"Get in the chair," Felix said.
"Make me," I said.
Felix gestured at Gervase. "Come here," he said.
Gervase stepped reluctantly around the tree stump.
Felix pointed the gun at Gervase's head and said: "I am going to shit."
I said: "What?"
"I mean shoot."
Felix's head drooped but he made an effort and pulled it up to look at me. His eyelids sagged like they were weighed down.
"He means it," Gervase said. "Shoot not shit, that is," he added unnecessarily.
I climbed into the chair. I didn't like the look of it one bit. There was a waist strap to hold the victim in and arm straps so that he couldn't get out.
"Tie the strips," Felix said to Gervase.
"He means straps," I said.
Gervase stepped forward. The straps had buckles, just like a belt.
"I'm sorry about this," he whispered as he fastened the buckles. "I've got no choice."
"Me, too," I said.
With me safely tied in, Felix ordered Gervase back to the control end of the crossbeam.
"Lift the boom…"
"Beam," I shouted.
"And rotate it over the pill."
"Pool."
Gervase looked like he'd been invited to join a lunatic asylum. I felt I was already in one.
But he did what he was told. Like a good Nazi. Just obeying orders, they'd explained at Nuremberg. But there wasn't going to be any Nuremberg for Gervase or Felix. Because I wasn't going to be around to point my finger at the guilty.
Gervase had the damned ducking stool rotated just as Felix liked it. I looked down. I was about three feet above the water.
"Let go," Felix shouted.
And down I went. I was still sucking in the air I knew would be my last breath when I hit the water.
Splosh!
I sank with all the grace of a dead body dumped from a bridge. Every muscle in my body tensed as the freezing water engulfed me. It was ten times worse than being in the cold showers after PE at school.
The coldness dulled my senses and for a moment I couldn't figure out what had happened to me. Then I realised I was submerged in water and that my eyes were cold. I opened my eyes, blinked as the water stung. Then looked around. It was quiet and still. So this is what it was like to be a salmon. Or an eel. Or perhaps a jellyfish.
But then I realised it wasn't like that at all. Because they didn't have to breathe oxygen from the air. And I began to panic. I had air in my lungs and was holding my breath. I was good at it. I'd won competitions among school friends doing it, only cheating a bit. But there'd be no cheating down here. I'd managed to hold my breath for two minutes. Two and a half with a bit of cheating. But how long did I need to hold it?
I struggled with the straps on my arms, but I couldn't move them. And as bubbles floated past my eyes I realised I'd wasted some of the air with my effort. I dribbled the air out as slowly as I could. But I was running out. I wondered what would happen when it did. How long would it take me to drown? It could be a lengthy business.
It was going to start any moment. The last bubbles passed before my eyes. My head felt light. I knew I would faint soon.
And then the chair began to move. But I was still under water. Perhaps the chair was just being moved sideways by the current. Yes, that was it.
No, it wasn't. The chair was moving upwards.
My head emerged from water and I sucked in a huge gulp of air.
And then the chair began to rotate towards the land.
I glanced around. My vision was blurred. But I could make out Gervase on the control end of the crossbeam. He manoeuvred the chair onto the land and let it down on the ground. He hurried round and unbuckled the straps.
I climbed down from the chair with my mind still dazed.
I said: "What happened to Felix?"
Gervase said: "He fell asleep."
He pointed to the ground. Felix was lying on the grass, under the crossbeam, close to the tree stump. His snores sounded like a chainsaw.
"Narcolepsy," Gervase said.
I should have worked it out for myself. Felix's nickname was Catnap. I'd figured out the cat part of it, but never asked myself why the nap bit had been tagged on. Felix could have been slipping into uncontrolled short sleeps for years. No wonder his school chums had given him the nickname.
Gervase said: "I remembered about the narcolepsy just after I'd lowered you into the water. Felix developed it at school. It lasts a lifetime, you know. Confused speech is one of the sure signs that an attack is coming on."
