Miles Off Course Read Free Page B

curtains.
    He stepped towards the window to remedy the lack of light. Even as he did so, he sensed it: the movement from behind him, another from the corner of the room.
    There was no time to react—an arm locked about his neck. Rowland twisted, lashing out instinctively.
    A hood was dragged over his head and pulled tight. He could see nothing, his breathing stifled by the sack. His arm was twisted painfully behind his back.
    “Come quietly, Sinclair, and we won’t have to break your arm.”
    Rowland’s response was muffled by the hood, but it was less than co-operative. He swore again as his arm was wrenched further back. And then someone else joined the fray: Clyde.
    Mayhem ensued amidst the crack of impacting blows and a great deal of profanity. The scuffle was fierce, confused. Rowland wrested free and pulled off the hood just in time to duck a swinging
fist.
    There were three intruders, hefty men in cheap suits. The settee crashed over as Clyde was thrown into it. Two men turned on Rowland again, striking without restraint and pinning him to the
floor.
    “Give over, you stupid toff!”
    Rowland gasped as a heavy boot ploughed into his back. And then a second kick to the ribs.
    “Enough already! I’m not carrying the bastard out of ’ere.”
    Clyde roared, launching himself at the closest intruder. Rowland struggled to help him.
    The door to the suite flew open and Milton stood in the doorway—but only for a moment. The poet barely missed a beat—he knew a fight when he saw one—and launched himself
enthusiastically into the scuffle.
    The numbers were now even and the intruders seemed to be startled into retreat. They pushed past the bewildered staff at the door who had come to investigate this disruption to the
sanatorium’s advertised serenity.
    “Mr. Sinclair, we heard… oh my Lord!” Once again, confusion seemed to reign.
    In the ruins of the sitting room, Rowland helped Clyde upright. “You all right?”
    “Fine.” Clyde mopped his bloody nose with a paint-stained handkerchief. “You’re going to have one helluva shiner though, mate.” He looked critically at the bruise
forming over Rowland’s left eye. “Who the hell were those blokes? Bit game, burgling the place in broad daylight.”
    Rowland shook his head. “I don’t think they were common burglars… they knew who I was for one thing.”
    Milton moved closer to him. “You don’t owe money do you, Rowly? Those fellas looked like debt collectors, if you know what I’m saying.”
    “Don’t be a flaming idiot,” Clyde muttered.
    Rowland understood what Milton meant. He had frequented enough of Sydney’s gambling dens and sly-grogeries in his time to recognise the kind of men who inhabited Sydney’s underworld.
He shook his head.
    “I don’t owe anything,” he said, as he rubbed his arm. “But they did want me to go with them.”
    By this time, there were other people pushing into the room, and Rowland was compelled to explain to the management what had happened to raise such a din and leave the suite in utter disarray.
Edna also arrived to investigate why all the men in her party had left her waiting alone in the restaurant. Jarvis was found locked in a broom cupboard. It appeared he had been bound and gagged by
the three intruders prior to Rowland’s return to the suite. Inevitably the authorities attended to ask questions and take statements. And so, it was well into the evening when the battered
men of Rowland Sinclair’s party found themselves finally alone in the Grand Majestic suite with Edna.
    Rowland loosened his tie and removed his jacket thankfully. He felt a little damaged and he was hungry. Milton handed him a glass of sherry. It would have to do. The dining room was closed now
and Jarvis had retired early after his ordeal in the broom cupboard.
    “So what’s going on, Rowly?” Edna asked, perching as usual on the arm of the now righted couch. She looked from his bruised face to Clyde’s swollen nose.