Death at Knytte Read Online Free PDF

He glanced round to see his friend mounting his horse, still peering warily into the darkness, and he gave a faint scornful laugh. ‘It seems we’re in a hurry. Are you listening, man?’
    Cobb’s mouth worked but no sound emerged. He nodded his head.
    ‘Right. While you’re in London I want you to find a good market for a pair of …’
    This time there could be no denying the noise that broke the surrounding silence, or that it came from somewhere close by; it was a cough, and unmistakably human.
    ‘What was that?’ The rider circled, staring wildly across the ragged thorn bushes topping the nearby bank.
    Abandoning his hold on Cobb, the other man thrust a hand inside his coat and drew out a long-barrelled pistol. ‘Who’s there?’ He cocked the weapon. ‘Answer me or I fire.’
    A light flared into existence not fifty yards away; somebody had struck a match and thrown it into the hedge where the dry wood caught instantly, and the flames spread, lighting up the crossroads more brightly than any moonlight.
    ‘By God, the bastard’s betrayed us!’ The man with the pistol leapt for his horse, tearing the reins from his friend’s grasp.
    Cobb half fell back against the gibbet post and clung there, gasping for breath and looking wildly around him. His tormentor, mounted now, swung the weapon towards the tramp, but before he could take aim a voice barked from the darkness. ‘Stay where you are, you rogues! Stand or we shoot!’
    The rider hesitated for a second. Cobb didn’t waste his one chance, and dropped sideways to the ground. A bullet narrowly missed his head, the sound of that first shot lost in a ragged volley; a row of men had leapt belatedly to their feet, showing now above the low rampart.
    ‘Aim for the horses, bring ’em down!’ A rougher voice this, coming from the far end of the earth bank, but the shout came too late, for the two fugitives were already spurring away.
    Cobb stayed flat, a wise move, for the shooting was wild, and several shots passed close above his head. For a full minute all around him was a chaos of tramping feet, shouts, and the deafening crackle of gunfire. The roar of the dry thorn bushes crumbling to ash grew louder; the flames leapt to eat greedily at the grass surrounding the gibbet post, parched after a dry spell.
    ‘Hold your fire!’ Cobb shouted, in a voice that would have brought a squad of army recruits to a quivering halt. Despite coming from such an unlikely source, the order was instantly obeyed. Choking, he came to his knees, squinting into the distance; the two riders were out of range and galloping free, evidently unharmed.
    Docket came to stand over the tramp. ‘I’ll thank you not to give orders to Sir Martin’s men, Sergeant Beddowes,’ he said mildly.
    ‘Somebody needed to,’ the man who had called himself Cobb replied shortly, rising to his feet and straightening his back with evident relief. He was almost a foot taller than he’d appeared while hunched against the gibbet post. ‘The rogues are wellaway and there’s no point wasting ammunition. I suppose there’s no chance that Sir Martin will have persuaded Major Digby to remain at his post?’ The question was civil enough, but there was something in its tone that suggested censure.
    ‘I doubt it; he was always a reluctant recruit to our cause. I’m sorry, it looks as if we’ve lost them.’
    ‘Reckon I may ’ave winged one of they rogues, Mr Docket, sir,’ a man called. ‘I reckon I ’eard ’im yell.’
    ‘There’s a chance then,’ Docket said.
    The tramp shook his head. ‘If he couldn’t hit a target as big as two horses, I’ve not too much hope he’ll have nicked one of the men.’ He shielded his eyes against the ever growing light from the flames. ‘If we don’t put out that fire we’ll have the moor alight from here to the coast.’
    Several minutes of furious activity saw the worst of the fire out. Leaving the other men to finish the job, Docket drew Beddowes to one