I said: "He's cradling that shotgun like a teddy. I'm taking charge of it."
I crawled under the beam and pulled the gun from his arms.
For the first time since I'd stepped off the chair, I realised I was standing in dripping clothes. I shivered in the cool evening air.
"I need some clothes and Felix needs the police," I said. "I'm going for help, but keeping the gun. While I'm gone, you can tie up the Sleeping Beauty with your Old Harrovian tie. No need to worry. He was at the school, too."
I trudged off feeling like I'd just walked out of the Niagara Falls. About fifty yards across the clearing, I heard a shout.
I turned around. Felix had woken up and was scrambling to his feet under the crossbeam.
But Gervase was on the move, too. He was holding the control end of the beam.
Felix's eyes widened with fear. He reached for his gun. Realised he no longer had it.
He moved away from Gervase. And as he did so Gervase swung the beam. I heard a crack like a coconut breaking as the heavy end of the beam - the end with the chair - crashed into the side of Felix's head.
His head flopped unnaturally to one side and he stumbled. Then he fell backwards. For a moment, it was as though he was suspended in air by gossamer-thin wires. His arms flailed. His legs pounded like pistons. His mouth dropped open and he uttered a long ululating wail. Like a cry from his heart that vented all the emotions he'd ever felt.
And then he splashed into the water.
I raced across the clearing, but Felix had floated ten feet into the pool before I'd reached the bank.
His lifeless eyes were open and I fancied there was a smile on his lips.
"You murdered Felix," I said.
"It was self-defence," Gervase whined.
"How could it be? I'd disarmed him of the shotgun. Or, rather, he'd disarmed himself by falling asleep."
"He planned to kill both of us."
I nodded. There was truth in that.
We were sitting in the back of a hired van parked on the track fifty yards from the clearing. It was the van Felix had used to bring his ducking stool and Gervase to the spot.
I'd had to strip off and swim into the pool to drag Felix's body to the side. I hauled him up onto the bank and left him there. I'd have to call the police soon. But not yet. I had unfinished business with Gervase.
I'd found some sheeting in the back of the van which Felix had used to cover up the ducking stool. I'd used it to dry myself off. I'd run the engine and was drying my clothes as best I could on the van's heater while I sat swaddled like a baby in the sheets.
Gervase gave me a cunning look out of the corner of his eyes. "I shall tell the police that I saved you from drowning. I'll be feted as a hero."
"That depends on what I tell them." I said.
"You'll corroborate my story."
"As far as it goes. But there's also the little matter of a dead body. The cops will want to know how it came to be dead. That's the bit where you'll find you have some questions to answer. You swung that crossbeam deliberately to kill Felix."
"I just thought he might go to sleep again."
"The cops might buy that. But it only reduces the charge from murder to manslaughter. You're still looking at a long spell inside. Not an attractive prospect for an old fascist like you. You won't be popular with the old lags and hard cases in jail. They may be crooks, but they're patri
otic crooks."
"Keep my politics out of it."
"I don't see how I can. It seems to permeate this whole business."
Gervase fell silent. He was thinking.
He said: "Is there any way out of this?"
I pulled the sheet more tightly around me. Felt my trousers that were hanging over the steering wheel. They seemed a bit drier.
I said: "There might be. If you tell me everything you know, I can put that into context. It might help me understand how you came to swing that beam."
Gervase shrugged. "I suppose being a journalist you've already poked your nose into the root of all this."
"If you mean have I diligently researched the background, yes. I know about the motor accident when Harriet died. What I don't know is how you came to be marched into a remote forest clearing with your hands tied behind your back."
"About two years ago, I heard through some friends that a woman in Brighton was dealing in memorabilia from the Third Reich."
"That would be Unity Box-Hartley," I said.
Gervase nodded. "The Third Reich has always been a consuming interest for me and I contacted her. Over the weeks, I bought a few small items for my collection. I discovered that we held similar political views."
