But that first move might prove distinctly unpleasant for Veronica Jane. That was what made him as nervous as a sprinter before a race. His training suggested that he ought to be with her practically every moment, sleeping next door to her in the hotel if necessary. And yet he could not force himself to insist on such a programme. He knew that by doing so he would make himself more unpopular with her than ever, and instinctively he wanted to stand well in her eyes.
It was the human element, and he was aware of it. He cursed himself for being a rotten policeman.
But there was one thing he could do, without annoying Veronica Jane too much. As dusk began to fall he put on a waterproof and went out into the drifting rain to the telephone kiosk. There he rang the hotel and asked for Dr. Cameron.
After a short interval, Hugh came on the line. "Who is it, please?"
"Sergeant MacDonald. You know who I mean?"
"Ah, yes!" The lack of enthusiasm in the other's voice was apparent at once.
"I don't want to make myself more of a nuisance than I can help," said Kenneth, "but I should like to stress the fact again — Miss MacKay is in danger. Could you make sure that while you are staying at the hotel she never goes far away on her own?"
The sincerity in Kenneth's voice must have been obvious, even over the phone. There was a little more warmth in Hugh’s tone when he answered.
"I'll take good care of her," he said. "You can have a breather, Sergeant MacDonald."
"Quite! And by the way, keep your eyes open. For all we know Max Bergman may be masquerading as one of the guests in the hotel. If you notice anything suspicious, report to me at once."
"Right-ho. But I'm inclined to think Max Bergman has been frightened off."
"Don’t you believe it!"
"In any case, I’ll look after Veronica Jane — during the weekend at any rate."
"Thanks. Are you both staying in tonight?"
There was a short pause. Kenneth guessed it was on the tip of the young doctor’s tongue to say that such a question was none of his business. But after a second or two the reply came civilly enough.
"Not necessarily. If the rain goes off — and I think it will — Veronica Jane wants to go and see some old chap called Ned MacCallum. He knew her grandmother, apparently."
"I see. Well, Ned MacCallum's cottage is on a pretty lonely part of the shore. And it’ll soon be dark. Take a torch with you, and don’t relax for a minute on your way back to the hotel."
"You sound like a cop in a thriller."
"This is fact, Dr. Cameron, not fiction."
"All right. Keep your hair on. Is that all?"
"Yes. Good night."
"Good night."
As Kenneth stepped out of the kiosk, ashamed of the weakness which allowed him to become so easily annoyed with Hugh Cameron, he saw that the clouds above Cnoc Ban were thinning. Veronica Jane and her companion would, therefore, almost certainly go out. What should he do about it?
Conscience and inclination joined battle. Conscience told him that it was his duty to shadow them and make sure that they were unmolested on their way back from Wee Ned's cottage to the hotel. Inclination told him to keep away from them, in case he might reveal his presence by mistake and become an object of Veronica Jane's scorn and contempt.
On this occasion conscience won. As the rain slackened and the darkness came down, he pushed his hands deep into his coat pockets and strode off through the fields in the direction of Wee Ned's cottage. Standing immobile and invisible in the shadow of an outhouse, he saw Veronica Jane and Hugh Cameron arrive at last, laughing together. He saw them welcomed by Wee Ned in the light from the open front door. Then they went inside, and everything was quiet again.
Max Bergman, from his point of vantage, also saw the young couple go inside. He smiled to himself. From what he knew of Scots hospitality, Dr. Cameron would eventually emerge in a careless mood, his reactions slowed down just a little by the customary “drams". It should be easy to deal with him.
Sergeant MacDonald, he imagined, was safely at home in Mrs. Connacher's house. The obvious jealousy between the policeman and the young doctor amused him; and it made his job much simpler. As long as the sergeant stuck coldly and rigidly to the rules of his assignment and kept Miss MacKay under close supervision, he had been at something of a loss. Now that Cameron had arrived it was different.
Though he still had plenty of time in which to act — according to schedule Fraser MacKay would not complete the O'Sullivan case for nearly a fortnight — he had decided to make his attempt tonight.
