by John Creasey
“The Carters had an old Austin. That car was an old Austin. Mrs. Carter saw Jane Hill while the doctor was with her. As far as we know, only one other person saw her and talked to the doctors.”
“Larry Hill,” Yvonne exclaimed.
“Larry Hill.”
“When you come to the first crossroads, turn left,” she said. “It’s a narrow turning but there shouldn’t be much traffic and it comes out half a mile this side of the food factory where Hill works.”
“Fine,” said Matt. “Hold tight.”
Out of sight, the old car and the bodies of the Carters burned.
Ten miles away, Larry Hill was checking some packages in the storage bins of the warehouse, forgetful of his grief for a few blessed minutes.
Racing towards Lauriston were the two men in the small car.
It did not matter how desperate the haste, if a road was narrow and winding, real speed was impossible. Tightlipped, Matt put the nose of the Chrysler towards the road on the left, then glanced at Yvonne.
She was rubbing at her forehead.
“Road get any better?” He was fuming.
“Quite straight, a mile or so on.”
“We have some luck. That bite irritating?”
“It’s not like an ordinary gnat bite, it’s stinging,” Yvonne said. “More like a wasp sting.”
“I’ve a first-aid kit in the trunk.”
“Oh, it’s not worth stopping for,” Yvonne Brown said.
Then they turned a corner, and the narrow road led straight as Matt could wish for.
He sent the car hurtling along.
Chapter Nine
SNAP DECISION
“Let’s hope to God we’re here first,” Matt said and slowed down as they approached the big Factory Entrance notice on the outskirts of Lauriston. Beyond, he could see a church spire and a few small houses, but the buildings of the Wide World Foods plant were hidden by a high cement wall. No cars were parked outside. Matt peered into his driving mirror, but saw nothing coming along the road behind him, so he pulled into a parking space near the entrance. He jumped out and approached a small gate house. A gatekeeper was sitting looking out of a tiny hatch of a window. Beyond were big yards and many wide roads, and everywhere small delivery vans or huge trucks for long-distance journeys.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“Excuse me,” Matt said, as unhurriedly as if this was as casual as asking the way. “Have you seen any cars approach from the direction I came from?” He pointed.
“Can’t say I’ve noticed any, sir, but I couldn’t be sure, I’ve been on the telephone some of the time.”
“Thank you. Has any car come in here?”
“Only a van, sir.”
“One of your own vans?”
The gatekeeper, spick and span in a navy blue uniform and a peaked hat, hesitated before he replied slowly:
“As a matter of fact, sir, it was Larry Hill’s van. But excuse me, may I ask your business?”
Matt beamed.
“Just call me curious,” he said. “Do you know if the managing director is in this afternoon?”
The gatekeeper seemed to stiffen.
“Mr. Charles Harrison, sir? I understand that he will be in about half past four, sir. If you would care to wait—”
“I might, at that,” Matt said. “Thanks a lot, officer. Big place you have here, isn’t it?”
“Colossal, sir!” The man’s pride was echoed in his voice. “Everything’s laid on, too, it’s like a town by itself, sir. Got its own playing fields, cinema, gymnasium, hospital, pretty well everything. They look after the employees extremely well.”
“Nice thing to hear,” Matt said.
He moved away from the gatehouse, as Yvonne opened the door of the Chrysler and put one leg out. It was undoubtedly a very beautiful leg, and it was difficult not to look at it. Then, puzzled because she did not make any further move to get out of the car, he looked at her face. She was bending forward a little, to get out, and holding on to the open door. She seemed stuck.
“You all right?” he asked, and hurried forward.
She drew her leg back.
“I—I’m a bit stiff,” she said, and moistened her lips. “I must have been sitting in the wrong position.” She managed a kind of smile—at herself, not because she was amused. “I shall be all right.” She rubbed at a big reddish splotch on her forehead: the mosquito bite.
“Well, take it easy,” Matt said, “and keep away from man- eater mosquitoes in future, that one certainly took a liking to you.” He spoke almost for the sake of speaking, because she looked pale and there was no longer such calm brightness in her eyes. Was she in pain? One half of his mind was preoccupied with her, the other half with the car which should surely come along the road soon—unless it had already reached this spot and gone past. If it had, then Larry Hill seemed to be in no danger here, for he was safely inside the grounds of the factory. Matt offered cigarettes and she took one. He lit it for her as she settled further back in the car, moving slowly, as if with an effort.
“What are you going to do next?” she asked.
From the beginning, she had articulated with extreme precision; now she seemed to be talking even more slowly and deliberately.
“I’m going to stop the men in that car and hand them over to the police,” Matt said, “and I’m going to invoke what Sap always calls Emergency Rule 1. If it will help and do no harm, call in the cops. These are two men I’d like to see hanged.”
“I’m not sure—” she hesitated. “I’m not sure that you’re right. If you can hold them yourself, Palfrey might prefer to question them.”
Matt’s eyes were smiling.
“Yvonne,” he said, “you’re good, you don’t miss a trick. That’s just what I shall do if I can. But rather than let them get away, I’d hand them over to the police. You agree about that?”
“Yes,” she said, and caught her breath; but next moment she went on quite normally: “Do you think it was a coincidence that we were here when it happened?”
