Operation Piracy

by Paul Somers

  For the time being, there was little danger that Mellor would see us. He had taken a slightly more direct, but also a more undulating route than ours, and for much of the way he was hidden from us by an intervening tor. When, occasionally, he did reappear, we exercised care—though I thought he was too far ahead to have any chance of identifying us. He didn’t seem to be carrying any glasses. He had a haversack on his back, and a stick in his hand, and to me he looked every inch the walker. I couldn’t even begin to take Mollie’s theory seriously, but at least it was giving us a splendid morning out.

  We continued for a mile and a half along the contour, and then dropped down to cross the stream. It was very marshy in the valley, with treacherous patches of bright moss and a lot of cotton grass, and we got pretty well bogged down for a while. But we struggled out, and after a short rest we started the last stretch of the climb to the tor. We had to be very cautious now, for we were approaching within recognisable distance of Mellor, and on the one-in-a-thousand chance that he was up to something, there was no point in putting him on his guard. In any case, it would have been distinctly embarrassing if he’d recognised us. As we approached each fresh brow, we kept our heads down and moved very slowly until we made sure we were still below his line of vision. Apart from an occasional gorse bush, there was virtually no cover.

  The climb grew steeper. By now, we were only a few hundred yards from the tor. At close quarters it looked most impressive, with its great pile of rocks black against the sky. Mellor must already have reached it. We advanced with infinite care, stalking rather than walking. Suddenly, as we breasted yet another of the numerous false tops, I caught sight of his head—fortunately, turned away from us. I grabbed Mollie and pulled her down beside me in the heather. After a moment we peered out through the purple tufts. We were well concealed as long as we didn’t go any higher, but we hadn’t a very good view. Mellor had seated himself right at the summit, with his back against a lump of granite, so that all we could see was his head.

  “At least,” Mollie said, “you’ve got to admit it makes a splendid rendezvous for anyone who wants to be sure of privacy!”

  That was certainly true. Up there on the tor, with nothing higher to command it, and a clear view over the moors for miles in all directions, security would seem complete. It was frustrating not to be able to get nearer. For all we knew, Mellor had already joined somebody up there—someone who was sitting beside him just over the rocky horizon. I didn’t believe it, but I’d have liked to make sure. As it was, we were too far away even to catch a murmur of voices. We tried working our way round the shoulder of the hill to see if we could find a better approach, but we couldn’t—on the last stretch to the summit there was nothing to give concealment anywhere. We debated what to do. The two of us, even if we separated, could cover visually only a very small sector of the hill, so it seemed hardly worth while to take up different positions in the hope that a second man would descend in someone’s line of vision and prove Mollie’s point. It was better, we decided, to keep watch on Mellor, in the hope that by some gesture he would give away the presence of another man. Or we might even see another head! And, as Mollie said, we could hurry to the top when he left and see if anyone else was on the move.

  We returned to our former look-out and lay down again. Mellor’s head was still just visible. For a while we both watched him, but it was an unrewarding occupation, and presently Mollie relaxed in the sun and left the job to me. I continued to keep an eye on him, in a desultory sort of way. Once, through the glasses, I thought I saw his lips moving, and as I began to concentrate Mollie said, “What’s he doing?” But it was a false alarm. “He’s chewing,” I said. “The blighter’s having a snack … Now he’s drinking from a bottle.”

  “I wish we were,” Mollie said.

  I put the binoculars down and stretched out in the heather beside her. As I lay there, quietly sunning myself, I thought of the last time we’d been close together like this on a sloping bank—back in May. That had been another vigil we’d been keeping—only then it had been dark. Perhaps that was why she’d been so unexpectedly responsive when I’d started to get amorous. I wondered. I turned my head, and saw that she was looking at me. Her face seemed to have lost the aloof, faintly mocking expression that I always associated with Mollie when we were on the same story. It had quite a different expression, as though all her guards had dropped. I changed my position slightly, until my face was very close to hers, and she didn’t move away. She just regarded me gravely. I kissed her mouth, and put my arms around her, and for a moment she lay there passively, letting me kiss her. Then she put her arms round me, too, and kissed me in return, and I wasn’t interested in time-and-motion studies any more …

  I’d have liked it to go on for ever, but it didn’t. As I began to warm up, she gave a little sigh and gently pushed me away. “Better not start anything you can’t finish,” she said.

