No Orchids for Miss Blandish by James Hadley Chase (good books to read TXT) 📖

and he raised himself up on his arm. The girl was muttering to herself as she slowly came awake.

The sound of a distant aircraft came to him only half consciously as he watched the girl open her eyes.

They looked at each other. He saw her eyes widen and she shrank back, her hand going to her mouth.

“Don’t make a noise!” he snarled. He had an instinctive feeling that she was about to scream. “Hear me? Don’t make a noise! I’m not coming near you… just stay quiet.”

She remained motionless, staring at him as the noise of the aircraft grew louder and louder and seemed finally to be immediately over the top of the barn.

Slim’s heart suddenly gave a lurch. He realized the significance of the sound. He scrambled to his feet, pulled aside the truss of straw and lifted the trap door.

He paused to motion to the girl to stay where she was, then he slid down the ladder, ran across to the door and peered out.

He was in time to see a helicopter with the white star of the Army painted on it, settling down in the field at the back of the farmhouse.

He knew immediately his hiding place had been discovered and his gun jumped into his hand. He closed the barn door and dropped the heavy bar into its slot. Through a chink in the door he peered out into the farmyard.

It wasn’t a well-kept farm and there was much litter, two old tractors, a farm car and a big truck cluttering up the place: all of which afforded good cover for anyone approaching the barn.

Suddenly he saw a policeman. The man made a quick, silent dash from the truck to one of the tractors. He moved so fast Slim had no time to get his gun up, but it told him as nothing else could that this was the end of his road.

From behind the shelter of the farmhouse, Brennan and Fenner climbed out of the helicopter. A big, rubbery-faced police sergeant and a tall, thin Army Lieutenant greeted them.

“He hasn’t broken cover yet, sir,” Sergeant Donaghue said. “We’ve got him trapped. The whole farm is surrounded. This is Lieutenant Hardy.”

Brennan shook hands with the Lieutenant.

“Just where is he holed up?” he asked.

“This way, Chief,” Donaghue said.

The four men walked across the field to the farmhouse. Brennan noted with approval the circle of armed men, well hidden, lying, rifles in hand, around the perimeter of the farm.

“Careful how you go here, sir,” Donaghue said, pausing at the corner of the house. He edged around the side of the house until they could see the farmyard. He pointed to the big barn some fifty yards away. “He’s in there.”

Brennan studied the ground. The first thirty yards offered excellent cover, but the last twenty yards were bare and open.

“No idea if he has a Thompson, sergeant?”

“No, sir.”

“He could do a hell of a lot of damage if he has. Still no sign of the girl?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ll give him a hail. Got a loudspeaker truck here?”

“It’s coming up now, sir.”

The men moved back. A few minutes later the loudspeaker truck bumped over the field and pulled up near them. Brennan took the microphone.

“Can you get some of your men behind those two tractors and the truck, Lieutenant?”

“Sure,” Hardy said. “I would have got them there before but Donaghue said to wait.” He turned to his sergeant and issued orders.

“No shooting,” Brennan said. “If the girl’s in there we can’t take any chances.”

“I understand.”

Ten soldiers moved quietly out of the cover of the farmhouse. They dropped flat and began to crawl towards the tractors and the truck.

Shaking and sweating, Slim saw them as they crawled out into the open. The khaki uniforms, the steel helmets and the rifles turned him sick with panic. He lifted his gun and tried to get one of the soldiers in his sights, but the gun seemed to be jumping in his hand and snarling with frustrated fear and fury, he fired blindly. He saw the dust kick up about a yard from the nearest soldier who jumped up, bent double, and with two quick strides was behind the truck and out of sight. The other soldiers, also moving with speed, reached their objectives and vanished.

Brennan grunted.

“If he had a Thompson he would have used it,” he said to the Lieutenant. “It depends now on how many slugs he’s got left. I’ll give him a hail.” He lifted the microphone. “Grisson! You’re surrounded. Come on out with your hands in the air! Grisson! You haven’t a chance! Come on out!”

The loud metallic voice echoed in the fresh morning air. Slim listened, his loose mouth closed in a bunched-up mess of wet lips. He yearned for a Thompson gun. He cursed himself for getting trapped like this. He thought of Ma. Pete had said she had fought like a man. He would fight like a man too. He glanced at his gun. He had only five slugs left. Well, he’d take five of the punks with him. They would never get him alive.

Up in the loft, Miss Blandish first heard the shot, then the metallic voice. She realized the moment she had been dreading in a vague, half-conscious way for the past four months was approaching. In a little while she would be free, and the real misery and hell of her experience would begin.

She crawled to the open trap and looked down. She saw Slim standing with his back to her, peering through a chink in the barn door. His thin black back was tense. She saw the gun in his hand. She heard him muttering to himself. There was now silence outside. Her concentrated stare conveyed itself to him.