"You were both fascists."
Gervase stiffened. "I'm not ashamed of the fact. But I'll admit it pays to be discreet. As I got to know her better, I found that Unity was less cautious in broadcasting her views. She had embraced the cause with more passion than me. She had a close attachment to Sir Oscar Maundsley."
"The leader of the British Patriot Party and the man who had you interned during the war?"
Gervase nodded. "When I discovered this, our relationship cooled. But I kept in touch with her because I thought she might be a source of information about what Maundsley planned to do. I regard the man as a traitor to our cause and I would do anything to destroy him."
"You used Box-Hartley as a way to spy on Maundsley?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"But that can work both ways," I said.
Gervase’s shoulders sagged. "Yes. Unity discovered about my wartime internment and how it happened. Perhaps Maundsley told her. On the surface, she seemed as friendly as ever. But I had the distinct impression that she'd adopted a different attitude towards me. But she tried not to let it show and she still shared titbits of gossip about Maundsley with me. Looking back, I think the aim was to keep me involved. I think they knew I could make trouble if Maundsley ever decided to return to Britain."
"And six months ago, he did." I said. "Do you know why?"
"I asked Unity about it. She told me he missed England and wanted to see it again before he died."
"Missed England. Not Germany?"
Gervase ignored that. "I didn't believe her. When I knew Maundsley well in the nineteen-thirties he never did anything without a reason. He was up to something."
"Standing as a candidate in the general election," I said.
Gervase shook his head. "He knew he'd never be elected in Britain. Besides, he only announced his candidature a few days ago. Maundsley only pays lip service to democracy. He believes in direct action."
"What kind of direct action?"
"The violent kind. You should have seen him back in the old days - those marches through the east end of London. He'd be in the thick of the fight with the commies. Loved it when stewards beat up a heckler at one his rallies. I discovered he'd recruited an army officer and a gentleman to run his security."
"One Captain Wellington Blunt," I said. "He may have been an officer, but he's no gentleman."
"I thought I'd be able to find out by subtly pumping Unity for information. But I got a bit careless. Asked too many pointed questions. Unity backed off. And the next thing I knew, Felix was sending me weird poems and threatening to kill me."
"I don't get it," I said. "What's the connection between Felix and Maundsley?"
"I knew Felix well before the tragedy with Harriet. Even after, I hoped we could rebuild our friendship. We were so alike. Been to the same school, same university. Shared the same political views."
I jolted in shock at that news - and almost split the sheeting.
"Felix was a fascist?" I asked.
"An enthusiastic one, ever since Mussolini's march on Rome in 1922. Of course, he kept the information to a close circle of friends. They included Maundsley. Because of that Maundsley knew of my part in Harriet's death."
Another surprise.
"Are you saying Maundsley put up Felix to kill you?"
"I've no proof, but it's the way Maundsley works. He keeps at arm's length from the criminal stuff."
"But why should Felix want to do it?"
"Felix has never forgiven me. He's always wanted to kill me. If he thought he could, and get away with it, he would. Besides, Maundsley helped him a lot in his career. The narcolepsy made it hard for Felix to find university jobs. Maundsley helped him with money over the years - thousands and thousands, I suspect."
"The elaborate ducking stool charade seems a mad way to kill someone."
"Maundsley knew it would make the idea attractive to Felix. He told him that Unity Box-Hartley would use her contacts in the reproduction furniture trade to get one made. And, besides when the killing was complete, the ducking stool could be removed and my body left floating in the pool. When I was discovered, it would look like an ordinary drowning - an accident. No evidence to connect anyone to the killing."
"Certainly not if Detective Superintendent Alec Tomkins was on the case. But you've killed Felix, so we've got no chance of linking the plot to Maundsley."
"There's still the big thing Maundsley is planning."
I arched my eyebrows to show scepticism.