  Reluctantly, I let her go. “Why is it you only become human when you’re out on a hillside with me waiting for something to happen?” I asked her.

  She smiled. “It’s the slippery slope,” she said. “I must try to keep on the level …! How’s Mellor getting on?”

  I’d quite forgotten him. I raised my head cautiously and looked up towards the tor. Then I ducked. “I think he’s coming down,” I said. Mollie looked, too, and suddenly gave a sharp exclamation. “Heavens, he’s coming down this way!”

  It was true—he was coming straight towards us, plunging down the slope with long, vigorous strides. If he hadn’t spotted us already, he would at any moment—and he’d recognise Mollie if he didn’t recognise me. That chestnut hair of hers wasn‘t a thing anyone could forget. There was nothing for it but to go into a clinch again. I flung myself on her, covering her head, pressing her body down into the heather. She lay there passively. The heavy, crunching steps drew nearer.

  “Can’t you be more passionate?” I whispered. “Don’t forget we’re supposed to be miles from anyone.”

  She moved her head slightly and bit my ear so hard that I almost cried out.

  “Darling!” she murmured.

  The footsteps stopped—he must have seen us. Then they started again, in a different direction. After a moment or two, I raised my head. He was fifty yards down the slope, and going strong.

  “Do you mind,” Mollie said, “you’re an awful weight!” I rolled off her, and she sat up, breathing hard, and brushed back her hair with her hand. “You do rather take advantage, don’t you?”

  “Just presence of mind in a crisis,” I said. “Did you hear the clank of jewels as he passed? Fascinating sound!”

  “Idiot! Anyway, we can go up now and look around.”

  “Better wait a bit,” I said. “Let him get clear first.”

  We waited, watching Mellor. He stopped once or twice, but he didn’t look back. The route ahead was all he seemed interested in. Presently he reached the stream, and got bogged down the way we had, and after that he was fully occupied extricating himself. It seemed safe to move. I gave Mollie a hand and we made a quick dash up the last fifty yards of the slope and reached the summit. We gazed around the tumbled rocks, but there was no one there. We looked down the hillside, but there was no one in sight.

  I couldn’t have been less surprised.

  “Never mind,” I said, “it’s been a pleasant outing. Let’s come again to-morrow!”

  Mollie didn’t reply. She was looking across the sweep of moors to the north-east where, two miles or more away, a thin strip of white road showed up against the heather. “What’s that thing shining?” she said, and pointed. “Isn’t that a car?”

  I unhitched the binoculars, and had a look. It was a car, all right—the windscreen was reflecting the sun like a mirror. At that distance I couldn’t make out any details. The road seemed to be a very minor one, and there was no other traffic.

  “Probably a picnic party,” I said. “It is August, after all.”

  “Can you see anyone?”
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  I had another look, but I couldn’t. The car appeared to be empty, and there was no one near it on the verge. I swung the glasses back over the moor and slowly explored its undulations. I was about to report that there was nothing at all to be seen except sheep when, from a dip in the ground, a man’s head appeared, and then his shoulders, and then all of him. He was walking at a steady pace in the direction of the car. He was at least a mile away from us, and for all I could make out he might have been anyone. I gave Mollie the glasses, and she had a look for herself.

  “Well, there you are,” she said after a moment, “there is someone. And going in the right direction. How do we know he didn’t meet Mellor here, and leave first?”

