stourbridge or if you're thinking of Birmingham, that is probably the same one.'

Wallace nodded in agreement, they had gleaned sufficient of the local geography to have some idea of the routes to population centres.

‘So we head off the main road and go this way?'

Wallace heard a siren blow in the distance and looked in the Kidderminster direction.

‘Sounds like a train, probably a goods train, different sound from that passenger train that just went the other way.'

McKay looked thoughtful.

‘Come on, let's cross the track,' he said.

‘What have you got in mind?'

‘If they're anything like Australian goods trains they won't travel very fast.'

Wallace agreed and they scuttled over the fields like a couple of startled rabbits and headed for the tracks. The train was still some distance away and didn't seem to be a fast mover. The line passed through a cutting, they slipped and fell down the slope and raced across the line.

‘This'll do,' said McKay as they hid behind the signal. ‘This signal is still showing red.'

The train came nearer, they hovered by the signal, but there was a noise that indicated that the signal had changed to green. Wallace made an executive decision.

‘Come on, walk down the track.'

‘They'll see us.'

‘They'll see us anyway, lurking around behind this signal, if we stay here doing that we'll attract attention. If they see us walking the line they'll think we're railwaymen, the plate layers don't wear uniforms.'

They heard the locomotive blast its siren again and looked around.

‘Bugger it!' Wallace said angrily, the train was gathering speed and was going too fast to think of boarding it.

‘So much for that,' McKay snorted, and then added. ‘It was a good idea anyway.' Wallace thought his first sentence had been tinged with sarcasm, his second had been added to reduce the invective and give credit where it was due to avoid another row.

‘Raise one arm,' Wallace commanded. ‘That's the standard acknowledgement, it shows you're aware they are approaching…' and added as another blast hit the ether ‘…and wave.'

They both solemnly raised one arm in salute, bringing forth a briefer response from the locomotive. They turned their heads as it drew abreast of them, the driver was looking at them and they both raised an arm once more. He waved in response and the train ground past, boarding it was out of the question; it was travelling at a fair rate.

They continued walking, as the train disappeared in the distance in the direction of Stourbridge Junction. They paused and McKay purchased some food at a small shop at a point where the railway passed under a road bridge, Wallace kept well out of sight as he could possibly be recognised, at least McKay had not had his picture emblazoned in the newspapers.

They decided to stay where they were on the railway tracks, they walked all afternoon and where possible hid whenever a train approached to avoid having too many witnesses as to their progress. When they couldn't hide they adopted the plate layers salutation procedure which appeared to pass muster.

They found themselves not far from Stourbridge in late afternoon and could see the town in the distance as they rounded a bend. They also saw a group of men walking towards them some distance ahead.

They scrambled up the cutting and lay on their stomachs peering over the edge. The men came within a few hundred yards, still ahead of them, and congregated around a small shed. They showed no inclination to move beyond it, they parked their tools and stood around it; McKay and Wallace could see drink cans being circulated and clouds of tobacco smoke.

‘Must be Australians!' McKay commented cynically and they both chuckled.

‘We may as well stay here, that shed could come in useful.'

It was. Dusk was falling before the men moved on for the night. They climbed up the opposite side of the cutting and there was the sound of cars starting up. They cautiously approached the shed; it was all in darkness and seemed deserted. McKay crept up to it and peered through the window, nodding with satisfaction.

‘All clear, it'll do, if we can get inside.'

They managed that without much difficulty. The padlock was a good one but the supporting hasp was not. They eased it out of the woodwork and opened the door. They found some sandwiches ditched in a waste bin and salvaged them like a couple of tramps and wolfed them down. There were several drink cans discarded in the bin, some of them had some dregs and they drained those as well.

W
allace was awoken by the blast on the horn of a passenger train as it thundered past the shed. McKay was already awake and on his feet.

‘Sleep well?' he enquired as he rummaged around the shed.

‘Well enough.'

In fact Wallace felt terrific, it was the best night's sleep he had had since leaving Liz's place. Liz! As he thought of her he felt a surge of adrenalin and wondered if he would ever see her again and whether she would think kindly of him. She may well be aware by now that she had been entertaining a man wanted for murder, the newspapers and television news reports would see to that.

‘What time is it?'

‘Half past six, we'd better be out of here before our plate laying friends arrive for their morning shift.'

They secured the shed, hammering the hasp back into the decaying woodwork. Wallace examined it critically afterwards, regrettably it did look as if it had been tampered with but on the other hand the wood was fairly rotten on the door jamb so any looseness could be put down to weather and elements over the years. Wallace also had doubts whether the plate layers would subject the hasp and padlock to a searching examination. They also helped themselves to a couple of sledgehammers.

They strolled up the line in the Stourbridge direction with the hammers over their shoulders. They heard a train hoot behind and they moved over to the right hand track and raised their arms in acknowledgement. The train driver gave a short double toot in response and thundered past.

Wallace paused at one point, as a goods train approached in the opposite direction heading for Kidderminster. One of the wooden blocks supporting the track in the cradles had come adrift. He re-inserted it and hammered it into position.

‘What the hell are you doing?'

‘Acting the part,' Wallace answered coldly. ‘Not just for our benefit but for his.' He jerked his thumb at the oncoming goods train, and changed it into a wave. The driver gave a short blast in response and waved as the train went past.

The wooden block was slotted back into position easily and they walked on slowly. As they approached the Junction station they stopped and discussed what to do. Their disguises seemed adequate, not because of any dressing up; but because they were doing what anyone would expect them to do, namely, attending to track maintenance. Wallace always remembered John Buchan's character, Richard Hannay, when on the run from the law and German spies in Scotland he acted the part of a road-mender. The theory was, if you assumed a disguise then also
act
the part. Similarly in their case, if acting as plate layers then be plate layers. Yet, walking through the Junction station could present problems, the plate layers of this particular gang would be well known to station staff.

After some discussion, they came to a decision.

‘OK, we'll have to walk through,' said McKay. ‘It's going to look even more suspicious if we start clambering down the embankment in full view of early morning commuters, and then through the station car park carrying sledgehammers.'

They strolled along the track and passed the end of the platform. The sun was still low in the sky so the visibility was not over bright, but there was pleasant warmth when the sun's rays landed on them. McKay made to walk up the sloping ramp of the platform but Wallace shook his head.

‘We're supposed to be track men looking at the track, from what I can remember of Flinders Street Station the track is in a slightly worse state within stations than anywhere else, mainly because everyone knows trains are moving through them at slow speed or else they stop there.'

A porter saw them and moved over to the edge of the platform, he was looking puzzled and cocked his head on one side.

‘Where's Jack?'

‘On his way,' Wallace answered, waving his arm vaguely behind them. ‘We were on early this morning, there's trouble with the points further back.'

‘Oh! First we've heard of it.'

‘We had a call early this morning, been some vandalism there as well, kids chucking bricks at the signal light. Tell Jack we'll be up there when he comes through, will you?'

‘Yeah…all right.'

They continued on their way, hammers over their shoulders. For good measure, Wallace hammered in another loose block near the far end of the platform. There were a few passengers around while the Town Flyer was standing at the far platform and was preparing to move out. Wallace tried to read the headlines of some of the newspapers held by the waiting passengers but could see nothing of interest, nothing that related to any Australian fugitives.

‘That porter is still looking at us.'

Wallace paused from hammering in the latest wooden block and looked up, sure enough he was. He gave him a wave and gave a last defiant bang at the wooden block, it reluctantly went in. The porter waved back, shrugged and then began pushing a trolley along the platform.