by M. M. Kaye
Amanda looked at him with a crease between her brows. She said slowly: ‘Glenn you know that won’t work. You must know that if they are suspicious of her, and she disappears, it would only confirm their suspicions, because then they’d be sure that she had done it.’
‘Yes,’ said Glenn heavily. ‘I know.’
‘Then–then there must be some other reason why you want to get her away. What is it?’
Even as she spoke she was aware of a sudden suspicion that Glenn, whatever he might say to the contrary, was secretly and terribly afraid that his wife might just possibly be more deeply involved than he would admit.
Glenn lifted his tired, red-rimmed eyes to hers and looked at her for a long moment. And when he spoke it was in a voice that was so low that it was barely audible:
‘Yes. There is another reason. There is something about all this that I don’t understand, and it frightens me. You see I think–I think there is going to be another murder. An attempt at one anyway. If I’m right, there’s got to be.’
He heard Amanda catch her breath and did not know that she was remembering that Steve had said almost those same words that night on the harbour wall.
Glenn said: ‘Perhaps I’m wrong. I hope I am. But I’m beginning to think that there’s—oh, I don’t know—something behind all this. A plan. Something that may even have been worked out a long time ago. But now it hasn’t gone right, and someone who still means to go through with it is getting frightened and needs a scapegoat. That’s why I want to get Anita away. Because I think that she is playing straight into—someone’s hands. Once she is safe with friends in the Lebanon, whoever is trying to hide behind her will have to think of something else. And then, if there is another attempt, we can tell the police at once where she is and why she went there. She’ll be safe then. But I can’t guard against something that I can only sense and guess at, but not see…’
His voice died out in a whisper and Amanda said quickly: ‘You think you know who it is, don’t you?’
He did not answer, and she repeated the question. Glenn’s eyes came back to her again.
‘Yes.’
‘Who?’ There was an odd tremor in Amanda’s voice.
Glenn shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t tell you, even if I were sure—and I’m not. It might be dangerous. And I can’t be sure; not yet. I think that there is a way to find out, but I daren’t use it as long as Anita is here to–to pin things on. Once it cannot possibly be her, then it must be someone else. You do see that, don’t you? That would prove it.’
Amanda was conscious of a sudden stab of fear and a vivid recollection of Steve Howard’s words about tying up a kid to lure the tiger. So Glenn intended to use himself to lure a tiger into another killing. And provided Anita was safely out of the Island, even if he failed to avoid death himself, it would at least be proof that she was in no way responsible. But he must not do that!—it was too foolhardy a risk. Steve had said ‘a killer knows quite well that even if he kills a dozen people, or twenty, he himself can only hang once’. Someone who had killed twice would not hesitate to kill again.
She said breathlessly: ‘You can’t do it, Glenn. If it’s dangerous for Anita it’s just as dangerous for you.’
‘Me? Oh I can look after myself. But Anita’s got no one but that ass Lumley. I’ve got to get her out of it. If I can only do that, without anyone knowing or even guessing that she’s gone, there is a chance.’
‘But Glenn! even if you do, don’t you see that if someone is really trying to pin this on Anita, and–and nothing else happens, and she has disappeared, their object is achieved?’
‘Anita’s suicide would achieve it in a far more final and satisfactory manner,’ said Glenn grimly.
‘Suicide!’
‘Yes. An artistically staged suicide. It wouldn’t be so very difficult to arrange. Anita found dead: verdict, suicide rather than face trial and conviction for murder.’
‘No!’ said Amanda in a whisper. ‘Oh no, it couldn’t be____’
But she knew that it could. Once again she saw, in an ugly flash of memory, Julia Blaine lifting an innocuous, frosted glass, drinking from it, and dying. Felt again the little hard lump of a bottle under her pillow, and stared down with wide, frozen eyes at a similar bottle that had lain under Miss Moon’s pillow only last night.
Glenn was quite right. Someone needed a scapegoat, and Anita Barton’s death—supposedly by her own hand—would tie up a good many loose ends in a very neat and final manner.