  “He’s much more likely to be just another chap walking on the moor,” I said. “It’s no good, Mollie, we haven’t proved a thing.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, thoughtfully, as we turned to descend the hill. “But a hunch is a hunch.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The morning had been so enjoyable that I began to hope Mollie would forget about being the hard-boiled reporter for a while and stick around with me. But I was disappointed. We were no sooner back in Falmouth than she called out, “Well, good hunting, Hugh!” and slipped away on her own. At once, I began to feel uneasy. I still had no faith in her hunch, but I wished she hadn’t had it, all the same. She, at least, had an idea to pursue. I had nothing. It was an uncomfortably familiar feeling at this stage of a story, and I knew I should open the Courier next morning with more than my usual anxiety, in case it turned out that she’d stumbled on something big and hit the headlines. It had happened before like that, and there was always hell to pay at the Record afterwards, with Blair sulking and Hatcher treating me like a pariah. I wished there was some way of demolishing her hunch, so that I could forget it, but I couldn’t think of one. The idea did cross my mind that I might try and check whether Mellor had received any letters or telephone calls at his hotel, by which an assignation on Bodmin Moor could have been made, but on reflection I decided he could easily have slipped out and telephoned someone himself, so the absence of an incoming message would mean nothing. Another possibility was to ask the office to try and trace Gloria Drage and get her version of the quarrel with Mellor, but it would mean involved explanations on the phone and I didn’t think they’d take very kindly to the idea without far better grounds than I could give them. The plain fact was that, after what I’d seen of Gloria, Mellor’s story had rung pretty true to me.

  I had something to eat, and then went along to the quay and rowed myself out to Wanderer to see if by any chance Attwood had any fresh ideas. But he wasn’t even there. Apparently he’d decided to call off the Riviera trip for the time being, and he and his party had all returned to London that morning. Wanderer Harris said, would be sailing for the Solent in a few days. I wished him a good trip, and rowed back, and walked over to police headquarters. Everything was depressingly quiet there, too. Practically all the London reporters, it seemed, had gone back to town, leaving what was left of the story to the local men. Anstey was out, and his sergeant had no information about anything. I asked him what was being done about the gumboot prints, and he said inquiries were going on, but as practically everybody had gumboots these days there wasn’t much hope of finding the right ones until they had some other lead.

  I was just leaving when Mellor drove up. I told him Anstey was out, and that there was still no news of Mary Ann, or of anything else, and he pulled a long face. He was quite friendly—obviously he hadn’t the slightest notion that he’d already seen me that day on the hillside—and I no longer felt any animosity towards him now that Mollie’s motives had been made clear. I asked him how he was getting on and he said he’d spent a delightful morning walking on Bodmin Moor, a place he’d always intended to visit. He asked me if I’d ever been there, and I said “No”, and he said I should because there was a fine view from the top of a tor called Brown Willy, only of course you had to like desolate country, which he did. He was most enthusiastic.

  As we crossed the pavement to the Bentley I noticed that his suitcase was lying on top of the junk that was still piled in the back.

  “Are you leaving?” I asked, in surprise.

  “I’ve left the pub,” he said, “that’s all. It’s too stuffy for me. I thought I’d do a bit of camping—after all, I might just as well eat my way through these tins as take them back, and the weather’s just right for it.”

  “Have you got a tent?”

  “I’ve just bought one.” He patted a long, canvas-covered roll. “A very neat job, and remarkably cheap. Not up to a boat’s cabin for comfort, but I think I’ll prefer it to flowered wallpaper!”

  “Where are you going to pitch camp?”

  “I don’t know yet—not too far away, if I’m to keep in touch with Anstey. I’ll have to take a look round.”

  “Almost anywhere along the cliffs would be pretty good, I should think. You’d get some swimming, too.”

  “Yes, that’s an idea.” He nodded affably. “I dare say I’ll be seeing you.”

  “I expect so. If you’re in Falmouth, look in at the Anchor some time and we’ll have that drink.”

  “Good idea—I will.” He opened the car door, then turned and gave me an odd look. “I say, that girl reporter’s a bit of a menace, isn’t she?”

  “In what way?”

  “Why, she’s been positively haunting me. I reckon she needs a man.”

  “Don’t you think she’s attractive?”

  He grinned. “She’s attractive, all right, but personally I’m in enough woman trouble already … Ah, well—so long!” He climbed into the Bentley and drove off with a fine exhaust roar.

