Страница 40 из 91
“Don't try anything, Richard,” Swinburne advised earnestly.
They heard Kenealy call: “What's going on?”
“A couple of uninvited guests,” Jankyn replied.
“Bring them here!”
“Move into the chamber, gentlemen,” the physician ordered. “Keepyour hands where I can see them, please.”
They obeyed.
“Burton,” the Tichborne Claimant grunted as the king's agentstepped into view. “Bad man.”
“And a trespasser,” Kenealy added. “What are you playing at,sir? I ordered you to leave the estate.”
“I had unfinished business to attend to.”
“As we observed. Rather stupid of you to leave the contents ofthe pantry piled up in the kitchen. Bogle brought it to myattention.”
“How did you open the door?”
“I found a lever in the left-hand room-a shelf that slidessideways and twists upward.”
“I was a fool to miss it.”
“You had no right to be nosing around. I should have youarrested.”
“Arrested,” drawled the mountain of flesh standing in the centreof the chamber. The Claimant surveyed Burton with mindlesseyes.
“Try it,” the king's agent challenged.
“Why are you meddling?” Kenealy demanded. “You're a geographer,sir! An explorer! A Livingstone! What has this affair to do withyou?”
Burton ignored the question, especially the Livingstonereference, and pointed nonchalantly at the Claimant.
“Who-or should I ask what -is that, Kenealy?”
“It's Sir Roger Tichborne.”
“We both know that's not true, don't we?”
“I insist that it's Sir Roger Tichborne.” The lawyer looked pastBurton. “Is that not so, Doctor Jankyn?”
“Absolutely!” said the physician.
“And what do you think, Mr. Swinburne?” Kenealy asked.
“Me? I think my arms are aching. May I lower them?”
“Yes. Step away from him, Jankyn, but keep your pistol steady.If our guests misbehave, shoot to kill.”
“Thank you,” Swinburne said. “And may I say, you're an absolutecharmer, Mr. Kenealy.”
“Answer my question. Is this, in your opinion, Sir RogerTichborne?”
Swinburne hesitated.
“I think-”
He raised a hand to his head and winced.
Burton watched his assistant carefully.
“I think-”
The Claimant let loose a bubbling chuckle.
“I think,” the poet groaned, “that-he is-isprobably-Tichborne.”
“Ah. There we have it.” Kenealy smiled.
“Are you quite all right, Algy?” Burton asked.
“Yes. No. Yes. I-my head hurts.”
“Sir Roger,” the lawyer said, turning to the Claimant, “there isan intruder on your property. You have every right to protect yourinterests.”
“Protect!” the Claimant rumbled. He lumbered forward.“Protect!”
“Kenealy!” Burton snapped. “There is no need to-”
The Claimant's elephantine body blocked his view of the chamber.A meaty hand shot out and grasped the lapels of Burton's jacket andshirt. Cloth ripped as the fingers closed.
Burton was hauled off his feet, swung around, and thrown withtremendous force clear across the room. He slammed into a wall,bounced from it, and landed in a loose-limbed heap on thefloor.
“Sir Roger!” Swinburne cried. “Don't!”
“Heh heh!” the Claimant gurgled. He shuffled over to the proneman.
“Perfectly legal, of course,” Kenealy observed.
“I say! He's a jolly strong bounder, what!” Jankyn exclaimed asBurton was hoisted over the Claimant's head and thrown back acrossthe chamber.
“He is, Doctor,” Kenealy agreed. “Life in the colonies does thatto a man, even if he was born an aristocrat.”
Burton rolled, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled outhis pistol. As the light from the burning torches pushed theClaimant's vast shadow across him, he raised the weapon and pulledthe trigger. The shot was deafening in the enclosed space andeveryone flinched. A hole appeared in the cloth stretched acrosshis assailant's belly, but no blood flowed and the bullet appearedto have little effect.
“Baaad man,” the Claimant moaned, reaching down.
The gun was wrenched from Burton's fingers and flung away.
“Leave him alone!” Swinburne pleaded as Burton was gripped bythe neck and jerked to his feet. “Sir Roger! Think of your family'sgood name! God! My head!”
Burton launched a ferocious uppercut into his opponent's chin.His fist sank into a wobbling mass of fat. In reply, he was shakenlike a rat caught in the jaws of a carnivore. His teeth rattledtogether. Desperately, he loosed a furious tattoo of blows into thegargantuan body, hammering it around the ribs, but he might havebeen punching a pillow for all the damage he did; the rib cage wasburied deep beneath layers of blubber. The Claimant took theassault without so much as a groan.
Squirming out of the creature's grasp, Burton ducked undergroping hands and, like a whirlwind, dealt out roundhouse punchesthat should have rocked his opponent on his heels. It wasuseless.
The Claimant lunged and swept his arms around Burton'sshoulders. The king's agent felt them tighten and tried to slipdownward, but the creature held him with the strength of a grizzlybear. Terrible agony shot through the explorer's chest and it feltas if every bone in his torso must splinter.
It was not the embrace of a human being. Beneath the thickjellied padding flexed the tremendous muscles of a predatorybeast.
Pain exploded in Burton's back and his lower spine creakedaudibly. Blood pounded in his ears as the awful constrictionincreased. The monotonous tone of the diamond was filling his head.His legs flopped uselessly and, when the Claimant lifted him fromthe floor, his feet dangled as loosely as a rag doll's.
Swinburne looked on helplessly as his friend was hoisted up overthe creature's head, ready to be dashed against the wall onceagain.
“Tell me, Swinburne!” Kenealy said. “You don't happen to knowwhere Sir Henry concealed that black diamond of his, do you?”
“No,” the poet whimpered. “Except that-”
“Yes?”
The Claimant swung Burton back to fling him into the air. As hedid so, a spark of vitality flared in the explorer's dimmingconsciousness and, with a desperate effort of will, he put all thestrength he could muster into a jab, hooking his stiffly heldfingers down into his opponent's right eye.
The creature let loose a howl and dropped him. Burton hit theground at the Claimant's feet.
“Except the poem,” said Swinburne.
“Poem, sir? What poem is that?”
“Algy, don't,” Burton croaked.
“The tears, that weep within My Lady's round,” Swinburneproclaimed. “Do you mind if I sit down? I have the most dreadfulheadache.”
“Please, be my guest.” Kenealy gri
Jankyn strode over to Burton and looked down at him. “Mygoodness. He doesn't look at all well!”
“I bow to your expertise, Doctor,” Kenealy said. “Sir Roger, becareful! Don't break him! You may be defending yourself against aruthless intruder but a charge of manslaughter would be mostinconvenient at present. Tears, Mr. Swinburne?”
“I can't help it. It's the pain. My brain is afire!”
“I was referring to the poem.”
“Oh, that gobbledygook. The diamond's behind the waterfall,obviously.”
The Claimant bent to pick Burton up. The explorer quickly drewin his legs and kicked his booted feet into the fat man's face. Hisleft heel caught one of the seven lumps that circled the bloatedthing's skull, ripping open the little line of stitches.
The Claimant's head snapped back.
“Ouch! Hurt me!” he complained, clutching Burton's arm anddragging him upright.
The king's agent caught sight of a black diamond glitteringinside his opponent's wound.
“Choir Stone!” he mumbled.
A massive fist crashed into his face.
He looked up at the off-yellow canvas of his tent.
The exhaustion and fevers and diseases and infections and woundsate into his body.
There was not a single inch of him that didn't hurt.