Glenn said: ‘She may refuse to go. If she does—well I shall just have to think of something else. But if you can persuade her____’
‘I’ll try,’ said Amanda unsteadily.
Glenn turned quickly away and began to pace up and down the room, his hands in his pockets and frowning concentration on his face. Presently he came to a stop in front of her again and said abruptly: ‘It must be tonight. Tomorrow may be too late. If she agrees, would you help her to go? To see that she is safe.’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you drive a car?’
Amanda nodded.
‘Then this is what we’ll do. I’ll leave a car on the road tonight—against the kerb by that open bit of ground on the main road about fifty yards below the turn out of this road, opposite that house with the blue shutters. If you can get Anita to agree, tell her to take only what she can carry, and to give out that she’s got a bit of a headache and intends to go to bed early. There’s a little cove just beyond the five-mile beach on the road to Larnaca. Anita will know it. I’ll get Yiannopoulos to be there with a boat not later than ten. It will mean leaving here around nine-thirty, which will give her an alibi from then on, as you would be with her. And as it’s in the opposite direction from Nicosia, if anything should happen tonight they can’t think____’ He checked abruptly and then said: ‘As soon as she’s away, drive back here and leave the car in the same place. I’ll pick it up later. There’s only one other thing…’
Glenn pushed his hand wearily through his hair and his mouth twisted bitterly:
‘You’ll have to pretend that it’s your own idea, or Miss Moon’s. If she thinks that I’ve had anything to do with it, she won’t touch it. Just at the moment I really believe that she’d rather be arrested for murder than be beholden to me. You see she doesn’t understand. She thinks that she can do what she likes and get away with it. She doesn’t realize that murder is a deadly thing.’
Once again the words brought an echo of Steven Howard. Steve standing in the bright moonlight on the harbour wall with his arms about Amanda and saying: ‘Murder is a diabolical thing.’
Amanda said: ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I know you will. Make her see that it’s serious. Don’t let her brush it aside and take the line that nothing can really happen to her.’
Amanda nodded wordlessly.
Glenn said: ‘I can’t thank you enough, dear. I shouldn’t risk getting you involved in anything; I know that. But I’m in a corner. If I could think of any other way out I’d take it; but I can’t.’
He was silent for a moment or two, and then his mouth twisted in a wry smile and he said: ‘I did try one other way. But it didn’t work and I only made rather an ass of myself.’ The smile faded and he said: ‘The car will be there at nine o’ clock. If Anita won’t go, well____’
He shrugged his shoulders and turned away, and a moment later Amanda heard the hall door close behind him.
18
Amanda came out on to the quay and walked slowly in the direction of the café at the corner of the harbour.
She felt curiously exhausted, but her exhaustion was mixed with a feeling of elation. Anita Barton had been difficult and suspicious and more than a little tipsy. But she had been frightened too, and it was her fear that had tipped the scales. She had agreed to go.
Amanda had succeeded in convincing her that she and Miss Moon were responsible for the scheme, and perhaps it was Miss Moon’s name that had brought about Anita Barton’s sudden cap
itulation. That, and the fact that Amanda had reported the gist of the questions the police had asked Glenn Barton about his wife, hinting mendaciously that they had been put to Miss Moon. She had also allowed it to be supposed that Miss Moon had arranged with the owner of a fishing boat to convey Anita away from the Island; it being unlikely that she herself would have been able to arrange such a thing.
She was to pick up Mrs Barton at a turn of the road near the Post Office at half past nine. Less than half an hour’s driving would bring them to the beach where the boat was to wait, and that would give them an ample margin in which to get from the road to the shore—a matter of less than a hundred yards of rough ground and rocks.
The sun was setting in a blaze of gold and rose and apricot and the tall, picturesque houses that ringed the harbour threw long lilac shadows across the quays and the quiet water. A church bell was ringing and from the minaret of a mosque a muezzin intoned the call to prayer.
Amanda turned down the sea wall of the harbour and sat down tiredly on the warm stone. She wished desperately that she could discuss the coming night’s work with someone. Glenn had not bound her to secrecy in the matter; but then he would not have considered such a course necessary. It was so obvious that if danger threatened Anita Barton, her departure must not be known or talked about.
