Power Of The Sword Part 48

This is the Cape Town central police station. May I help you? 'Yes, Sarah stuttered, and then No, I'm sorry. It doesn't matter. It isn't important. She hung up, ran out of the booth and wheeled the pram determinedly back towards the cottage. She sat at the kitchen table and wept softly, bewildered and alone and uncertain. Then after a while she wiped her eyes on her ap.r.o.n and made herself a cup of coffee Shasa parked the Jaguar across the road from Blaine Malcomess home, but he did not get out at once. He sat and considered what he was about to attempt.

Probably make an idiot of myself again, he thought, and tilted the rearview mirror so that he could see himself in it.

He ran a comb through his hair and adjusted the eye-patch carefully. Then he climbed out.

Vehicles were parked b.u.mper to b.u.mper down both sides of Newlands Avenue. It was a big party, two or three hundred guests, but then Blaine Malcomess was a big man and his daughter's engagement an important event.

Shasa crossed the road. The front doors were wide open, but still it was difficult to get into the house. Even the lobby was crowded, and the party was in full swing. A coloured band was belting out The Lambeth Walk and Shasa could see into the lounge where the dancers were prancing around merrily. He pushed his way through to the bar. Even Blaine Malcomess couldn't offer whisky, it just wasn't obtainable any longer. Nowadays it was considered patriotic to drink Cape brandy, but Shasa ordered a ginger ale.

My drinking days have come and gone,he thought wryly and, gla.s.s in hand, eased his way through the packed rooms, shaking hands with old friends, kissing the cheeks of the women, many of whom he had at one time or another kissed with more purpose.

So good to see you back, Shasa. They tried not to notice the black eye-patch, and after a few seconds he moved on, searching for her.

She was in the dining-room with the coloured chef and two maids, supervising the final touches to the elaborate buffet dinner.

She looked up and saw him and froze. She was wearing a filmy light evening dress the colour of ash of roses, and her hair was down to her shoulders. He had forgotten how her eyes could s.h.i.+ne like mother-of-pearl, grey mother-ofpearl.

She made a gesture dismissing the servants, and he went slowly to meet her.

h.e.l.lo, Tara, I'm back,he said.

Yes, I heard. You've been back five weeks. I thought you might, she stopped and studied his face. I heard you were decorated, she touched the ribbon on his chest. And that you were wounded. She studied his face frankly, not avoiding looking at his left eye. Then she smiled. It makes you look very das.h.i.+ng. it doesn't make me feel das.h.i.+ng. I can sense that, she nodded. You have changed. Do you think so? she shook her head, irritated that she could not find the precise word. Yes, you aren't so, Not so brash, so c.o.c.k-sure. I want to talk to you, he said. Seriously. All right, she nodded. 'What is it? Not here, he said. Not with all these people. No 'Tomorrow? Tomorrow will be too late. Come with me now.

Shasa, are you mad? This is my party, my engagement party. 'I'll bring the jag around to the tradesmen's entrance, he said. 'You'll need a wrap, it's cold out. He parked the jag close in against the wall. This was where they used to conduct those long lingering farewells.

He switched off the headlights. He knew she would not come, but nevertheless, he waited.

His surprise was genuine, his relief intense when she pulled open the door and slid into the pa.s.senger's seat. She had changed into slacks and a rollneck sweater. She wasn't going back to the party.

Drive! she said. Get away from here. They were silent for a while, and he glanced at her every time a street lamp lit the interior.

She was looking straight ahead smiling faintly, and at last she spoke.

You never needed anything or anyone before. That was the one thing I couldn't stand about you. He did not reply.

I think you need me now. I sensed it the very moment I saw you again. You truly need me at last. He was silent, words seemed superfluous. Instead he reached across and took her hand.

I'm ready for you now, Shasa, she said. Take me somewhere we can be alone, entirely alone. There was enough moon to light the pathway. She clung to him for support and they laughed breathlessly with excitement and stopped halfway down the cliff to kiss.

