The Tightrope Men / The Enemy

by Desmond Bagley

  ‘CPO?’

  ‘Crime Prevention Officer. There are a lot of big houses around here full of expensive loot worth nicking. The CPO calls in to check on the burglar-proofing. You’d be surprised how stupid some of these rich twits can be. A man will fill his house with a quarter of a million quids’ worth of paintings and antiques and balk at spending a couple of thousand on keeping the stuff safe.’

  ‘How is Ashton’s burglar-proofing?’

  Honnister grinned. ‘It might rank second to the Bank of England,’ he conceded.

  That interested me. ‘Anything more on Ashton?’

  ‘Nothing relevant. But he wasn’t the one who was attacked, was he?’ He leaned forward. ‘Have you thought of the possibility that Gillian Ashton might have been sleeping in the wrong bed? There are two things I think of when I hear of an acid attack on a woman; the first is that it could be a gangland punishment, and the other is that it’s one woman taking revenge on another.’

  ‘I’ve thought of it. Penny discounts it, and I don’t go much for it myself. I don’t think she’s the kind.’

  ‘Maybe, but I’ve been doing a bit of nosing around. I haven’t come up with anything yet, but I can’t discount it.’

  ‘Of course you can’t.’

  I stood up, and Honnister said, ‘Don’t expect too much too quickly. In fact, don’t expect anything at all. I’ve no great hopes of this case. Anyway, we’ve not gone twenty-four hours yet.’

  That was so, and it surprised me. So much had happened that day that it seemed longer. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll be in touch tonight.’

  EIGHT

  I drove in the direction of Ashton’s house and cruised around slowly, making circuits on the country roads and looking for anything out of the ordinary such as cars parked on the verge with people in them doing nothing in particular. There was nothing like that so after an hour of futility I gave up and drove directly to the house.

  The gates were locked but there was a bell-push which I pressed. While I waited I studied the gates in the light of what Honnister had said about Ashton’s burglar-proofing. They were of ornamental wrought-iron, about ten feet high, very spiky on top, and hung on two massive stone pillars. They barred an opening in an equally high chainmesh fence, unobtrusive because concealed by trees, which evidently circled the estate. All very good, but the gates hadn’t been closed the day before.

  Presently a man came down the drive, dressed in rough country clothes. I hadn’t seen him before. He looked at me through the gates and said curtly, ‘Yes?’

  ‘My name is Malcolm Jaggard. I’d like to see Mr Ashton.’

  ‘He’s not in.’

  ‘Miss Ashton?’

  ‘They’re not in, either.’

  I tugged thoughtfully at my ear. ‘What about Benson?’

  He looked at me for a moment, then said, ‘I’ll see.’ He stepped to one side behind one of the stone pillars and I heard a click and then the whirr of a telephone dial. There’s a phrase for what was happening; it’s known as closing the stable door after the horse has gone.

  The man came back into sight and wordlessly began to unlock the gate, so I got back into the car and drove up to the house. Benson, in his courtly Boris Karloff manner, ushered me into the living-room, and said, ‘I don’t expect Miss Penelope will be long, sir. She rang to say she would be back at five.’

  ‘Did she say how Gillian is?’

  ‘No, sir.’ He paused, then shook his head slowly. ‘This is a bad business, sir. Disgracefully bad.’

  ‘Yes.’ I had always been taught that it is bad form to question servants about their masters, but I had no compunction now. Benson had never struck me as being one of your run-of-the-mill house servants, least of all at that very moment because, unless he’d developed a fast-growing tumour under his left armpit, he was wearing a gun. ‘I see you have a guard on the gate.’

  ‘Yes; that’s Willis. I’ll give him your name so he will let you in.’

  ‘How is Mr Ashton taking all this?’

  ‘Remarkably well. He went to his office as usual this morning. Would you care for a drink, sir?’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll have a scotch.’

  He crossed the room, opened a cabinet, and shortly came back with a tray which he put on a small table next to my elbow. ‘If you will excuse me, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Benson.’ He was not staying around to be questioned, but even if he had I doubted if I could have got much out of him. He tended to speak in clichés and bland generalities, but whether he thought that way was quite another matter.