"The big thing that's still baffling me is how Felix found you," I said. "I couldn't trace you anywhere."
"It was a letter," Gervase said. "He wrote to me saying he wanted to discuss the past. He said he thought it was time for both of us to put Harriet's death behind us. He said we couldn't let an old friendship die over the issue."
"This would be the letter you hid from Estelle," I said.
"I answered it and posted the reply myself. I told Felix I wasn't sure he was sincere, but I would have to think over what he'd said. The following evening, he telephoned me. I was having dinner at the time. Felix was friendly. He said it was time to let bygones be bygones. He wanted to meet me immediately to show how sincere he was. I knew it was a trap and that I wasn't safe in my apartment. So I left immediately, taking only some bare necessities with me - and the SS dagger from my display cabinet for protection."
"Where did you go?" I asked.
"I hid out in a small bed and breakfast place in Rottingdean. But yesterday I needed more money to pay the landlady and came into Brighton to go to my bank. Two thugs grabbed me before I had a chance to get inside the bank. They disarmed me of the dagger and bundled me into a car. They delivered me to Felix. Felix gloated when he saw me. He told me that before he'd sent the letter, he'd hired a private detective to follow me and find the places I regularly frequented. No doubt the detective was financed by Maundsley. After I'd disappeared, the detective staked out the bank with the thugs knowing I'd eventually need money."
Gervase was alive but he looked like a beaten man. I decided I couldn't bring myself to feel sorry for him.
I felt across to my clothes. They were still wet but not sopping.
"I'm getting dressed," I said. "Then we're transferring to my MGB and driving to Brighton police station."
Gervase smiled, the first time I'd seen him do so. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out his Old Harrovian tie.
"I better put this on, then," he said. "I don't want to face the full majesty of the law under-dressed."
He knotted the tie and examined his effort in the van's rear-view mirror.
"I think that looks good," he said.
"I preferred it when it was binding your wrists," I said.
C
hapter 22
Three hours later I was sitting in a cubicle in the men's lavatory at Brighton Police Station.
I'd delivered Gervase to the cops. I'd phoned Figgis to say I'd found Gervase alive and well (just). I'd dictated a piece about the death of Felix to a copytaker.
I'd had a busy day which had ended with me giving Detective Superintendent Alec Tomkins a long statement about everything I knew. Or, to be strictly accurate, about everything I thought Tomkins needed to know.
There was one point which I hadn't resolved in my own mind. I wanted to check it out before I told the cops. I knew the ducking stool, which had almost killed me, and which did for Felix, had come from Unity Box-Hartley. No doubt she'd had one of her reproduction antique craftsmen knock up the thing. Goodness knows, what he'd thought about it. No doubt she'd spun him a convincing cover story. Trouble was, I had no evidence that Box-Hartley had provided the stool. And I doubted there'd be any incriminating evidence at her shop. Besides, I wanted to find out whether Maundsley really was behind Gervase's attempted murder - and Box-Hartley could hold the key to that information. So, for the time being, I was keeping that to myself.
I was waiting for my witness statement to be typed up so I could sign it. All the interview rooms were busy and I didn't fancy hanging around in reception. There'd be other reporters on the prowl now they knew there was a big story brewing. If they cornered me they'd start pumping for information.
The cubicle was the one place I could sit in peace and quiet while I waited for the typist to do her work.
The door to the loo opened and a pair of feet shod in heavy boots clumped in. I leant down and peered silently under the gap at the bottom of the cubicle door.
The feet belonged to Tomkins. They moved swiftly to the urinals.
The door opened again and two more feet entered.
A voice said: "Didn't know you were in here, guv." Ted Wilson.
"You'll always find me where the big knobs hang out," Tomkins said.
Ted dutifully chuckled at a joke he'd probably heard ten thousand times.
Tomkins said: "Talking of big nobs, is your team all lined up for the visit tomorrow morning?"
The Tango School Mystery Page 18