His car was safely hidden where no one would be likely to find it, and though the rain had been heavy while it lasted, he was fairly certain that the tarpaulin he had pulled over the bonnet would keep the plugs dry. He would have to carry the girl for a long distance over the moor, but that would present no great hardship. She was a lightweight, and a whiff from the ether-pad in his pocket would render her limp and easy to handle. With reasonable luck he would be well on his way to Glasgow before the alarm was raised in the morning. He did not believe that anyone in the hotel would notice if she and her companion did not return that night. If they did — well, youth was allowed some latitude, and no one would care to make a fuss about their absence straight away.
He couldn't help feeling self-satisfied about his disguise. It had fooled them all — even Sergeant MacDonald. As he stood there in the inky darkness, listening to the swirl of the Con below him, and the hush of the sea on the nearby shingle, he congratulated himself on having taken such pains to get inside his part and make himself almost word-perfect in the jargon of his chosen background. It was a lucky break that he had flown over from the States with a person from whom he had learned a great deal. A knife-keen memory — that was his gift. And a beautiful sense of timing.
He wondered how Mullingar and Wilkes were enjoying themselves in the cells at Inverary. He had been fortunate in having got rid of those clumsy pigs. Doubly fortunate. Working by himself there would be no chance of error. And there would be no question either of sharing out O’Sullivan's ten grand…
The door of the cottage opened. In the soft glow of lamplight within the porch, both Max Bergman and Kenneth saw Veronica Jane and Hugh Cameron silhouetted on the threshold. Inside Wee Ned was bidding them good night.
“It was guid o’ ye tae come an' see me, lassie."
“I just wanted Hugh to meet you — and of course I was keen to find out how your ankle was progressing."
“Ach, there’s no' muckle wrang wi't. Last nicht was worth it, anyway!"
“I’m glad you think so. I was thrilled."
“Maybe we'll ha'e another nicht at the poachin' afore ye go.”
“That would be lovely. Though it may be difficult to get around Sergeant MacDonald."
“He seems to be a bit of a spoil-sport," commented Hugh Cameron.
“You're wrong, Hugh," put in Veronica Jane; and Wee Ned hastened to support her.
“It's his job, ye ken. He wasna like that as a boy." Then he chuckled. “But if anybody can get roon him it's Miss MacKay here."
“I'm not so sure," she said, quietly.
“Ach, ye're like yer granny — I tellt ye afore. A crook o' her wee finger an' the men wad come runnin' tae her."
She laughed — in a brittle way, Kenneth thought. She said: “Sergeant MacDonald's not the kind to come running to anybody. A policeman first — a human being second."
Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves. Kenneth was in a sweat of miserable embarrassment. He tried not to listen, but the conversation was coming to him with sharp clarity.
Veronica Jane was mistaken, he told himself angrily. He was there, overhearing every word she said, not because he was an officious policeman, but because of his deep personal concern for her safety. Would she never understand that?
“Anyway," said Hugh Cameron, “he's well out of the way tonight. When the cat's away, the mice will play." He took Veronica Jane's arm and squeezed it. “Right, d
arling?”
“I guess so," she answered, and Kenneth saw the questioning look that Wee Ned gave her. At the moment he could willingly have wrung her companion's neck.
Then their host was chuckling again and scratching his whiskers with the stem of his clay pipe. “Well, I'm glad ye found yer way here, Dr. Cameron. See an' come back."
“I certainly will. Thanks for those drinks."
“Ach, it was a wee bottle Mrs. McShannon gi'ed me for my Christmas. I'm mair partial tae beer mysel'."
“Good night, Ned," said Veronica Jane. “See and look after yourself."
“Och, aye. Will we be seein' ye at the Kirk the morn?"
“Why, yes. I'd like to go. Are you going?"
“I’ll maybe get a lift frae the end o' the road." He grinned. “I'll need tae turn up, sprained ankle or no'. They put me on the Congregational Board last year — dear kens why! — an' it's my turn at the plate. The meenister — Mr. MacIntyre — tak's nae excuses. He’s a tartar!"