  I had not long to wait for Penny and was barely half way through the drink when she came into the room. ‘Oh, Malcolm; how good to see you. What a blessed man you are.’ She looked tired and drawn.

  ‘I said I’d come. How’s Gillian?’

  ‘A little better, I think. She’s getting over the shock.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it. I had a talk with Honnister, the police inspector in charge of the case. He wants to interview her.’

  ‘Oh, Malcolm; she’s not ready for that. Not yet.’ She came to me and I took her in my arms. ‘Is it that bad?’

  She laid her head on my chest for a moment, and then looked up at me. ‘I don’t think you know how bad this sort of thing is for a woman. Women seem to care more for their appearance than men—I suppose we have to because we’re in the man-catching business, most of us. It’s not just the physical shock that’s hit Gillian; there’s the psychological shock, too.’

  ‘Don’t think I’m not aware of it,’ I said. ‘But put yourself in Honnister’s place. He’s in a jam—he needs a description. Right now he doesn’t even know if he’s looking for a man or a woman.’

  Penny looked startled. ‘I hadn’t even thought of that. I assumed it would be a man.’

  ‘Honnister hasn’t made that assumption. He hasn’t made any assumptions at all because he has damn-all to go on. Is Gillian talking to you?’

  ‘A little, this afternoon.’ Penny made a wry face. ‘I’ve kept off the subject of acid-throwing.’

  ‘Could you go to the hospital tonight and see what you can get out of her? Honnister is really at his wits’ end about this. Your father couldn’t help him and he’s stuck.’

  ‘I suppose I could try.’

  ‘Better you than Honnister; he might not have your understanding. I’ll come with you; not into the ward, but I’ll come along.’

  ‘Will eight o’clock be all right for you? Not too late?’

  ‘All my time is at your disposal.’ I didn’t tell her that was literally true, by courtesy of one Ogilvie and paid for by the taxpayer. ‘You look as though you could do with a drink.’

  ‘I could stand a gin and tonic. Bring it into the kitchen, will you? I have to do something about dinner—Daddy will be home soon.’

  She went away and I fixed the drink and took it into the kitchen, I offered to help but she laughed, and said. ‘You’d just be in the way. Mary is coming down to help.’

  ‘Mary who?’

  ‘The maid—Mary Cope. You find yourself something to do.’

  I went away reflecting that what I really wanted to do was to give Ashton’s study a good shake-down. But if it’s bad form to question the servants I don’t know what the devil it would be called to be found searching through your host’s private papers in his sanctum sanctorum. Moodily I walked out into the garden.

  I was knocking croquet balls about on the lawn when Ashton pitched up. There was a worn and honed look about him as though he was being fined down on some spiritual grindstone. His skin had not lost its tan but he looked paler than usual, and there was still that hurt look in his eyes. It was the look of a little boy who had been punished for something he hadn’t done; the anguished look of the injustice of the world. It’s hard to explain to a small boy that the world isn’t necessarily a just place, but Ashton had been around long enough to know it.

  I said, ‘Penny’s in the kitchen, if you want her.’

&
nbsp; ‘I’ve seen her,’ he said shortly.

  ‘She tells me Gillian’s better this evening.’

  He looked down, kicking the turf with the toe of his shoe. He didn’t speak for some time and I began to think he’d misheard me. But then he looked up and said abruptly, ‘She’s blind.’

  ‘Christ; I’m sorry to hear that.’

  He nodded. ‘I had a specialist in this afternoon.’

  ‘Does she know? Does Penny know?’

  ‘Neither of them know. I had it kept from them.’

  ‘I can understand not telling Gillian, but why keep it from Penny?’

  ‘Unlike many sisters they’ve always been very close even though they are so unalike in temperament—perhaps because of it. I think if Penny knew, Gillian would get it out of her, and she couldn’t stand the shock now.’ He looked me in the eye. ‘Don’t tell her.’

  Now that was all very logical and carefully thought out, and he had just given me a direct order, there was no doubt about that. ‘I won’t tell her,’ I said. ‘But she might find out anyway. She’s medically trained and nobody’s fool.’

