Go Away to Murder

by John Creasey

  The dwarf paused but Mark made no comment. After several seconds the little creature went on: ‘At the time I did not know what Riordon was really doing, Mr Lessing, and I was very loyal to him. Riordon and I staged a brief conversation, in which we talked of some money being in one of the rooms, an easy picking for a small-time thief but not tempting enough for him. They are Riordon’s own words. He pretended to tell me just where the money was, and of course Parker could not resist the temptation to try to get it. He went in through the landing window. Riordon had gone back inside – he is not a man who refuses to take risks – and was waiting for Parker. He was standing by the wall, and struck Parker as he put his head through. It was over very quickly.’

  Mark moistened his lips. ‘It would have been,’ he said.

  ‘So, that explains Parker,’ said the dwarf.

  Mark said: ‘And what of Miss Byrne?’

  The dwarf said slowly: ‘Riordon imagined that she would be an admirable hostage to coerce Colonel Byrne into cooperating, and so she was drugged – you have heard of evipan? The quick-acting narcotic drug? A remarkable discovery, and we have never had any difficulty in obtaining supplies. Riordon had a car waiting on the other side of the village, and Miss Byrne was taken away in that. It was on the way to London that Riordon made the first mistake I have ever known him make,’ went on Richardson softly. ‘He has a habit of talking to himself, and made a comment which made me wonder whether he was interested only in himself and making money. I took advantage of his confidence in me to look through some papers he was carrying in the car. They included the terms on which he is prepared to sell information about British secrets to the enemy. That was when I made up my mind to work against Riordon, although I decided that he was not to know it. He does not know it now.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mark.

  ‘I thereupon played the Concerto,’ went on the dwarf gently. ‘I knew that it would worry him, and that he would think that the police were behind us. He took a side road – we were near Salisbury at the time – and then went on towards Reading. I will tell you in a moment where he has his headquarters. By then I had decided that you were my most likely confidant, and that I could best confide in you. Consequently I made suggestions which persuaded Riordon to leave Miss Byrne by the side of a country road, quite unhurt. I did that because I could hardly work against you in one way and with you in another. Moreover, I knew that you would want evidence of my sincerity. Doubtless you will hear from her, and she will corroborate my story.’

  ‘She has,’ said Mark slowly.

  ‘Already? I am glad,’ said the dwarf. ‘It is always much better when there is mutual trust. And now, of course, you want the map. I have it. Riordon does not know that I have it, and he has a copy. The place which Riordon believes is quite safe from all suspicion is not far from Newbury, Mr Lessing, and you will be able to trace it quite easily from the map, which—’

  He stopped abruptly, and looked away.

  Mark, hearing a new sound, turned round to follow his gaze. Mark was so absorbed in what he had heard and what was promised that he did so with no feeling of alarm, only annoyance that the queer interview had been interrupted.

  Then he caught a glimpse of Riordon storming through the trees.

  The dwarf said in a harsh voice: ‘He knows! I can see from his face. He knows!’

  Then he turned and leapt higher up the tree, and as he did so the harmonica dropped from his coat and fell near Mark’s feet.

  Riordon Goes Wild

  Mark did not notice the instrument.

  He saw Riordon’s livid face and glaring eyes; and he knew that the dwarf was right. The man had overheard some of the conversation and probably guessed the rest. He was running with long strides, his right arm pushed forward with the hand clenched, and his left closer to his chest: in it he held a gun, dwarfed in his hand.

  He fired twice, and the bullets lost themselves in the trees.

  Mark ran for cover. There was no sense in flinging himself at Riordon, for he could not have stood a chance even with both hands free. He slipped behind the big apple tree, but Riordon appeared to have eyes for no one but the dwarf. He went blundering past Mark, and fired twice again. The noise of his progress drowned all other sounds except the sharp bark of the revolver shots; it was like the man to scorn using a silencer.

  Someone shouted from the cottage.

  Mark imagined that he saw the tiny figure of Richardson drop from a tree near the fence enclosing the orchard, on the far side, and scuttle along the road. Riordon might have seen him, also: in any case he stopped in his tracks and swung round towards Mark.

  By then Mark had wrenched a small branch from a tree with his left hand. For a moment or two he would be safe from shooting behind the tree, although he did not like the odds against him. With any other man than Riordon he would have worried little about it either way, but the fear which Riordon contrived to create was strong within him. He searched the ground for stones, but there were none; not far away, however, were several small logs, dropped there when someone had taken an armful or a barrow-load across the orchard to the cottage. He bent down and retrieved two, flinging them at Riordon as the man approached. Riordon said: ‘You damned fool, Lessing. You won’t live another five minutes.’

  He meant that: there was murder in his eyes. There was fear in Riordon, too, because Mark knew so much; and to Mark the most important thing seemed to be to save himself so that he could pass the information on.

