Where Eagles Dare

“Well, there's that.” Smith nodded consideringly, held out his right hand, said, “Mr. Jones. Good luck,” brought across his left hand and half-dragged, half-carried the dazed Jones into the cable-car. Smith moved quickly across to the controls, engaged gear all the way, released the handbrake and ran after the moving car.

As they moved out from below the roof of the station, the sound of the assault on the inner door seemed to double in its intensity. In the Schloss Adler, Smith reflected, there would be neither pneumatic chisels nor oxy-acetylene equipment for there could be no conceivable call for either, but, even so, it didn't seem to matter: with all the best will in the world a couple of iron hasps couldn't for long withstand an attack of that nature. Thoughtfully, Smith closed the rear door. Schaffer was seated, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Mary was kneeling on the floor, Jones's head in her lap, looking down at the handsome silvery-haired head. He couldn't see her expression but was dolefully certain that she was even then preparing a homily about the shortcomings of bullies who went around clobbering elderly and defenceless American actors. Almost two minutes passed in complete silence before Carnaby-Jones stirred, and, when he did, Mary herself stirred and looked up at Smith. To his astonishment, she had a half-smile on her face.

“It's all right,” she said. “I've counted ten. In the circumstances, it was the only argument to use.” She paused and the smile faded. “I thought you were gone then.”

“You weren't the only one. After this I retire. I've used up a lifetime's luck in the past fifteen minutes. You're not looking so bright yourself.”

“I'm not feeling so bright.” Her face was pale and strained as she braced herself against the wild lurching of the cable-car. “If you want to know, I'm sea-sick. I don't go much on this form of travel.”

Smith tapped the roof. “You want to try travelling steerage on one of those,” he said feelingly. “You'd never complain about first-class travel again. Ah! Pylon number two coming up. Almost half-way.”

“Only half-way.” A pause. “What happens if they break through that door up there?”

“Reverse the gear lever and up we go.”

“Like it or not?”

“Like it or not.”

Carnaby-Jones struggled slowly to a sitting position, gazed uncomprehendingly around him until he realised where he was, rubbed his jaw tenderly and said to Smith: “That was a dirty trick.”

“It was all of that,” Smith acknowledged. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm not.” Jones smiled shakily. “Somehow, I don't really think I'm cut out to be a hero.”

“Neither am I, brother, neither am I,” Schaffer said mournfully. He lifted his head from his hands and looked slowly around. His eyes were still glassy and only partially focusing but a little colour was returning to his right cheek, the one that wasn't masked in blood. “Our three friends. What became of our three friends?”

“Dead.”

“Dead?” Schaffer groaned and shook his head. “Tell me about it sometime. But not now.”

“He doesn't know what he's missing,” Smith said un-sympathetically. “The drama of it all escapes him, which is perhaps just as well. Is the door up above there still standing or are the hinges or padlocks going? Is someone rushing towards the winch controls—Is there—”

“Stop it!” Mary's voice was sharp, high-pitched and carried overtones-of hysteria. “Stop talking like that!”

“Sorry,” Smith said contritely. He reached out and touched her shoulder. “Just whistling in the dark, that's all. Here comes the last pylon. Another minute or so and we're home and dry.”

“Home and dry,” Schaffer said bitterly. “Wait till I have that Savoy Grill menu in my hand. Then I'll be home and dry.”

“Some people are always thinking of their stomachs,” Smith observed. At that moment he was thinking of his own and it didn't feel any too good. No stomach does when it feels as if it has a solid lead ball, a chilled lead ball lodged in it with an icy hand squeezing from the outside. His heart was thumping slowly, heavily, painfully in his chest and he was having difficulty in speaking for all the saliva seemed to have evaporated from his mouth. He became suddenly aware that he was unconsciously leaning backward, bracing himself for the moment when the cable-car jerked to a stand-still then started climbing back up to the Schloss Adler again. I'll count to ten, he said to himself, then if we get that far without being checked, I'll count to nine, and then—And then he caught sight of Mary's face, a dead-white, scared and almost haggard face that made her look fifteen years older than she was, and felt suddenly ashamed of himself. He sat on the bench, and squeezed her shoulder. “We'll be all right,” he said confidently. All of a sudden he found it easy to speak again. “Uncle John has just said so, hasn't he? You wait and see.”

She looked up at him, trying to smile. “Is Uncle John always right?”

“Always,” Smith said firmly.