He let them into the shack and lit the paraffin lamp. With relief Shasa saw that the servants from Weltevreden had followed his orders. There was fresh linen on the bunk, and the floor had been polished.

Tara stood in the centre of the floor, her hands clasped protectively in front of her, her eyes huge and luminous in the lamplight, and she began to tremble when he took her in his arms.

Shasa, please be gentle, she whispered. I'm so scared. He was patient and very gentle, but she had no yardstick by which to recognize how immensely skilled and certain he was. She only knew that he seemed to sense each nuance of change in her feelings, antic.i.p.ating each response of her body so that she felt no shame at her nakedness, and all her other fears and doubts dissolved swiftly under his tender hands and soft loving lips. At last she found herself running ahead of him, learning swiftly to guide and encourage him with subtle little movements and small gasps and cries of approval.

So that at the end she gazed up at him with wonder, and whispered, huskily, I never thought, I never dreamed it would be like that. Oh, Shasa, I'm so glad you came back to me. The Fordsburg branch of the Standard Bank serviced all the gold mines of the Central Rand complex. all the wages of the tens of thousands of weekly paid black mine workers were drawn from this branch and the senior accountant was a member of the O B.

His name was Willem De Kok, a small pasty-faced runt of a man with myopic misty eyes behind thick lenses, but his looks were deceptive. Within a few minutes of their meeting Manfred De La Rey found he had a quick mind, a complete dedication to the cause and almost too much courage for his small body.

The money comes in on Thursday afternoon, between five and six o'clock. They use an armoured car and there is a police escort on motorcycles. That isn't the time to do it.

There would almost certainly be shooting. I understand, Manfred nodded. Before you go on, please tell us how much money is usually transferred. Between fifty thousand and seventy thousand pounds Thursday of each month, when we make except on the last provision for the monthly paid workers on the mine properties. Then it will be closer to a hundred thousand. In addition there is always our ordinary cash float of approximately twenty-five thousand. They were gathered in the home of one of the mine officials of the Crown Deep gold mines. The same man had recruited the local stormiagers for the operation. He was a big red-faced man named Lourens, with the look of a heavy drinker. Manfred was not entirely happy with him; although so far he had found no real cause for his mistrust, he felt the man would be unreliable under stress.

Thank you, Meneer De Kok, please go on. The bank manager, Mr Cartwright, opens the back door of the building and the money is brought in. Of course, at this time in the afternoon the bank is closed to normal business. Mr Cartwright and I, together with our two senior tellers, count the money and issue a receipt. it is then deposited in the vault and locked up for the night. I have one key and half of the combination. Mr Cartwright keeps the other key and has the other half of the combination. That would be the time, Manfred antic.i.p.ated. After the police escort has left, but before the vault is locked. That is a possibility, De Kok nodded. However, at that time it will still be light. Many people on the streets. Mr Cartwright is a difficult man, many things could go wrong.

May I tell you how I would arrange it, if I were in command? ,Thank you, Meneer De Kok. I'm glad of your a.s.sistance. It was ten minutes before midnight when Mr Peter Cartwright left the Freemason hall at the end of the meeting. He was the master of the lodge and he was still wearing his ap.r.o.n over his dinner jacket. He always parked his Morris in the lane behind the hall, but tonight as he sat in the driver's seat and fumbled with the ignition key, something hard was pressed into the back of his neck and a cold voice said quietly, This is a pistol, Mr Cartwright. If you do not do exactly as you are told, you will be shot in the back of the head. Drive to the bank, please. Terrified for his life and following the instructions of the two masked men in the back seat of the Morris, Peter Cartwright drove to the bank building and parked the Morris near the back door. There had been a spate of bank robberies over the last few months, at least four on the Wit.w.a.tersrand and during one of them a bank guard had been shot dead.

Cartwright was in no doubt as to the danger of his position or the ruthlessness of his captors.