Amanda thought longingly and resentfully of Steven Howard. Steve at least would be safe. She could have gone to him and asked for his advice and help. But she could not forget the caustic words that he had spoken only last night on the subject of Glenn Barton: ‘Dear Glenn would appear to make a habit of getting his girlfriends to pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him.’
Mr Howard, apprised of the present situation, would undoubtedly consider that dear Glenn had no right to ask Amanda to involve herself in anything that might conceivably be dangerous, and be correspondingly scathing on the subject. He would, in addition, refuse to allow her to have anything whatever to do with the scheme, and might even take steps to prevent Anita Barton leaving the Island. However, even if she had wished to tell him, she could not, for she had passed him on her way to the harbour. He had been driving up the main road that led out of Kyrenia towards Nicosia, and though he had undoubtedly seen her, he had given no sign of having done so.
Amanda sighed and rested her chin on her hand.
A shadow fell across her and a cheerful voice said: ‘What’s eating you honey? Is it love—or indigestion?’
Amanda turned quickly. ‘Persis you beast! You’ve nearly made me bite my tongue in half? No it isn’t love—or indigestion. And nothing’s eating me.’
‘No? Then you’re lucky!’
Persis subsided gracefully on the sea wall beside Amanda and said abruptly: ‘Honey, I’m worried.’
Amanda turned sideways to look at her and saw that Persis was staring out to sea, her white forehead wrinkled in a frown.
‘What’s worrying you?’
‘It’s Glenn,’ confessed Persis. ‘You know, I like that guy. I like him quite a lot. He makes me feel all maternal; and that’s something I’ve certainly never felt about anyone before. Maybe it’s a sign of old age!’
Amanda said cautiously: ‘What has he been doing now?’
‘Acting like a fool!’ said Persis with unexpected violence. ‘Do you know what that crazy guy did this morning? He walked right back to see the police and confessed to murdering his secretary!’
‘He what? He must be mad!’
‘That’s right. Plain cuckoo! I tried to drag him out. Told the boys he’d had a brain storm. But he had it all doped out and he was perfectly sober about it. Talked away as cool as a mint julep in July. Said he had not gone straight back to Nicosia from Hilarion after all. He’d lied about it. He’d waited out of sight until George’s car had turned down to Kyrenia, and then followed it, gone into Miss Moon’s, strangled this dame and streaked for home. So they asked him what about the two hitch-hikers he’d given a lift to? And he had that taped too. Said he’d put back the hands of the dashboard clock to fake an alibi, and the boys had taken their time from that. He said it had been preying on his mind, and asked to be arrested.’
‘What happened then?’ demanded Amanda breathlessly. ‘Why didn’t they arrest him?’
‘Because they aren’t that dumb,’ said Persis with a sigh. ‘They’d thought of that one too. They turned up the statements of the two guys, and the thing came unstuck at once. Seems the boys hadn’t taken their time from any dashboard clock—it’s busted anyway. They both had wrist-watches and they swear to the time they got back. Glenn tried to argue it, but the cops threw him out with the greatest charm. I thought he was going to cry, and I don’t mind telling you honey that it was all I could do not to put my arms round him and kiss him right there in the roadway and say: “There, there, son! Tell Momma all about it and she’ll see that you’re arrested for murder if that’s the way you want it!” And what I want to know,’ said Persis with feeling, ‘is am I nuts, or is he?’
‘So that’s what he meant!’ said Amanda, enlightened.
‘How’s that?’
‘Nothing much. Just something he said about trying something, but that it hadn’t been any use and he’d only made rather a fool of himself.’
‘When did he say that?’ demanded Persis quickly. ‘Have you seen him this afternoon?’
‘Yes,’ said Amanda hesitantly.
She looked at Persis Halliday, frowning and uncertain. Persis could never have seen or heard of Anita Barton until that afternoon on the S.S. Orantares at Port Said, and could not previously have been aware of her existence, or that of Monica Ford. She had never been to Cyprus before, and she could have no possible reason for wanting to pin a murder—two murders!—on Glenn Barton’s wife.