They parted, laughing and waving good-bye to each other.
The door closed, and the soft beam of light was extinguished. Kenneth waited a moment, then followed the two figures as they made their way towards the path above the shore.
As he moved, with the stealth of a trained commando, he thought he detected a sound behind him. But he dismissed the thought of it at once, deciding that it had been made by Wee Ned closing a window, or by a weasel scuttling through the bent.
What he didn’t know was that as he went after Veronica Jane and Hugh Cameron — keeping well behind, so that he would hear nothing except a possible shout for assistance — Max Bergman was trailing him. At first the Actor had been astonished and irritated by the appearance of a third person; but very soon he had realized it was Sergeant MacDonald and that, with luck, the circumstances might be turned to his advantage. If he put the girl’s official “shadow” out of action now, his attempt to carry her off would have a much greater chance of success. He fingered the revolver in his pocket and smiled gently to himself. MacDonald first. Then young Cameron — who was really no obstacle at all. Then Veronica Jane…
Veronica Jane and Hugh walked close together along the bent-fringed path. After the warmth of Wee Ned’s cottage, they felt the cold night air tingling on their cheeks. The girl’s nearness, and the faint perfume that she used, were affecting Hugh’s equilibrium, which had already been slightly upset by the rabbit-trapper’s whisky.
“Darling!” he whispered, and put his arm about her waist. She neither responded nor recoiled. For some reason she scarcely seemed to notice. “Isn’t it a wonderful night?” he added, quietly.
“I guess it is,” she answered.
“I love the West Coast,” he went on, in an effort to convey his own romantic mood. “On a night like this, just after the rain, I always feel like writing a poem.”
“Why don’t you, Hugh?”
“I couldn’t. Though when I’m with you I know what it feels like to be a poet.”
“Say, that’s real nice of you,” she smiled, glancing up and leaning closer. “But I don’t deserve a poem, Hugh.’Way down inside I’m a nasty, spiteful little character.”
"What rubbish!” His voice shook with tenderness, and his arm tightened. “You’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever met.” She became aware of his possessive arm and the tensity in his body. A tremor of unreasoning panic assailed her. She realized that her habit of intimate friendliness had probably made Hugh imagine he was a favoured suitor and that he was contemplating one of those “necking parties” she had so often heard about. The prospect filled her with dismay, and the thought occurred to her that Sergeant MacDonald would be considerably surprised if he knew how innocent and inexperienced she really was. Teasing men and being amused by their reactions to her feminine wiles — that kind of thing was all very well in civilized surroundings, with plenty of people about. It was different here, in the dark quiet of the countryside, with no one to turn to if the fun became too serious.
She shivered and tried to move away from Hugh’s encircling arm. He misunderstood her motive. Five years as a medical student and another year working in hospital had provided him with a certain amount of experience of girls; and he knew that first advances frequently meet with resistance. He played the game according to his lights, and it wasn’t altogether his fault that in this case he made an error of judgment. Veronica Jane’s sophisticated pose was equally responsible.
As she twisted clear of his arm, he caught her again, pulled her close and tried to kiss her on the mouth. Unhappiness surged inside her. The quiet hiss of the sea roared like thunder in her ears. Around her the tufts of bent waved in the dark — sinister spectators of her plight. She turned her head away and his lips touched her ear. She beat against his chest with closed fists.
“Let me go!” she panted. “Let me go!”
Hugh was essentially a decent man. He sensed her panic and knew at once that her rejection of his proffered love-making was genuine.
“I’m sorry, darling,” he said, letting his arm fall to his sides. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
She recovered quickly. “That's all right, Hugh. You — you couldn’t help it, I guess. It was my fault.”
“Your fault! Don’t be silly, Veronica Jane.” Somehow, in spite of what had happened, he was more in love with her than ever. “Please forgive me!”
She caught his arm. “Of course, Hugh. There's just one thing, though. You'll probably think me awfully old fashioned, but I don't want to be kissed until — well, until I'm sure I'm in love."