As soon as he climbed out of the Morris, they closed on each side of him, pinning his arms and hustling him to the back door of the bank.

One of them tapped upon it with the b.u.t.t of his pistol and to Cartwright's astonishment it opened immediately. Only when he was inside did he realize how the robbers had gained access. His senior accountant Willem De Kok was already there, in pyjamas and dressinggown, his hair tousled and his face slack and ashen with terror. He had obviously been dragged from his bed.

I'm sorry, Mr Cartwright,he blubbered. They forced me. Pull yourself together, man, Cartwright snapped at him, his own fear making him brusque, then his expression changed as he saw the two women: De Kok's fat little wife and his own beloved Mary in hair curlers and pink fulllength dressing-gown with artificial pink roses down the front.

Peter, she wailed. Oh Peter, don't let them do anything. Stop that, Mary. Don't let them see you like that. Cartwright looked around at his captors. There were six of them, including the two who had waylaid him, but his training in character judgement enabled him to pick out the leader almost immediately, a tall, powerfully built man with a dense black beard curling out from under his cloth face-mask, and above the mask a pair of strangely pale eyes, like those of one of the big predatory cats. His fear turned to real terror when he looked into those yellow eyes, for he sensed that there was no compa.s.sion in them.

Open the vault, the man said. His English was heavily accented.

I don't have the key, Cartwright said, and the man with yellow eyes seized Mary Cartwright by the wrist and forced her to her knees.

You wouldn't dare, Cartwright bl.u.s.tered, and the man placed the muzzle of his pistol to Mary's temple.

MY wife is going to have a baby, Cartwright said.

Then you will want to spare her any further unpleasantness. open it for them, Peter. Let them have it. It's not our money, Mary screamed. It's the bank's. Give it to them, And she began to urinate in little spurts that soaked through the skirts of her dressing-gown.

Cartwright went to the green Chatwood steel door of the vault and drew his watch chain from his fob pocket with the key dangling on the end of it. Anger and humiliation seethed in him as he tumbled the combination and turned the key. He stood back while De Kok came forward to do the same. Then, while all their attention was on the vault door as it swung open, he glanced across at his desk. He kept the pistol in the top right-hand drawer. It was a .455 service Webley and there was always a round under the hammer.

By now his outrage at the treatment of his wife outweighed his terror.

Get the money! the leader with the pale eyes ordered and three of the robbers, carrying canvas kit bags, hurried into the vault.

My wife, Cartwright said, I must see to her. n.o.body interfered as he lifted her to her feet and helped her to the desk. Tenderly he settled her into the chair, keeping up a flow of rea.s.surance that covered the soft sc.r.a.pe as he opened the drawer.

He lifted the pistol and slipped it into the pocket of his masonic ap.r.o.n.

Then he backed away, leaving his wife at the desk. He had both hands raised to shoulder level in an att.i.tude of surrender as he rejoined De Kok against the far wall. Both women were out of the line of his fire, but he waited until the three robbers re-emerged from the vault, each of them lugging a kitbag stuffed with wads of banknotes. Again all attention was on those bulging canvas bags, and Cartwright reached into the pocket of his white leather ap.r.o.n, brought out the pistol and his first shot crashed across the room in a long spurt of blue gunsmoke. He kept firing as the Luger bullets smashed into his body, and he was flung back against the wall. He fired until the hammer of the Webley snapped down on a spent cartridge, but his last bullet had gone into the concrete floor between his feet, and he was dead as he slumped down the bullet-pocked wall and huddled at the foot of it, with his blood puddling under him.

SHOOT-OUT AT RAND BANK TWO DEAD ROBBERY LINKED TO O B The letters OB caught Sarah Stander's eye on the placard outside the news-stand. She went in and bought candy for the children, as she always did, and then, as an apparent afterthought, she took a copy of the newspaper.