  The second log made Riordon sway to one side, and spoiled his aim. A bullet went past Mark and the tree, but was too close to be comfortable.

  Mark flung the branch at the man.

  He could not control his aim very well with his left hand, and took a chance of being shot while showing himself clearly: but Riordon sensed the danger and stepped to one side without shooting. The end of the branch touched his shoulder and pushed him to one side. Mark stepped back, putting more distance between himself and the man: and then he saw Janet at the edge of the orchard. Behind her was Paula, carrying a broom.

  He shouted: ‘Go away! Go away!’

  He felt afraid of what would happen if Riordon turned upon them. He knew too much of the man’s brute strength, knew that the girls would be helpless if they drew near. But neither of them heeded him, and Riordon came slowly towards him. Mark thought that there could not be more than two more bullets left in the gun. Once it was empty there would be a chance to escape.

  Then men came running from the edge of the orchard.

  They converged upon Riordon and Mark from all sides, five or six of them. Mark recognised two Yard men, and thought he saw dapper Cartwright from Dorchester. Two of the men were carrying heavy cudgels, and one carried an automatic. As Riordon fired again the policeman with the gun pressed the trigger: both men missed.

  Then Riordon realised his danger.

  He swung round and flung the gun, obviously empty, at the man who bad fired at him; the speed with which he picked that fellow out as the most dangerous was astonishing. His aim was good and he caught the man on the side of the head, making him fall backwards. Then Riordon turned and ran – towards Janet and Paula.

  Paula jumped away and made a sweeping blow with the broom. Riordon put up a hand and brushed it aside, then wrenched it from her hands. Holding the broom head, he swept the handle in front of him and caught Paula on the shoulder. The blow sent her toppling.

  Janet ducked; the handle passed no more than a couple of inches above her head.

  Riordon plunged on, again judging the weakest point in the cordon; only one man was directly ahead of him, after gaining several yards on the others. Riordon did not hesitate but went straight for the man, brushing aside a blow with a cudgel as if it had been with a feather. The next moment he sent the policeman staggering backwards with a blow from the broom.

  The broomstick
broke.

  Riordon retained a part of it and went plunging on until he reached the fence. He leapt it without difficulty in spite of his limp. He landed in the road and then ran straight across and vaulted the hedge on the other side. As he sailed across, one of the policemen fired at him; the bullet went quite wide.

  Mark could hear Riordon crashing through the undergrowth of the copse on the other side of the road, with the police streaming after him. Three of them leapt the orchard fence with nearly as much ease as Riordon, but the hedge on the other side baulked them. One stopped, and the other gave him a back. Even then he had to scramble over the hedge; probably he fell on the other side.

  Mark drew a deep breath but did not join in the pursuit. Instead he went quickly towards Paula and Janet. Paula was leaning against a plum tree and Janet was rubbing her cousin’s shoulder, just where the blow had landed. Leaving them, Mark turned to the policeman who had taken the blow across the head.

  The man was climbing unsteadily to his feet. The skin was broken, and there was blood on the side of his face. His gun had gone, and Mark assumed that one of his colleagues had picked it up and used it.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Mark asked unsteadily.

  ‘Not too bad,’ the man said, although he looked dazed. He added: ‘God, that was a hell of a crack! He’s got some strength.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ said Mark.

  He led the policeman to the cottage, by the back door of which the little maid was standing with her lips parted and her eyes glistening: she looked less afraid than dumbfounded. But she was very good, for she led them promptly into the kitchen and started to prepare hot water and to get a towel and a sponge. When the kettle was boiling Janet and Paula arrived, Paula with the short sleeve of a shirt-blouse rolled up, and revealing a red weal already swollen and angry. She glared at Mark, and said: ‘You didn’t do much.’

  Mark swallowed hard. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But I did all I could.’

  ‘Pah!’ snorted Paula. ‘You just ran away from him.’

  ‘Let’s put some ointment on that arm of yours,’ said Janet. ‘Or would you rather let the doctor see it?’

  ‘I want no doctor,’ declared Paula.

  Her disgust at Mark’s safety first tactics remained evident for some time, and she gave him the impression that she had expected him to act something like Riordon. For his part, Mark was relieved that so little damage had been done and did not think that he had been wrong. He was glad when Janet and Cartwright, who came in soon afterwards, agreed that in the circumstances discretion had been wise. That was when they knew nothing of Richardson’s story.

  ‘But that brute got away,’ Paula said stonily.

  ‘Without leaving a trace I’m afraid,’ Cartwright’s voice was crisp. He smiled and he created a good impression. ‘He had a motorcycle on the other road, and we had no chance to catch up. All the same, I think we got away with it very well. What caused it to start, Mr Lessing?’

  Mark said slowly: ‘One of his accomplices was talking about him.’

