Ghost of Christmas Past Read Online Free PDF Page A

no match for the oaf behind him
who was simply huge. He attempted to use the man’s weight against
him, and pushed his feet against the wall with all of his might in
a desperate attempt to try to get the man to stagger backward. He
cursed fluidly when the oaf didn’t budge, or even grunt. Instead,
his attacker’s warm, fetid breath brushed across Rupert’s cheek as
he panted with the exertion of keeping himself upright while
holding his quarry. Stars began to appear behind his eyes and
Rupert knew that he didn’t have long. In a macabre dance for life,
he stomped down on the booted foot so close to his own and was
rewarded with a satisfying crunch. The man’s hold immediately
loosened and it was enough for Rupert, who was taller, fitter and
considerably more agile to take advantage of the momentary
distraction.
    Although
the man’s arm had loosened enough for Rupert to move, it hadn’t
disappeared completely. He ducked his head and sank his teeth into
the beefy flesh beneath his chin at the same time that he drew the
man’s arm away from his chest. Rupert twisted around as he stepped
to one side and kept a firm hold on the man’s arm so that he could
propel his attacker’s heavy girth forward. As he passed, Rupert
placed his boot on the man’s backside to increase his speed, and
watched the heavy man land face down on the bed with a bone jarring
thud.
    The loud
retort of a gun out in the hallway broke Rupert’s concentration,
but he knew better than to take his eyes of the winded man before
him.
    “ Luke!”
    “ Here,” his colleague mumbled. Whatever he was doing outside
was taking considerable effort because his friend’s usually calm
and unflappable demeanour was charged with a deep disgust. “One
down,” he growled. His report was enough to encourage Rupert to
redouble his own efforts to end his confrontation with the big man
on the bed.
    He was
fairly certain that his attackers were Dubois, and the second, now
unconscious, assailant at his feet was Laurent because of the
language the man before him was gasping. That being the case, where
were his colleagues? Was Guerin still in the cottage across the
square? If he was, that meant that the coachman was Jacques
Fornier. If so, who was attacking Luke in the corridor?
    The big
man on the bed suddenly rolled over. The feral grin on his bilious
face was partially blocked by the barrel of the gun that was
pointed straight at Rupert’s head. He ducked the bullet that
whizzed past his ear and felt the fine shower of plaster explode
around him as he threw himself onto the floor. He immediately
lunged to his feet again and, rather than risk fighting the heavy
weight of the much bigger man, Rupert drew his own gun.
    “ Put it down,” he growled and motioned silently for the man to
drop his weapon over the end of the bed, far away from his
unconscious accomplice on the floor.
    “ Here, what’s going on?” A loud voice called from somewhere
down the corridor.
    “ Shut up and get back into your room man,” Luke growled amid
thumps and grunts. His battle continued to rage with determined
ferocity, but was fuelled by the anger that swept through him as he
realised just how close he had come to getting his head blown off.
He glared balefully at the inn keeper who watched the fight in his
hallway for several moments. “Wait!” Luke grunted as he dodged a
fist. “Go and get help. These are French spies and have to be
arrested.”
    He knew
that his assailant, Laurent, had understood every word and watched
a sinister snarl fall over his opponent’s angular face. Luke didn’t
bother to look to see if the inn keeper had left to carry out his
orders. He knew from the sound of the heavy footsteps on the stairs
that the owner of the tavern had rushed off to find help.
Unfortunately, Luke knew that there was very little assistance to
be found in the inn. The regular drinkers had gone home hours ago,
and there was nobody else on the upper floor of the tavern