He turned slowly, and they looked at each other. He, standing by the door, sweating and shaking, and she, lying stretched on the floor, her head and shoulders framed by the trap, looking down at him. They stared at each other for a long time. His face was glistening in the dim light of the barn. His lips came off his teeth and he swore at her, calling her obscene names, hurling them at her in his panic and fear.

She listened, hoping he would eventually shoot her. With all the strength of her mind, she willed him to lift his gun and release a bullet into her, but he did nothing but curse her, glaring at her with his feverish, yellow eyes.

A sound outside made him jerk around. He saw a movement behind the farm cart and he fired. The bang of the gun echoed in the silence. He saw a puff of dust and white splinters of wood fly from the side of the cart.

Once more the loud metallic voice called to him to come out.

“Grisson! We’re waiting! You can’t get away! Come on out with your hands in the air!”

Panic now flooded his mind. His legs felt weak. His thin wolfish face began to crumple like a child’s before it weeps. He slid down on his knees, letting his gun fall to the ground.

Miss Blandish watched him. For a moment she thought he had been shot, but when he began to moan to himself, she drew back, hiding her face in her hands.

Brennan, anxious to get it over, was giving orders to his men. Several soldiers and two police officers got behind the farm cart. Using it as a shield, they began pushing it across the yard towards the barn door.

Slim saw the cart coming. He staggered to his feet, snatched up his gun. In a frenzy of panic and despair, he threw up the bar holding the door in place, dragged open the door and ran out. He fired blindly at the advancing cart, standing in the hot sunshine, his face ghastly with terror.

Two machine guns opened up. Blood suddenly appeared on his dirty white shirt. His gun fell from his hand. The guns stopped as abruptly as they had started.

Brennan and Fenner watched him slowly collapse. His thin legs thrashed for a long moment, jerkily and convulsively, the way a snake dies. His back arched; his hands clawed at the dry dust, then he stiffened and went limp.

The two men, guns in hand, moved across the yard.

Fenner knew before he reached Slim that he was dead. He paused by him for a brief moment. The yellow eyes looked sightlessly up at him. The thin, white, upturned face seemed defenseless and bewildered. The loose mouth hung open. Fenner turned away with a grunt of disgust.

“That’s the end of him,” Brennan said, “and good riddance.”

“Yeah,” Fenner said. He drew in a deep breath, then walked slowly towards the barn.

5

Miss Blandish had come down from the loft. The two short bursts of machine gun fire had told her that Grisson was dead. Now, hopelessly, she moved into the darkest part of the barn and sat down on an upturned barrel. She could hear men’s voices outside and she flinched from the sound. She dreaded the fast approaching moment when she would have to go out into the hot sunlight and face the curious, staring eyes of her rescuers.

For some moments Fenner didn’t see her. He stood in the barn doorway, looking around, and it wasn’t until his eyes became accustomed to the shadowy dimness that he did see her. He quickly realized by the tense way she was sitting, how bad this moment must be for her. He moved into the barn and paused when he was some yards from her.

“Hello,” he said casually and quietly, “I’m Dave Fenner. Your father asked me to take you home when you are ready to go. There’s no rush. You’re free now. You tell me what you want to do and I’ll fix it.”

He saw her relax slightly. He was careful not to approach closer. She reminded him of a cornered, frightened animal, ready to panic at the slightest unexpected movement.

“I thought it might be an idea,” he went on, “if I took you to a quiet hotel so you could rest for a while, get a change of clothes and then if you feel like it, to drive you home. I’ve fixed a room for you at a hotel not far from here. There won’t be any fuss. The press don’t know anything about this. You won’t be bothered. You can go in the back way of the hotel and straight to the room. Would you like to do that?”

She looked intently at him for some moments, then she said “Yes.”

“There’s a doctor outside,” Fenner went on. “He’s a nice guy. He wants to meet you. May I bring him in?”

She immediately stiffened, her eyes widening with panic.

“I don’t want a doctor!” she said wildly. “What do I want a doctor for? I don’t want to see anyone!”

“That’s okay,” Fenner said. “You don’t have to see anyone if you feel that way about it. Will you let me take you to the hotel?”

Again she stared intently at him, hesitating, then she nodded.

“I’ll get a car,” Fenner said. “You stay right here and don’t worry about a thing. You’re not going to see anyone. No one’s going to bother you.”

He turned and walked out of the barn to where Brennan waited. A crowd of soldiers and policemen were staring curiously towards the barn. Old man Waite and his two sons were gaping from the farmhouse door. Four soldiers were carrying Grisson’s body to a truck.

As Fenner approached Brennan, the Medical Officer came over. Behind him hovered a nurse.

“She’s jumpy,” Fenner said. “She doesn’t want to see anyone. She doesn’t want