She crossed to the park and while the two toddlers romped on the lawn and she absently rocked the pram. with her foot to keep the baby quiet, she read the front-page article avidly.

Mr Peter Cartwright, the manager of a bank in Foraisburg, was last night shot dead while attempting to prevent a robbery at the bank's premises. One of the robbers was also shot dead, while a second man was seriously wounded and taken into custody by the police.

First estimates are that the four remaining robbers fled with cash in excess of 5,100,000.

police spokesman said this morning that preliminary interrogation of the wounded robber had established definite involvement by members of the Ossewa Brandwag in the outrage.

The Minister of the Interior, Colonel Blaine Malcomess, announced from his office in the House of Parliament in Cape Town that he had ordered an enquiry into the subversive activities of the O B and that any member of the public with information to offer should contact the nearest police station or telephone the following numbers: Johannesburg 78I 4, Cape Town 42444. The minister gave the a.s.surance that all information would be treated in the strictest confidence.

She sat for almost an hour, trying to reach a decision, torn between loyalty to her family and her patriotic duty to her own people.

She was confused, terribly confused. Was it right to blow up trains and rob banks and kill innocent people in the name of freedom and justice? Would she be a traitoress if she tried to save her husband and her babies?

And what about those other innocents who were certain to die if Manfred De La Rey were allowed to continue? She could readily imagine the strife and chaos that would result if the entire country were to be plunged into civil war. She looked at the newspaper again and memorized the telephone number.

She stood up, called the children and wheeled the pram across the road. As she reached the far sidewalk and started towards the post office, she noticed old Mr Oberholster, the postmaster, watching her from the window of his office. She knew that he was one of them, she had seen him in OB I uniform when he came to the cottage to pick Roelf up for one of their meetings.

immediately she felt panicky with guilt. All telephone calls went through the post office exchange. Oberholster might easily listen in on her conversation, or the operator might recognize her voice. She turned away and pushed the pram down towards the butcher as though that had originally been her intention. She bought two pounds of pork chops, Roelf's favourite dinner, and hurried back to the cottage, eager to be off the street, to be alone so she could think.

As she let herself into the kitchen she heard men's voices in the front room that Roelf used as a study. He was back early from the university today, and then her pulse quickened as she heard Manfred's voice. She felt guilty and disloyal that he could still have that effect upon her. Manfred had not been to the cottage for almost three weeks, and she realized that she had missed him and thought about him almost every day with feelings that oscillated from bitter hatred and resentment to tremulous physical arousal.

She began to prepare dinner for Roelf and the children, but the men's voices carried quite clearly from the front room. Occasionally Sarah paused to listen, and once she heard Manie say, While I was in Jo'burg, I So he had been in Johannesburg. The bank robbery had taken place the night before last, time enough since then for him to come down by road or on the mail train. She thought about the two men who had been killed. She had read in the paper that the bank manager had a pregnant wife and two small children. She wondered how the woman felt now, with her husband gone, and three little ones to care for.

Then she was distracted by the men's voices again, and she paused to listen. What she heard filled her with foreboding, Where will this thing end? she brooded. Oh I wish they would stop. I wish Manie would go away and leave us alone, But the thought of that filled her with a sense of hopelessness.

Shasa flew down alone from the Wit.w.a.tersrand in the Rapide and landed at Youngsfield after dark. He drove directly from the airfield to Blaine's home in Newlands Avenue.

Tara opened the door to him, her face lighting when she realized it was him. Oh, darling, I missed you! They kissed rapturously until Blaine's voice made them start apart.

Look here, Shasa, I don't like to interrupt anything important, but when you can spare a moment I'd like to hear your report. Tara was blus.h.i.+ng furiously. Daddy, you were spying on us! Public display, my dear. No spying necessary. Come along, Shasa. He led the way to his study and waved Shasa to a chair.