  ‘Just so that it comes later rather than sooner,’ he said.

  I thought I’d better start to earn my pay. ‘I saw Honnister this afternoon. He tells me he didn’t get much change out of you this morning. Don’t you have any idea why Gillian should be attacked?’

  ‘No,’ he said colourlessly.

  I studied him carefully. His jacket was much better cut than Benson’s but no amount of fine tailoring could hide the slight bulge under his arm. ‘You haven’t had threatening letters or anything like that?’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ he said impatiently. ‘I’m at a loss to understand it.’

  I felt like asking him, ‘Then why carry a gun?” My problem was that I didn’t know why he was on our files. Men were listed for many reasons, and to be listed did not make them villains—far from it. The trouble was that no one would tell me which class Ashton came into, and that made this job damned difficult. Difficult to know how to push at him; difficult to identify the cranny into which to push the wedge that would crack him.

  But I tried. I said practically. ‘Then the reason must lie somewhere in Gillian’s own life. Some crowd she’s been mixed up with, perhaps.’

  He became instantly angry. ‘Nonsense!’ he said sharply. ‘That’s a monstrous suggestion. How could she get mixed up with types like that without me knowing? The type who could do such a dreadful thing?’

  I was acting the part of the impartial onlooker. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said judiciously. ‘It happens all the time judging by what we read in the newspapers. The police arrest a kid and uncover a whole series of offences, from mainlining on heroin to theft to get the cash to feed the habit. The parents are shocked and plead ignorance; they had no idea that little Johnny or little Mary was involved. I believe them, too.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘For one thing, Gillian isn’t a kid; she’s a grown woman of twenty-six. And for another, I know my family very well. You paid me a compliment last night: you said I’d brought up Penny too well. That goes for Gillian, too.’ He drove his toe viciously into the turf. ‘Would you think that of Penny?’

  ‘No, I don’t think I would.’

  ‘Then why should you think it of Gillian? It’s bloody ridiculous.’

  ‘Because Penny didn’t have acid thrown in her face,’ I reminded him. ‘Gillian did.’

  ‘This is a nightmare,’ he muttered.

  ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you. I hope you’ll accept my apology.’

  He put his hands to his face, rubbing at closed eyelids. ‘Oh, that’s all right, Malcolm.’ His hand dropped to his side. ‘It’s just that she was always such a good little girl. Not like Penny; Penny could be difficult at times. She still can. She can be very wilful, as you’ll find out if you marry her. But Gillian…’ He shook his head. ‘Gillian was never any trouble at all.’

  What Ashton said brought home to me some of the anguish parents must feel when things go wrong with the kids. But I was not so concerned with his agony that I didn’t note his reference to if I married Penny, not when I married her. Evidently the fixation of the previous night had left him.

  He disillusioned me immediately. ‘Have you given any thought to what we discussed last night?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘With what conclusion?’

  ‘I’m still pretty much of the same mind,’ I said. ‘I don’t think this is the time to present Penny with new problems, especially if the girls are as close as you say. She’s very unhappy, too, you know.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said dispiritedly, and kicked at the grass again. He was doing that shoe no good at all, and it was a pity to treat Lobb’s craftsmanship so cavalierly. ‘Are you staying to dinner?’

  ‘With your permission,’ I said formally. ‘I’m taking Penny to the hospital afterwards.’

  He nodded. ‘Don’t tell her about Gillian’s eyes. Promise me that.’

  ‘I already have.’

  He didn’t answer that, but turned on his heel and walked away towards the house. As I watched him go I felt desperately sorry for him. It didn’t matter to me then if Nellie had him listed as a hero or a villain; I still felt sorry for him as a simple human being in the deepest of distress.

  Penny and I got to the hospital at about half past eight. I didn’t go in with her but waited in the car. She was away quite a long time, more than an hour, and I became restive because I had promised to call Honnister. When she came out she said quietly, ‘I’ve got what you wanted.’

  I said, ‘Will you tell it to Honnister? I have an appointment with him.’

  ‘All right.’

