‘I’ll carry him. You bring the case and the Winchester,’ Baird went on. ‘They’re certain to have heard the shots.’
While Rico went over to pick up the case, Baird again bent over Noddy. He had stopped breathing.
Baird touched the artery in his throat. Then he straightened with a little grunt.
‘He won’t double-cross anyone again,’ he muttered.
Then he hauled the unconscious Hater across his shoulder and moved to the door.
Rico followed him down the path, carrying the case and the Winchester.
Rico’s mind was in a whirl. They had got Hater, but they had still to get out of this awful swamp.
They had still a twelve-hour paddle down the river ahead of them before they reached the place where the get-away car was hidden.
Even if they got Hater away, there was still the complex business of getting the money from Kile. The whole scheme now seemed to Rico to be a madman’s pipe-dream.
A distant sound suddenly brought him to a standstill as if he had run against a brick wall. Baird had heard it too, and had also stopped. Both of them looked back along the path. Baird had his gun out.