Drink? I'd like a ginger ale, sir. How are the mighty fallen! Blaine poured a little of his h.o.a.rded whisky for himself and handed Shasa the ginger ale. Now what is it that you couldn't talk about on the telephone? We just might have had a bit of luck at last, sir. On Blaine's orders Shasa had flown up to Johannesburg as soon as the Fordsburg bank robbery had been linked to the Ossewa Brandwag. He had been at Marshall Square, the headquarters of the CID, while the captured bank robber was being interrogated. As you know, the fellow is an official on the Crown Mines. Thys Lourens is his name, and sure enough he was on our list of known OB members. Not one of the big fish, however, but quite a formidable-looking chap, although I'd expect him to be a bit of a boozer. I told the police inspector that you wanted answers No rough stuff. Blaine frowned.

No, sir. It wasn't necessary. Lourens wasn't as tough as he looked. We only had to point out that the penalty for armed robbery and accessory to murder was the gallows, but that we were prepared to do a deal and he started to gush. I gave you most of what he told us when I telephoned you this morning. Yes. Go on. Then he gave us the names of the other men involved in the robbery, that is, three of them. We were able to make the arrests before I left Johannesburg. However, the leader of the gang was a man he had only met three days before the robbery. He did not know his name, or where we could find him. Did he give you a description? Yes. Big man, black hair and beard, crooked nose, scar over one eye, a pretty detailed description, but he gave us some thing else which may be vital. What is that? A code name. The leader is known only as Die Wit Swaard, the White Sword, and they were ordered to cooperate with him from the very top level of the stormjagers!

White Sword, Blaine mused. Sounds like something out of Boys Own Paper. Unfortunately not so childish, Shasa went on. I impressed upon the inspector in charge that the code name and the description must be withheld until he had orders from you personally. 'Good. Blaine sipped his drink, pleased that his trust in Shasa Courtney had been so soon vindicated. White Sword, I wonder if this is the trigger we have been looking for, the catalyst that has at last brought the O B to the point of action. It could very well be, sir. All the arrested members of the gang are obviously very much in awe of the man. He was clearly the force behind the entire thing, and he has disappeared completely. There is no trace of the missing money, incidentally, we have established that it is over one hundred and twenty-seven thousand I pounds., A tidy sum, Blaine murmured, and we must presume that it has gone into the war chest of the O B, probably along with the gelignite from the railway hijacking., As far as this code name goes, sir, I would like to suggest that we continue to keep it from the press and everybody not directly concerned with the investigation. I agree. However, let me hear your reasons, see if they are the same as mine. Firstly, we don't want to alert the quarry. We don't want him to know that we are on his track. Blaine nodded. Quite so. The other reason is that it will confirm the reliability of any informant who uses the code name. I don't follow you, Blaine frowned.

Your appeal to the public for a.s.sistance has resulted in a flood of telephone calls, but unfortunately most of them are bogus. if we let the code name become general knowledge, they'll all be using it. ,I see. Use of the code name will establish the callers credentials. 'That's it, sir. All right then, we'll keep it under the hat for the time being. Is there anything else? Not at present. Then let me tell you what has happened here while you were away. I have met the prime minister and we have decided to declare the O B a political organization. All civil servants, including the police and the army, will be obliged to resign their members.h.i.+p immediately. That won't alter their sympathies, Shasa pointed out.

Of course not, Blaine agreed. We will still have something like forty or fifty percent of the country against us and for n.a.z.i Germany. It can't go on like this, sir. You and the Ou Baas will have to force a showdown. Yes, we know that. As soon as our investigations are complete, as soon as we have a pretty comprehensive fist of the ringleaders, we will swoop. Arrest them? Shasa was startled.

