by Paul Somers
With Rance dead, the truth of what had occurred could only be a matter for conjecture, but the police reconstruction ran something like this. Rance had led the Carisdown raid, with two associates. For some reason that would never now be cleared up, the three men hadn’t left the district immediately after the burglary but had spent the night there. Next day they’d set off for London. Rance had been in the back seat, and at the first glimpse of the police car he’d ducked down. When the car had crashed, Rance had been flung clear. According to the local records, a rear door had been wrenched right off in the smash, so that was certainly possible. He’d been carrying the jewels in his pocket. Knowing that the police were close behind him, and fearing an immediate hue-and-cry, he’d looked around for some safe place to hide the loot. He’d spotted the castle and crossed the fields and gone in through the open door while Figgis was hurrying to the scene of the crash. Up in the tower, he’d found a deep crevice in the ancient parapet and stuffed the wash-leather purse in. It had gone in further than he’d intended, dropping down out of his reach. On the way out he’d removed the door key, just in case he’d need more time for recovering the jewels than an authorised visit would give him. Presumably he’d intended to come back for them as soon as the heat was off, but the jail sentence had spoiled his plans. And that was about all there was to it.
It didn’t seem a bad reconstruction. Certainly, no one ever produced a better one.
Chapter Twenty-one
It was an incredibly exciting evening—one of those occasions that stay in the mind for ever. To be free again, with the shadow of the gunman removed, with Mollie looking as fresh and lovely as though her ordeal had never happened, with the office wires crackling congratulations and even old Hatcher saying he’d like to buy me a beer, with other and far more able reporters waiting for crumbs from the rich man’s table—all was wonderfully exhilarating. Not that I had much time to bask at first, because the story had to be written and phoned in time for the early editions, and there was a lot of it to write. I was hard at it in my room for more than two hours, and when I’d finally put the story over I needed a drink badly. I thought Mollie might be in the bar, but she wasn’t. I had a couple of quick ones with Lawson, and then excused myself and went in search of her. I asked the porter if he’d seen her and he said she’d gone out for a stroll more than an hour ago. She’d obviously got through her story much faster than I had. I still envied her her skill and craftsmanship.
It seemed unlikely she’d have gone back to the castle after all the unpleasant things that had happened there, but I walked up through the fields, just to make sure. I spotted her almost at once, down by the river, and quickly joined her. She was lying on the bank, lazily twiddling a bit of grass in her fingers and gazing down at the water. She seemed very relaxed. She gave me a warm smile when she saw me, and patted the grass beside her invitingly. It was the first time I’d seen her without a mob around her since we’d gone for the police.
She said, “Did you get your piece off all right?”
I nodded.
“How are the hands?” She inspected my knuckles, and made a wry face. “It was quite a fight, wasn’t it? You were most impressive.… In fact, Hugh, you were rather marvellous all through.”
I gave a modest shrug. “You weren’t exactly inactive yourself. Who grabbed him by the hair? Who tossed the gun away?”
“We were very lucky.”
“We certainly were. What a story! How much did you send?”
“About half a column,” she said.
I stared at her. “Half a column! You can’t mean it. Why, I must have sent three columns.”
“Fine!—it was worth it. I hope you really put yourself across this time.”
“I certainly did, but … Mollie, what’s the idea?”
“It’s your story,” she said. “You earned it ten times over. I decided to leave it to you.” She smiled. “I wanted to say ‘Thank you’ in some way and that seemed a good way. The greatest sacrifice a woman like me could make.”
“I’d be quite happy to settle for the second greatest,” I said. “Couldn’t you reconsider?”
For a moment she regarded me in amused silence. Then, slowly but emphatically, she shook her head.
Copyright
First published in 1958 by Collins
This edition published 2012 by Bello an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR Basingstoke and Oxford Associated companies throughout the world
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ISBN 978-1-4472-1593-6 EPUB
ISBN 978-1-4472-1593-6 POD
Copyright © Paul Somers, 1958
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