After three or four minutes of stuffing useful things into our pockets
and a couple of overnight bags, we went downstairs to the ground floor;
turning toward the back door, we ran smack into a sentinel of the
usurpers. He wavered, then stepped aside as we strode toward him. I did
not want to make a scene in The Gander, so waited until we stood in the
lane behind the inn before I told them we had been seen.
"Never thought we wouldn't be," said the Colonel. "Where's the garage,
Alec?"
It was directly opposite the rear of the inn. We went in and,
unmolested, packed ourselves into the great red Rolls. "Whither?" said
I, taking over the wheel.
"The Albany. I've guns there we'll need before we're much older."
"Then to the Gloucester," said Alec, "for Johnson."
I swung out into the lane and nearly ran down an alien, who leaped
squeaking out of the way. Now they knew what our car looked like. I
didn't care. We seemed to be in over our heads already.
"Do you know that in an hour or two we'll be much-wanted fugitives from
the horrid vengeance of Scotland Yard?" I asked as we reared downtown.
"We left a corpse on the floor of Alec's sitting room, with enough of
our gear lying around to identify us all. My God! We're acting like a
pack of heedless cretins. We should have stayed and made a plan."
"Hark to the Manchester Slasher!" shouted Geoff. "Why, my dear old
cloth-head, the late lamented's buddies would have been on us in force
in less than two ticks. Have you forgotten that somewhere in their
dimension, at a spot approximating the location of Alec's flat, there's
a dead beast-critter? Their pony express would ha' found him first
thing. We had to run. And I didn't hear you objectin', when we snatched
up Marion's intimate garments and Alec's dirty socks, to doing a bunk."
"My mind seems to be running ten minutes behind time," I said, skirting
a corner and just missing a little old lady.
"Also there's this," put in the doctor. "We could never have gotten
rid of the body, but _they_ could, and I believe they will. They know
now there's at least half a dozen of us in this business. Do you think
they'll want us brought to trial? Granted that our story would sound
like half a ton of wet fish ... would they want it spread on the front
pages? After all, they can tell by our looks we're solid citizens. We
_might_ get some credence from the police--the last thing _they_ would
want. I think they'll quietly haul away that body, and set out on our
trail by themselves. The time for worrying about the law is over, as
I see it. There's too many of us. It wouldn't be like hauling up just
one ripper with a mad story; it would mean publicity in every paper in
Christendom--will _they_ risk that?"
"Good for you, John," I said. "You're right. It's them and us now."
* * * * *
We drew up at the Albany. Leaving Geoff and Marion in the car, the four
of us hurried to the Colonel's rooms and began a systematic collection
of weapons, even including a set of ancient Khattar daggers and a
couple of pig-sticking spears which were part of a collection Bedford
had made in India. Into a Gladstone we stuffed bottles of brandy and
whisky, a first aid kit, such items of clothing as we'd need in our
flight, and what looked like seven years' supply of ammunition. Down
again and through the lobby we went, trying to look like eccentrics
who habitually carried sporting rifles, elephant guns and pig-sticking
lances under our arms when we ambled through the city; piled the stuff
onto the floor of the tonneau, wedged in once more, ran down to the
Gloucester to get Sergeant Johnson, and took the road out of London to
the east. As the sun was setting we left the last suburb behind, and
came to the quiet open countryside.
"Where now?" I asked.
"The castle?" suggested Geoff. "It's as good a hideout as any."
So, after a vote, we struck out for Exeter Castle.