Yes. They will be interned for the duration of the war as enemies of the state. Shasa whistled softly. Pretty drastic, sir. That could lead to real trouble., That is why we have to scoop them all up in the net at one time, we cannot afford to miss any of them. Blaine stood up. I can see you are exhausted, Shasa, and I am sure there are a few things that Mademoiselle Tara has to say to you. I'll expect you at my office at eight-thirty sharp tomorrow morning. They moved to the study door and Blaine added as an afterthought, By the way, your grandfather, Sir Garry, arrived at Weltevreden this morning., He has come down for his birthday, Shasa smiled. I look forward to seeing him. I hope you and Field Marshal s.m.u.ts will be coming to the birthday picnic as usual., Wouldn't miss it for the world! Blaine opened the study door and across the lobby Tara was hovering innocently, pretending to be selecting a book from the shelves in the library.

Blaine grinned, Tara, you let Shasa get some sleep tonight, do you hear me? I refuse to work with a zombie tomorrow. The meeting in Blaine's office the following morning lasted longer than either of them expected, and later moved down the pa.s.sageway to the prime minister's office where Field Marshal s.m.u.ts personally questioned Shasa. His questions were so searching that Shasa felt drained by the effort of keeping pace with the Ou Baas mercurial mind. He escaped with relief, s.m.u.ts's admonition following him.

We want this fellow "White Sword" whoever he is, and we want him before he can do any more damage. Get that message across to everybody involved. Yes, sir. And I want those lists on my desk before the weekend.

We must have these fellows locked up and out of harm's way.

It was mid-morning before Shasa arrived at CID headquarters and parked the Jaguar in the reserved bay that had been set aside for him in.

The special operations room had been set up in one of the extensive bas.e.m.e.nt areas. There was a constable on duty at the door and Shasa signed the register. Entry was restricted to persons on the list. Many of the police force were known OB members, or sympathizers.

Inspector Louis Nel had chosen his team with extreme care.

He was a balding, taciturn man whose age and job cla.s.sification had prevented him from volunteering for overseas military service, a fact that he bitterly resented. However, Shasa had soon discovered that he was an easy man to like and respect, though a difficult one to please. They had quickly established a working rapport.

Nel was in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he talked into the telephone, but he covered the mouthpiece and summoned Shasa with an imperious wave.

Where the h.e.l.l have you been? I was going to send out a search party, he reprimanded him. Sit down. I want to talk to you. Shasa perched on the corner of his desk while the inspector continued his telephone call, and he stared through the window into the busy operations room. Inspector Nel had been allocated eight detectives and a bevy of female stenographers. The room was full of cigarette smoke and the clatter of typewriters as they worked. One of the other telephones on the inspector's desk rang, and he glanced up at Shasa. 'Take that, d.a.m.ned switchboard keeps putting everything through to me. Shasa picked up the receiver. Good morning, this is CID headquarters. May I help you? he said, and when there was silence, he repeated it in Afrikaans.

h.e.l.lo, I want to talk to somebody, the caller was a woman, a young woman and very agitated, she was speaking Afrikaans, and her voice was breathless and uncertain. In the paper they said you wanted to know about the Ossewa Brandwag. I want to talk to somebody. My name is Courtney, Shasa said in Afrikaans. Squadron-Leader Courtney. I am grateful that you want to a.s.sist the police. You can tell me everything. He tried to make his voice warm and rea.s.suring. He could sense that the woman was afraid, perhaps on the point of changing her mind and ringing off. Take your time. I'm here to listen to you.$ ',Are you the police? Yes, madam. Would you like to give me your name? No! I won't tell you- He realized his mistake. That's perfectly all right. you don't have to give your name, he told her quickly, and there was a long silence. He could hear her breathing.

Take your time, he repeated gently. You just tell me what you want to. They are stealing the guns. The woman's voice sank to a whisper.

Can you tell me what guns? Shasa asked carefully.

From the gun factory in Pretoria, the railway workshop. Shasa sat up straighter and held the telephone receiver with both hands. Almost all the military arms and munitions manufacture was being undertaken in the railway workshops in Pretoria. It was the only establishment with the heavy equipment, highspeed lathes and steam presses, capable of turning out barrels and blocks for rifles and machineguns. The cartridge cases for the munitions were being stamped out at the Pretoria Mint, but they were despatched to the railway workshops for final processing.

