Cold Comfort by Charles Todd Page A

MacLeod to precede him back along the dark worm that was the British tunnel, and they carefully made their way to the main shaft.
    Captain Marsh was standing there, a frown on his face. “Why have you stopped?”
    “They’re packing,” Rutledge said. “We’ve got to hurry if we’re to set off our charges before they finish and set off theirs.”
    “Damn,” Marsh said. “Are you quite sure? There’s no time to send for the Royal Engineers to verify this.”
    MacLeod stood his ground, holding up the stethoscope. “I’m sure,” he replied.
    “I don’t trust those things,” Marsh snapped, considering the young Scot. “The old pan-of-water system was more reliable. When the water moved , you knew for certain.”
    “Nevertheless,” Rutledge said, “the runner warned us that the Germans were ahead of us.” If Captain Marsh refused to believe Corporal MacLeod, or sent them back to the unfinished chamber while he consulted the Royal Engineers, then Rutledge and his two men would be the first to die as they frantically worked at the walls. If the explosion didn’t kill them outright, they would be buried alive and then slowly suffocate.
    “Yes, all right.” Marsh looked up the shaft, calling softly to the men waiting there.
    It was a matter of minutes before the charges were being brought down. Five men followed, carrying them barefooted down the tunnel to the end. Williams, eyes narrowed, watched them go.
    “I’ll set the fuse,” he offered, a little too casually.
    And Rutledge, who had been an inspector at Scotland Yard before the war had begun, in 1914, had the strongest feeling that the man didn’t trust a coal miner to do the work properly. The question was, why ? Private Lloyd and Private Jones had been chosen because they were experienced men.
    His time at the Yard now seemed like years ago, not just a matter of months. Still, dealing with murder inquiries, he’d learned to trust his feelings, his instincts. And something about the way Williams had spoken had caught his attention.
    Marsh went back down the tunnel, overseeing the placing of the charges. It would be a full load, and by the time the space at the end was packed and the bags of chalk were piled against the charges to make sure the blast was contained and didn’t blow back into the British lines, the Germans might well catch them all like rats in a hole. A risky business, but they all knew that.
    Rutledge stood to one side, cautioning the men passing the charges to mind what they were about and to be as quiet as possible. Twice he saw the one of the miners glare at Williams, but whatever the problem was, it would have to wait. When the last charge had been laid, the bags of chalk were taken down and packed tight, and then it was only a matter of setting off the blast. Williams collected his gear and prepared to connect the fuse to the blasting caps.
    But Marsh didn’t send for Williams.
    Instead, it was Private Lloyd who set the fuse. The last man out, he came racing down the tunnel, grinning broadly as he passed Williams.
    Everyone scrambled up the shaft, out of harm’s way, grateful for the night that covered their movements. The sector closest to them had kept up a desultory fire, to be sure the Germans were well occupied, and the rifle flashes lit No Man’s Land with brief bursts of brightness.
    The caps were crimped onto the fuse and set off.
    The seconds ticked away.
    Rutledge glanced at his watch, counting them.
    The fuse should have reached the charges by now. Standing beside him, Marsh stirred, well aware of time passing.
    “It was all right,” he said. “Private Lloyd set it, while Private Jones stood by. They’re good men.”
    But blasting caps could be uncertain. The crimp at the fuse could be bad. The fuse could have gone out for any number of reasons.
    Rutledge checked the caps. They appeared to have worked.
    “Why didn’t you summon Williams?” he asked over his shoulder as Marsh watched him.
    “Time was short.