The Body at the Tower - By Y. S. Lee Page 0,88

to resist with a strength I hadn’t known I possessed. We grappled,” said Harkness, almost in a tone of wonder. “I don’t understand fighting – physical violence has always made me ill – but I wasn’t afraid. If anything, I enjoyed it.”

“You devil! You’re enjoying this, too.” Keenan launched himself at Harkness, seizing him by the throat. The older man stumbled back, falling heavily against the stone half-wall. It must have hurt, for he was bent backwards over the ledge, but he made no sound of pain or fear, even when Keenan began to throttle him, voice high now with fury. “You bloody devil! You pushed him, didn’t you? You tricked him into coming here, and you pushed him off the ledge.”

“Stop!” That clear, commanding voice was James’s, echoing into the hollow of Big Ben as he sprang past Mary towards the two men. The belfry was small, James’s legs were long, and in just a few strides he was upon them.

He wasn’t quick enough. Keenan started up at the sound; beneath him, Harkness flailed. Their combined movement was enough to topple Harkness over the lip of the half-wall. It was a curious way to fall, Mary noted mechanically. Harkness ought to have tipped back head first, if at all; and if so, he should have taken Keenan with him. Yet here they were, with Harkness outside the belfry and Keenan within, balanced precariously on his belly, hanging over the ledge. There was a sharp, panicked cry – whether from Harkness or from Keenan, Mary couldn’t be certain.

James dived forward and caught Keenan’s thrashing legs, landing with a grunt and a thud. There was a collective, convulsive gasp. Then came only the wind whistling through the open chamber.

Keenan remained perfectly still, still anchored by James’s grip. The upper half of his body dangled outside the belfry, and he made no move to rise. Mary, half a step behind James, dashed towards the ledge and peered over. There, with his large, soft hands wrapped about Keenan’s meaty forearms, was Harkness. His feet dangled against the roof tiles below and he peered up with an oddly composed expression.

At the sight of Mary’s face poking over the edge, however, he frowned. “Quinn? What on earth are you doing here?”

Mary swallowed and remembered she was still in disguise. “Helping Mr Easton, sir. Just hang on, and we’ll get you up.” She was about to add, “Don’t panic,” but it hardly seemed appropriate in Harkness’s case; he was more serene than she’d ever seen him.

Keenan’s face, however, wore an expression of dread and nausea. He dangled, inverted, his face growing steadily redder. “For God’s sake, drag me back!” he cried hoarsely. It was a peculiarly passive position for such an active, aggressive man: if he kicked his legs, he risked dislodging James, his anchor. And Harkness was beginning to slide from his grasp.

Harkness looked mildly perplexed, as though he couldn’t quite remember how he’d come to be dangling three hundred feet over the cobblestoned streets of Westminster. And then his expression cleared. “Is that you, Easton, keeping this scoundrel from falling to his death?”

James emitted a half-gasp, equal parts exertion and amusement. “Yes, Harkness. I haven’t the weight to drag you both back up.”

“Well, I shouldn’t worry about that,” replied Harkness in an astoundingly conversational tone. “I’m quite prepared to meet my Lord and Saviour.”

“So soon? Surely not.”

Keenan’s darkening face reflected Mary’s astonishment. “This ain’t no tea party!” he yelped. “You, boy! Help drag me back inside before my arms drop off!”

Mary grasped one of Keenan’s legs and pulled, but her meagre body-weight was insufficient to make a real difference: Harkness and Keenan carried at least twenty-five stone between them, and she and James weighed significantly less. To pull them up, against gravity, was impossible without some sort of aid. And there wasn’t time to go for help.

She looked at James. “There’s all sorts of rope up here. We could use that.”

James nodded, sweat beginning to bead his forehead. “Good. I’ll show you the knots to use.”

“There’s a simpler solution, my boy,” came Harkness’s voice, much muffled by wind and stone. “I had hoped to take Keenan with me, but that clearly isn’t to be, if you’re holding him. But once he lets me go, you ought to be able to save him for the police.”

There was an instant, general outcry.

“He’s gone mad!”

“What the devil are you on about, Harkness?”

“What d’you mean, once he lets you go?”

“Just what I said,” said Harkness, maddeningly cool. “I