  Cartwright’s good-looking face reflected his surprise. ‘Do you mean there was someone else in the orchard?’

  ‘There was.’

  ‘But I saw no one.’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ said Mark. ‘He was—’ he boggled at the word ‘dwarf’, and added after a pause: ‘A small fellow, and able to slip in and out of the trees without being seen. He was there all right, and the quicker I see West about what happened the better it will be. I wish to heaven he’d given me that map before it happened.’

  ‘The map?’ Cartwright’s manner made it obvious that he knew of the importance of the map. ‘Did he talk about that?’

  ‘Yes. And it’s just possible he left it in the orchard. I think we ought to have a look round. Jan, will you have a word with Roger on the phone, and tell him that I’m coming up to town as quickly as I can get there? Tell him, too, that the place we’re looking for is near Newbury. He can warn the Newbury people and can get inquiries started.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ asked Paula.

  ‘A little bird whispered it in my ear, sweetie, and I thought I’d better live long enough to pass it on. I hope your conscience hurts you.’

  ‘I have no idea what you mean,’ said Paula indignantly.

  Mark grimaced at her, then led the way into the garden and the orchard.

  By then all of Cartwright’s men and those from the Yard had returned, and they gathered about the old apple tree, all looking towards the ground. To Mark it seemed that there was, in fact, little point in the search, although he had suggested it. But he was rewarded in some measure, for half-hidden by the grass, was the mouth organ. He pointed it out, and a policeman retrieved it gladly.

  ‘Be careful how you handle it,’ said Cartwright sharply. ‘It will need going over for prints.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s a lot of need for that,’ said Mark, taking out a handkerchief and stretching out a hand. ‘Let me have a look at it, will you?’ He took the instrument, one of normal size which was enamelled ornately: as harmonicas went it was undoubtedly a beauty. The ‘keys’ were covered with chromium or silver, and as he contemplated it he could imagine the Warsaw Concerto coming from it and causing so much apprehension and alarm.

  ‘At least it won’t be used to warn Riordon again,’ he said abruptly. ‘Cartwright, how quickly can you get me to London? The sooner I can have a talk with West, and he sees this and hears the rest of the story, the better it’s going to be.’

  Cartwright said: ‘I’ve a car available any time. It’s farther up the village. I’ll drive you,’ he added thoughtfully.

  ‘Good man,’ said Mark.

  He would have started off without any delay, but Janet prevailed upon him to have some breakfast, which, she said, had been cooked a long time before and was being kept hot. She also discovered that Cartwright was hungry, and Paula, now in perfectly good temper, assured the Inspector that there was plenty for him and that she could even find a snack for his men. Cartwright assured her that they would not need it, but sat down with the others to a meal which Mark enjoyed despite the many things on his mind.

  Janet had managed to speak to Roger.

  He had received the message to telephone Mark, she had learned, only a few minutes before her call; the man who had taken it had been sent out on another job during the night, and had not passed it on until returning. Roger, said Janet, had made notes of all that she had to tell him, including the whereabouts of Marion Byrne, and had promised to take all the action possible. On hearing what had transpired at the cottage he had arranged for a general call to be sent out for Riordon: the limit of secrecy had been reached.

  It was just after half-past nine when Mark and Cartwright started out for London. Mark thought that if the first half-hour’s journey was any indication, they would get there in quick time, for Cartwright handled an MG with great skill.

  As the journey went on he found himself thinking more and more about the map and the harmonica.

  Soon after the call from the cottage, Roger went from his office to the canteen, breakfasted, and pondered over the case’s more perplexing features. The confusion which the Michison business had caused had not sorted itself in any way during the night, and he felt that he was running against a series of brick walls. He had read the reports which had come in during the night, and none of them gave him assistance.

  There was one on Commander Morris: it said that Morris had been at his flat the whole evening and during the night, as had Sir William Bennett of the Home Office. Roger hoped to be able to interview them himself before too long, but had to wait for Chatsworth, who had given express instructions for him to go to his office as soon as he arrived at the Yard.

  The Michison reports helped little.

  There was some conclusive evidence that Michison and ‘
Fluff’ had been to Epsom, visiting ‘Fluff’s’ parents, during the previous afternoon and early evening, and there was other evidence that the flat had been empty since noon on the previous day. The possibility that Michison was involved seemed slight indeed. Michison, moreover, had assured the police that there was no servant at the flat: the woman who had admitted Roger and Sloan had been one of Riordon’s accomplices.

  Had Riordon been there the whole evening, to take the message, Roger wondered? If not, how had he learned of it?

  The thing worrying him most was that Riordon had known about the calls Sloan had put out. Certainly he had not gone to the flat to take the call, and had he known only about that one, Roger would have assumed that he had used Michison’s place as a London rendezvous, probably to throw suspicion on the BBC man. But Riordon had known that he had telephoned both Morris and Bennett for appointments.