He realized immediately that he had made a bad mistake. A blow that would have demolished any ordinary man only succeeded in shaking the Albanian’s massive strength, and great hands clawed across his body, grabbing for his throat.

The lights seemed to be very far away and there was sudden roaring in his ears, and through it he seemed to hear the professor’s monotonous, singsong voice. Science – science and intelligence will beat brute force.

He summoned every effort of willpower and spat full in that great stinking face, and Tashko recoiled in a reflex action that was as natural as breathing. Chavasse stabbed upwards with stiffened fingers at the exposed throat and Tashko screamed and staggered back.

Chavasse rolled over several times and came to his feet as the big man lurched toward him, hands extended, all science forgotten. Chavasse ducked in under the hands, delivering a fore-fist punch, knuckles extended, and it sank into the muscles beneath Tashko’s rib cage. He started to fall and Chavasse raised his knee into the descending face, throwing him back.

Tashko swayed on the edge of the pool, his face a mask of blood, and Chavasse jumped high in the air, delivering a flying front kick, the devastating mae-tobigeri, into the Albanian’s face, knocking him back into the water.

Chavasse followed him in, twisting in midair, going under awkwardly, the warm water drawing him down. His hands took the shock against a bearded mosaic face and he surfaced quickly.

Tashko was about twenty feet away, lurching toward the center of the pool where he had thrown the Mauser, and Chavasse went after him. He scrambled up onto the great back, his hands sliding under the armpits, locking together at the nape of the neck. He started to press and Tashko screamed. All pity dying in him, Chavasse maintained that relentless pressure and the head sank down into the water.

The body bucked and heaved, hands flailing the surface into a cauldron, but Chavasse strengthened his grip and hung on. The end came with startling suddenness. Tashko simply went limp, and when Chavasse released his grip, planed down through the water, turning on his back when he reached bottom.

Chavasse took a quick breath and went after the Mauser. The keys were perhaps ten feet away and he had to push Tashko to one side to pick them up. The Albanian’s eyes stared into eternity, blood drifting in brown strings from his smashed face, and Chavasse turned and swam for the side.

He sat on the edge for perhaps five minutes, his chest heaving, drawing air into his tortured lungs. When he felt a little better, he got to his feet and mounted the steps. He had to try four keys before he found the right one. As he opened the door, he looked down for the last time at Tashko, who stared up at him, just another figure in the mosaic now. He switched off the lights, closed the door and locked it.

The corridors were quiet and he met no one on his way back. Outside the storeroom, the chair on which the sentry had been sleeping still lay on its side, and he righted it before slipping the Mauser into his pocket and fumbling with the keys.

As he worked through them, Guilio Orsini appeared at the grille. He glanced up and down the passage and an expression of bewilderment appeared on his face.

“What happened to Tashko?”

“He made a mistake,” Chavasse said, swinging the door open. “His last. Let’s get going.”

He turned along the passage, remembering the way they had come. A stone spiral staircase dropped to the first floor, another to the basement. All was quiet and he led the way along a narrow whitewashed corridor, pausing to reconnoiter the entrance hall at the end. There was no sentry, but then, why should there be? The building was encircled by two thirty-foot walls, the main gates in each being strongly guarded.

They had explained earlier to Orsini how they had gained access to the monastery and the big Italian followed Chavasse unhesitatingly, the girl at his side.

They kept to the shadow of the wall, skirting the square on the far side of the guardhouse where a light shone in the window, and entered the cloisters through a gap in the ruined wall. It was very dark and Chavasse moved through the pillars cautiously and turned into the passage containing the cells.

He had to try three before he found one with the grille, and it was Orsini who pulled it out, fingers fastening into the latticework like steel hooks.

“I’ll go first,” Chavasse said. “Then Liri. You follow, Guilio, and replace the grille as you come down.”

He shot down the stone chute on his back, forearms raised to protect his face, and landed in the tunnel below with a splash. Liri followed so quickly that she cannoned into him as he was getting to his feet. Orsini joined them a moment later and they crouched in a little group.

It was so dark in the tunnel that they couldn’t see each other’s faces, and Chavasse said quietly, “This isn’t going to be any picnic. Whatever happens, keep close together. As long as we can make it to the main channel, we can’t go wrong, because it’s bound to flow in the direction of the river.”

“Anything’s preferable to what we’ve just left,” Orsini said. “Let’s get moving.”

Chavasse started along the tunnel bent double, Liri holding on to the tail of his oilskin jacket. It was a strange, claustrophobic sensation, like nothing he had ever experienced before, and yet he wasn’t frightened. The darkness was a friend, cloaking their flight, enfolding them in gentle hands, and he was grateful.

A few moments later they emerged from the tunnel into the central cavern. He stood thigh-deep in the stinking water, staring into the darkness.

“Father Shedu counted eight openings to the left from where we came out, Paul,” Liri said.

He nodded. “Keep behind me, both of you. I’ve got an idea.”

He took out the Mauser, pointed it at the water and fired. In the single brilliant flash of light, the tunnel openings stood out like dark wounds. He fired again, counting quickly, then started across the pool.

His questing hand found the opening and he grunted.

Fifty yards farther on, the passage emptied itself into the main tunnel and he could hear the splash and gurgling of the water on its way down to the river. Already the stench seemed to be lessening, and as he followed the wall, Chavasse breathed deeply to clear the heaviness that weighed upon his brain.

The landing stage loomed out of the darkness, light flowing down from the candles burning at the icon in the niche at the head of the stairs. Liri’s punt was still tied to the bottom of the steps, and Chavasse sat on the edge of the landing stage and rubbed the back of one hand wearily across his eyes.

“How much juice you got in that thing? Enough to get us to the coast?”

“I think so. Most of the way, at least.”

“We still need a compass to get back to the Buona Esperanza,” Orsini said. “At least if we’re going to go now in the dark.”

“We can’t afford to wait till dawn,” Chavasse said. “That’s when Kapo will send Francesca in the dinghy. If we’re going to beat them to it, we must go now.”

“Father Shedu will have a compass,” Liri said. “Wait here. I’ll go and get him.”

She mounted the steps and the door closed behind her. Orsini slumped down beside Chavasse. “What a girl. Most would have had hysterics by now.”

“She’ll have to come with us,” Chavasse said. “She can’t stay here.”

“What about an entry permit? I know what it’s like for the stateless refugees.”

“Don’t worry about that. I know the right people at the Ministry in Rome. I’ll see she gets treated like royalty. We’ll even find her a job. She’s earned it.”

“Maybe she won’t need a job.”

Chavasse glanced at him curiously. “You make up your mind in a hurry, don’t you?”

Orsini shrugged. “You either know straightaway, or it’s no good. Of course, I’ve got twenty years on her.”