Curtis shrugged. He felt that violence had solved that particular problem nicely. Daniel snuggled against him, muttering something that Curtis didn’t catch, and within a few seconds he was asleep again.
Curtis half-lay with his head against cold stone and his body on a hard wood floor, feeling Daniel’s heavy weight over him, warm and safe. He luxuriated in the sensation for a few moments before turning his mind to what came next.
He had to get Daniel out. Holt would be missed today. He would, he thought grimly, fight to the death before he let James Armstrong get his hands on Daniel again, but it might well come to that if he faced men with guns.
With two hands he would have stolen one of the Armstrongs’ motors. Perhaps he still could, but it would be a noisy business, to break in and start the machine, and he would have to take the time to get Daniel into the seat. And he was not at all sure he could control a car at speed along these winding roads, gripping the wheel with only finger and thumb. Certainly not fast enough to outdistance a pursuer, and he felt sure that he would be chased.
It was an option, but one for desperation. What were the alternatives? He could try and place a telephone call—he could beg a lift to Newcastle and call from there, if his hosts were still keeping up the pretence of hospitality—but that meant leaving Daniel alone in the folly.
He stirred. Curtis stroked a soothing hand over his brow, and found it unpleasantly warm.
Christ, what if he was going to be ill? It would hardly be surprising if a day soaked in water led to a bad chill.
He needed food and water and blankets, then, and he would have to get them soon, before the house was up. He needed a gun. He would place a call to his uncle from here, whatever the risk, and summon help, and after that… Well, if need be he would retreat to the folly and hold it as a defensible position for as long as it took.
Curtis contemplated that prospect as he gently rolled Daniel off him. He took a quick look around and, to his delight, found that an old wooden chest contained picnic blankets. He made the sleeping man as comfortable and warm as he could, murmuring reassurances, then stepped quietly out of the building. Of course, Daniel couldn’t bar the door behind him, but with no allies, supplies or communication lines, Curtis was running on luck now.
It wasn’t the first time. It might be the last, but he’d give it a damned good try.
With that thought in mind, he took half a dozen steps before he heard the sound of movement, someone coming up the hill.
It was bare ground around the building and trying to hide behind the folly would look more suspicious than strolling forward. If it came to it, he’d just have to deal with the intruder as he’d dealt with Holt.
He paced forward as the walker approached, clenching and flexing his fingers, and saw it was Miss Merton.
“Hello, Mr. Curtis.” She lifted a cheery hand as she came to meet him. “I thought I was the only morning walker here. Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Her eyebrows drew together as she took in his appearance. “Are you all right?”
Curtis didn’t hesitate. “Are you alone?”
“Yes…?”
“Miss Merton, in the name of God, as one shooter to another, I need your help.”
Miss Merton straightened from Daniel’s side and looked down at his unconscious form, then up at Curtis.
“Well, I don’t think he’s feverish, as such,” she said. “Getting chilled through like that can do funny things to the body. You need to keep him warm and safe. I suppose you’re certain of all this business?”
“As certain as I am of anything. I saw the photographs. He was tied to a rock—”
She held up a hand. “I don’t doubt you. I’m just trying to think what to do.”
“If you could help get food—”
“Not enough.” Miss Merton shook her head briskly. “It seems to me that we have three problems: we must keep Mr. da Silva safe, get word out to someone for help, and avert suspicion until that help arrives. Very well. I think our first step should be to tell Fen.”
“Miss Carruth?” said Curtis incredulously. Christ, had the woman not understood how serious this was?
She was giving him a pitying smile. “I suppose it’s fair to say that there’s rather more to Mr. da Silva than those ghastly affected airs he puts on?”
“Very much more.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be too quick to believe in Fen’s silly-girl act either.” She frowned in thought. “What if I announce I’m going for a tramp on the moors, alone, and beg supplies from the kitchen for the day. I’ll bring a couple of guns and hole up here till evening. That way, I’ll keep an eye on our invalid. You and Fen, somehow, will have to make that telephone call. You can relieve me in the evening. If the pair of you stay away from the folly in the day, nobody should even think of this place. Yes?”