He felt an odd constriction in his throat. Slowly they resumed their walk along the sand-dunes, her arm resting lightly in his.
“I — I had an idea you might be in love with me — just a little," he said, at last.
For a time she was silent. At that moment she knew for certain that she wasn't in love with him — and could never be in love with him. But her heart was kind and she shrank from telling him the blunt truth. Not only that. She shrank too, from admitting to herself the real reason for her certainty.
To cover the confusion of her thought she said: “You're a darling, Hugh. But don't let's get all serious. Tell me about your hospital. I think it must be wonderful to be a doctor."
He sighed and did as he was told, unaware that his companion was struggling against the memory of an incident which had taken place in Mrs. Connacher's garden on the previous day. Desperately she tried to stifle a growing conviction that if Kenneth MacDonald had taken her in his arms on that occasion there would have been no panic in her heart, no thought of even a token resistance…
Thirty yards behind, Kenneth had seen them stop, come together, then move forward again. He stuck out his chin and told himself it was none of his business. But a savage pain went through him — a bunched-up pain such as he had never before experienced. He didn't realize that it was bitter jealousy. But as he followed slowly — patiently accomplishing his duty as a policeman — he thought murderous thoughts of Bulldog Bill. At that instant he hated the Superintendent almost as much as he hated himself. An insidious picture came to him of Hugh Cameron’s lips pressed against Veronica Jane's, of Hugh Cameron's arms tightening around her slim and responsive body; and the effort to wipe it from his imagination left him weak and trembling.
Then something — or somebody — moved behind him, and his explosive anger discovered a proper outlet.
He whirled round and saw a shadow rising up from a clump of bent — a formless shadow which, in the fraction of a second at his disposal, he could not possibly recognize. He twisted aside just as an arm flailed down and the butt of a pistol struck him on the shoulder. The pain was sickening, and he sank to his knees, closing his eyes. When he opened them the shadow had vanished.
He knew at once that a period of doubt and suspense was over. The Actor was in Glendale all right. His attacker could be none other than Max Bergman, and the criminal's idea must have been to knock him out before tackling Hugh Cameron and V
eronica Jane. Kenneth felt an odd pang of relief.
Next moment, however, he realized that his immediate purpose must be to prevent Bergman from overtaking the young couple. Doing his best to ignore the pain in his shoulder, he got up and looked about him. Almost at once he spotted a blurred figure moving in a detour towards the shore. The Actor’s intention was clear. He meant to make his way quickly along the beach towards the main road, where, among the rocks, he could lie in wait for Veronica Jane and her escort.
Kenneth saw at once that this plan could be circumvented. He darted to the right and, after a few seconds' running, became thankfully aware that he had interposed himself between Bergman and his unsuspecting victims. He saw the dim shadow of the American criminal come to a halt among the sand-dunes, some distance to his left, and eased his pace to a walk.
It was a game of hide-and-seek, which, to a student of The Science of Police Detection, was simply a routine performance. Veronica Jane — and, incidentally, Hugh Cameron — were safe as houses now, as long as Bergman was prepared to use his pistol as a bludgeon and not in its natural function as a firearm. And Kenneth didn't think it would come to a shooting-match. Murder was an act about which Bergman probably held no moral scruples; but at this stage killing people would stir up such a hornets' nest that his chances of holding Veronica Jane to ransom, thus accomplishing O’Sullivan's commission, would become relatively remote. Besides, the Actor's character, as he saw it, inclined much more to subtlety than to crude violence. He was content, therefore, to follow Veronica Jane and her companion as before and to leave the next move to the enemy.
The enemy, as it happened, was somewhat at a loss. His attack on Sergeant MacDonald had failed. At first he had imagined that the butt of his pistol had struck the other unconscious; but to his annoyance he had seen MacDonald rise to his feet almost at once and cleverly get between him and his quarry. Short of staging a hand-to-hand encounter with the policeman — and such an effort would be dangerous with the latter on his guard — he could not now hope to overtake the girl and her friend.
Escort to Adventure Page 13