Quite suddenly Amanda made up her mind. The terror and strain and emotional tension of the last few days had been too much for her, and she had to confide in someone. It should have been Steve, but Steve had been curt and unkind, and he had apparently gone to Nicosia.
Amanda said: ‘Persis, if I tell you something, will you promise me that you won’t tell anyone else?—anyone at all?’
Persis looked at her for a long moment with narrowed speculative eyes, and then held out her hand. It was a strong hand, with long, intelligent, square-tipped fingers, and its clasp was comfortably firm and reassuring.
‘Shoot!’ said Persis laconically.
She listened to Amanda’s account of the afternoon’s interview with enthralled interest, and when it was finished said: ‘Well if this doesn’t beat Erle Stanley Gardner! When do we start?’
‘We?’ echoed Amanda.
‘Sure. I’m going with you. You don’t really think I’m going to let you stick your neck out like this without standing by with a blackjack just in case anyone tries any rough stuff? Why I wouldn’t miss it for a million dollars! I’m in on this, honey, and you can’t get me out.’
Amanda laughed, conscious of a sudden and overwhelming flood of relief. She would not have admitted to anyone how little the thought of that coming night’s adventure had appealed to her, or how frightening she had found the prospect of that long, lonely drive back to Kyrenia. But now that Persis would be with her the affair lost its terrors, and became instead merely an exciting escapade.
Amanda threw an arm about Persis and gave her a sudden and impulsive hug.
‘Persis, you’re an angel!’
‘So I have frequently been informed,’ said Persis dryly. ‘And now let’s take a stroll up to that villa of yours and break it to Miss Moon that you will be dining with me at the Dome. Then there will be no hitch over getting to that car on time. What do you say?’
They scrambled to their feet and carried out this programme, and Amanda, not without some qualms, left Miss Moon to dine alone. She reassured herself, however, with the reflection that Steve Howard would have taken every possible precaution to safeguard Miss Moon from further danger, and was relieved to see that the usual loiterer was industriously engaged in doing
nothing at the corner of the road.
They met Alastair Blaine coming out of the Dome. He appeared to be in a hurry and said that he had a date to dine at Antonakis’ Restaurant in Nicosia.
‘I’m told that the speciality is octopus,’ said Alastair. ‘I’ve always wanted not to eat octopus, but life catches up on one. I’ll probably be seeing you sometime tomorrow—if I survive!’
Persis said: ‘Who’s your date with, Alastair?’ But Alastair was already striding rapidly away into the dusk, and it is doubtful whether he heard the question.
Claire came out of Zari’s lace shop opposite the hotel, and seeing them, waved, but did not come over to speak to them and also appeared to be in a hurry.
They saw no one else they knew, beyond a few hotel acquaintances of Persis Halliday’s, and Lumley Potter, who was eating a lonely meal in a far corner of the dining-room, and who left early. Anita had evidently thought it best to send him out for the evening. There was no sign of either Toby Gates or Steven Howard, both of whom were obviously dining elsewhere that night.
They lingered over their meal as long as they could, but the hands of the clock seemed to crawl and stop and crawl again. Even Persis began to be affected by tension, for she lit one cigarette from the next in endless succession, jerking the ash on to the floor with nervous fingers and fidgeting restlessly in her chair.
At last it was nine o’clock and Persis glanced at the tiny diamond-ringed dial of her wrist-watch, checked it with a hotel clock, and rose:
‘Let’s go.’
They went first to her room where Persis fetched a thin tussore silk coat from the cupboard and peered intently at her face in the looking-glass. She tied a chiffon scarf over her smoothly waved hair, applied some lipstick with careful concentration, and declared herself ready.
They walked up through the town, and were pausing at the junction of two roads when George Norman passed them, driving his car. As he slowed down for the cross traffic, the headlights of an approaching car fell full on him, and they saw that his pleasant, rubicund face was looking as sulky as that of a small boy whose play has been interrupted by a request to help with the washing up. He did not see Persis and Amanda, but drove on up the main road out of Kyrenia.