What you are saying is important, he told her carefully.

Can you tell me how they are stealing the guns? They are putting sc.r.a.p iron in the cases, and stealing the guns, the woman whispered.

Can you tell me who is doing this, please? Do you know who is responsible? I don't know the people in the workshop, but the one who is in charge. I know who he is., We must know his name, Shasa told her persuasively, but she was silent. He could sense that she was struggling with herself, and that if he pushed her now he would lose her.

Do you want to tell me who he is? he asked. Just take your time. His name, the woman hesitated, was silent a moment longer, and then she blurted out, they call him wit Swaard White Sword. Shasa felt his skin crawl as though it were infested with vermin, and his heart seemed to check, miss a beat, then race away wildly.

What did you say? White Sword, his name is White Sword, the woman repeated and there was a crackle and click as the connection was broken.

h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo! Shasa shouted into the receiver. Are you there? Don't hang up! But the hiss of static on the empty line mocked him.

Shasa stood beside Blaine Malcomess desk while he made the call to the commissioner of police at Marshall Square in Johannesburg.

As soon as you have the search warrant you are to close the workshops. No one allowed to enter or leave. I have already spoken to the military commander of the Transvaal.

He and his quartermaster-general will give you full cooperation. I want you to begin the search right away, open all the weapons cases in the stores and check every item against the factory production sheets. I will be flying up, leaving immediately. Please have a police car meet me at Roberts Heights airfield at, he glanced at Shasa for a time, five o'clock this evening. In the meantime, I want you to impress utter secrecy on all your men involved in the search. One other thing, Commissioner, please select only men who you are satisfied are not members of any subversive organizations, particularly the Ossewa Brandwag. Shasa drove them out to Youngsfield in the Jaguar and as they parked behind the hangar Blaine unfolded his long legs and climbed out of the sports car.

Well, at least the most gruelling part of the journey is over with, he remarked.

There was a police inspector waiting for them on the hard stand below the Roberts Heights control tower as Shasa taxied the Rapide in and cut the engines. He came forward to meet them as Blaine and Shasa came down the landing steps.

How is the investigation going? Blaine demanded immediately after they had shaken hands. What have you found so far? Nothing, Minister. The inspector shook his head. We have checked over six hundred cases of rifles. it's a timeconsuming job. But so far everything seems to be in order. How many cases in the stores? Nine hundred and eighty., So you have checked over half. Blaine shook his head.

Let's go and have a look anyway., He settled his hat on his head and b.u.t.toned his overcoat to the neck for there was a cold wind sweeping across the airstrip, bringing memories of the snows of the Drakensberg mountains, and the highveld gra.s.s was bleached silvery by the frosts of late winter. He and Shasa climbed into the back seat of the black police Packard and neither of them spoke on the short journey into the centre of Pretoria.

At the gates to the railway workshops there was a double guard of police and military personnel. They checked the occupants of the Packard carefully, not visibly impressed by Blaine's status.

The chief inspector in charge of the investigation was in the office of the workshop manager and his report had little to add to what they already knew. They had so far been unable to find any irregularity in the production or packaging of weapons.

Give me the tour, Blaine ordered grimly, and the entire party, Blaine, Shasa, the chief inspector and the workshop manager, went out on to the main production floor.

Workshop, was hardly a correct description of the large factory that they entered. Originally built to service and repair the rolling stock of the state-owned railway, it had been expanded and modernized until it was capable of building its own locomotives from scratch. Now the long production line along which they picked their way was turning out armoured cars for the desert war in North Africa.

The working of the factory had not been halted by the police investigation and the cavernous sheds roofed with corrugated iron echoed to the thunder of the steam presses and the cacophony of the lathes and turret head drills.

How many men do you employ? Blaine had to shout to make himself heard in the uproar.