  We found Honnister standing at the bar of the Coach and Horses looking broodily into a glass of beer. When we joined him he said, ‘My man’s been and gone. I’ve been hanging on waiting for your call.’

  ‘Inspecter Honnister—this is Penny Ashton. She has something to tell you.’

  He regarded her with gravity. ‘Thank you. Miss Ashton. I don’t think you need me to tell you that we’re doing the best we can on this case, but it’s rather difficult, and we appreciate all the help we can get.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said.

  He turned to me. ‘What’ll you have?’

  ‘A scotch and…’ I glanced at Penny.

  ‘A gin and tonic.’

  Honnister called to the man behind the bar. ‘Monte, a large scotch and a gin and tonic.’ He turned and surveyed the room. ‘We’d better grab that table before the last-minute crowd comes in.’

  I took Penny over to the table and presently Honnister joined us with the drinks. He wasted no time and even before he was seated, he said, ‘Well, Miss Ashton, what can you tell me?’

  ‘Gillian says it was a man.’

  ‘Aah!’ said Honnister in satisfaction. He had just eliminated a little more than half the population of Britain. ‘What sort of man? Young? Old? Anything you tell me will be of value.’

  He led her through the story several times and each time elicited a further nugget of information. What it boiled down to was this: Gillian had walked back from church and, coming up the drive towards the house, had seen a car parked with the bonnet open and a man peering at the engine. She thought he was someone who had broken down so she approached with the intention of offering assistance. As she drew near the man turned and smiled at her. He was no one she knew. She was about to speak when he slammed down the bonnet with one hand and simultaneously threw the acid into her face with the other. The man didn’t speak at any time; he was about forty, with a sallow complexion and sunken eyes. She did not know the make of car but it was darkish in colour.

  ‘Let’s go back a bit,’ said Honnister yet again. ‘Your sister saw the man looking at the engine with the bonnet open. Did she mention his hands?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Is it important?’

  ‘It might be,’ said Honnister noncommittally. He wa
s a good jack; he didn’t put his own ideas into the mouths of his witnesses.

  Penny frowned, staring at the bubbles rising in her glass, and her lips moved slightly as she rehearsed her thoughts. Suddenly she said, ‘That’s it, Inspector. Gillian said she walked up and the man turned and smiled at her, then he took his hands out of his jacket pockets.’

  ‘Good!’ said Honnister heartily. ‘Very good, indeed!’

  ‘I don’t see the importance,’ said Penny.

  Honnister turned to me. ‘Some cars have a rod on a hinge to hold up the bonnet; others have a spring-loaded gadget. Now, if he had his hands in his pockets he couldn’t have been holding the bonnet open manually; and if he took them out of his pockets to close the bonnet and throw the acid at the same time then that bonnet was springloaded. He wouldn’t have time to unhook a rod. It cuts down considerably on the makes of car we have to look for.’ He drained his glass. ‘Anything more to tell me?’

  ‘I can think of nothing else, Inspector.’

  ‘You and your sister have done very well,’ he said as he stood up. ‘Now I have to see a man about a dog.’ He grinned at me. ‘I really mean that—someone pinched a greyhound.’

  Penny said, ‘You’ll let us know if…’

  ‘You’ll be first to know when something breaks,’ promised Honnister. ‘This is one villain I really want to get my hands on.’

  As he walked out I said, ‘He’s a good copper.’

  ‘It seems so,’ said Penny. ‘I wouldn’t have thought of the significance of the way a car bonnet is held open.’

  I stared into my glass. I was thinking that if I got hold of that acid-throwing bastard first there wouldn’t be much left of him for Honnister to deal with. Presently Penny said, ‘I can’t say, “A penny for your thoughts”, or you might get the wrong idea; but what are you thinking?’

  I said it automatically; I said it without moving my mind. I said, ‘I’m thinking it would be a good idea if we got married.’

  ‘Malcolm!’

  I’m pretty good at detecting nuances but there were too damn many in that single two-syllable word to cope with. There was something of surprise and something of shock; something, I was afraid, of displeasure and something, I hoped, of delight. All mixed up together.