  I walked slowly back towards the pub. As I turned into the square, I caught sight of Mollie. She was strolling along in a very leisurely way, looking in shop windows. I crossed the road and joined her.

  “You don’t seem to be very busy,” I said.

  “I’m not.”

  “Have you phoned a story?”

  “Just a couple of columns!” she said airily.

  The words jarred on me, even though I knew she hadn’t. At least, I thought I knew.

  “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I’ve decided to take a day or two off. It’s rather nice down here.”

  “It’s rather nice to be able to take a day or two off when you feel like it!” I said. “Any jobs going on the Courier?”

  “I doubt it. We’ve rather high standards, you know.”

  I let that pass. “I suppose you know your chief suspect is going camping?”

  “I ought to,” she said smugly. “I’ve just helped him buy a tent.”

  “Oh!”

  “I must say he didn’t seem terribly grateful.”

  “He thinks you’re trying to seduce him,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I’ve just been talking to him … Incidentally, I feel surer than ever that that Bodmin trip was genuine.”

  “It could be.”

  “What are you going to do?—watch for smoke signals rising from the hills?”

  “Something like that,” she said. She gave me a maddeningly complacent smile. “Oughtn’t you to be phoning your office?”

  I went into the pub and put in a call to London. I’d no story to dictate, so I asked to be put straight through to the Desk. Hatcher, the Night News Editor, answered.

  “It’s Curtis …” I began.

  “Anything doing?” he demanded.

  “Well, not very much as a matter of fact, but …”

  “Then come back,” he said abruptly, and hung up. I stood looking at the dead receiver, feeling pretty savage. Smee was undoubtedly right—Hatcher was a born murderer, if ever I’d met one. I went into the bar and had a drink and considered the situation. I didn’t at all want to go back. It wasn’t, I told myself, that I didn’t trust Mollie with Mellor, even if she had helped him buy a tent and fixed herself a few days off. It wasn’t that at all. I
t was simply, I told myself, that even a wrong hunch could sometimes lead to a right one, and Mollie might still hit on something big. I should be doing less than my duty if I didn’t point this out to my employers. I had another drink to fortify myself, and then put in another call to the office.

  “Yes?” Hatcher said, in a voice that almost severed the line.

  “This is Curtis again,” I said. “Look, I was going to tell you there has been one development here that might be quite interesting … I think it might be worth while my hanging on for a bit.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, it’s a bit hush-hush …”

  “Hush-hush my foot—you’re not in the bloody Secret Service! What’s the gist of it?”

  “I can’t tell you over the phone—it’s difficult …”

  “Then you’d better come back where it’s easy …” Hatcher gave a loud snort. “Lawson says the story’s over till they find the boat. Everyone else is back. What do you want, a holiday with pay?”

  “Mollie Bourne’s still here,” I said, “and she’s on to this thing, too … I thought I’d better warn you, that’s all.”

  There was a short silence. Then Hatcher said, “Hang on!” I hung on, sweating. I heard a rumble of voices. Then Blair came on the line. After Hatcher, he sounded sweetly reasonable.

  “Hallo, Curtis! What’s all this about Mollie Bourne?”

  “She’s hanging on,” I said. “Snooping around like mad, all very secretive—but I think I know what she’s up to.”

  “I see.” Blair considered. “All right, Curtis, you’d better stay on for a bit—but keep in touch.”

  “I will,” I said, and rang off.

  I didn’t have a very comfortable evening—I guess my conscience must have been troubling me. I’d put a fast one over on the office, and I’d half committed myself to a story I was pretty sure didn’t exist. I felt even more uncomfortable next morning, because most of the papers weren’t even mentioning the Attwood raid any more. What was worse, it looked as though I wasn’t even going to enjoy the fruits of my deceit, for Mollie wasn’t at her hotel and I couldn’t find her anywhere. It wasn‘t until I called at police headquarters in the afternoon for the usual check with Anstey that our paths crossed. I found her sitting outside the station in her car, studying a map.