Matt said: “Meaning, could the fact that we were in the vicinity have leaked out, making the killer act before we could talk to the Carters?”
“Yes.”
“Could be,” Matt conceded. He glanced along the road again, but nothing was in sight. “I’m going to get an antiseptic dressing for that mosquito bite,” he said, and went to the back of the car. Yvonne didn’t look round. She was sitting upright in her corner and staring straight ahead when he came back, with a small bottle and some cotton wool in his hand. “I think it’s better than it was,” he told her. “The swelling’s going down.”
“Oh, it’s nothing, please don’t fuss.” But she didn’t try to stop him from dabbing, and he was very gentle.
“Is there any other road that couple could have taken?” Matt asked.
“No through road, but there are some footpaths.”
“That car was a Sunbeam Rapier, or one very like it,” Matt asserted and stood back. “It couldn’t get along any footpath. Either they’ve passed here already, or else—”
He broke off, seeing a car turn a corner a long way off. It was coming from the cottages, and the sun glinted on a cream coloured roof and blue sides. He thrust the bottle of antiseptic and the cotton wool into Yvonne’s hand, and instead of taking it, she let it fall. It turned on its side in her lap, and a pool of liquid darkened the yellow of her dress and spread swiftly.
“Goddam it, I’m sorry,” Matt said, “but they’re close by. I’ll be back.” He rounded the car and took the driving wheel as Yvonne felt for the bottle, and was far too preoccupied with the approaching car to take much notice of her. He swung into the road so that he blocked its whole width, then jumped out. The smaller car was coming fast, but it slowed down and he could hea
r the faint squeal of brakes.
He saw the two men clearly, one of them bigger and broader than the other, both pale, both obviously scared. They were braced to take the jolt as the car jolted to a standstill, and the smaller of them, at the wheel, was glaring as if at someone he hated.
The other leaned out of his window.
“Get your car off the road, we’re in a hurry!”
“Sorry, folk,” Matt said. “Maybe you’re in too much of a hurry.” He didn’t smile at them. “Perhaps you could find time to tell me just what happened to the Carters, way back in the valley.”
For a split second neither of them moved; before they recovered, Matt showed the small automatic in his right hand. His manner was almost leisurely, but the expression in his eyes told them what would happen if they reached for a weapon or tried to get out. “Just move your car off the road,” he ordered, “and stay right there in your seats.” He didn’t look round, but wished Yvonne would come and join him, a little help would make this much easier. He watched the men as the driver obeyed, and particularly he watched their hands, which were still in sight. Then he glanced swiftly round, but Yvonne hadn’t got out.
He felt as if a dagger had stabbed into him.
Stiffness. Fumbling. Slowness of speech. Paralysis. A stroke.
The small car stopped, each man still had his hands in sight, each stared at the small automatic as if they believed that he meant to shoot. He stepped nearer, his own movements stiff and awkward, fear rising in him like lava in a volcano.
“Okay,” he said, and squeezed the trigger of the gun. A soft hissing sound followed, but there was no cloud of vapour, no bullet, no splash of flame; but invisible gas which Palfrey preferred to use. Each of the men seemed to rear up in his seat, and one actually opened his mouth to scream. The scream was cut short as he slumped down.
Both went quite still.
Matt turned round. Dread was in him, driving out everything else.
Yvonne still sat in the car, with the wide gap between her and the spot where he would sit. One leg was stretched out, and the foot showed, as if she had tried to get out. One hand lay on the door, where the window was open. Her head was resting against the glass of the wide window. Her eyes were wide open, she was trying to say something, her lips were moving and so were the muscles of her slender throat; but no sound came.
“All right,” Matt said swiftly. “You don’t have to worry. Palfrey knows a treatment.” Liar. “He’ll get you to doctors who know about it, too. Don’t worry.”
Yvonne still tried to speak, and her eyes swivelled towards the other car, as if she was telling him not to let the men get away.
“It’s okay,” he said harshly. “They’re having a little sleep.” He took her foot and lifted it inside the car, and then eased her into a more comfortable position. “Just sit down there and don’t worry.” He turned and moved swiftly towards the gatehouse. The gatekeeper was standing outside, as if wondering what was going on, but reluctant to leave his post to find out. “Telephone, quickly,” Matt urged, “my friend’s been taken ill.” He went to the doorway of the gatehouse, and the gatekeeper said at once:
“Yes, of course, I’ll call a doctor. Dr. Hardy—”
“Needs a specialist,” Matt said, and lifted the telephone, knowing that the gatekeeper was worried because no stranger should be inside this little cubby hole; but gatekeepers and rules could be forgotten. “Hallo, operator. Get me London E 1212, please … Yes, London E 1212, I’ll hold on.” He saw a van coming from one of the big buildings inside the factory ground, painted green and with the name of the company written in bright yellow on it: Wide World Foods. He called to the gatekeeper: “Is that Larry Hill?”
“No, sir.” The gatekeeper approached the van driver, who was getting out of the little cabin. “Okay, Peters, but you can’t get out for a minute. This gent’s car is in the way.”
“I’ll take a look,” said the man named Peters. He spoke in a nasal, Cockney voice, and offhandedly, as if he wasn’t interested in “gents” or in their cars. As he strolled towards the open gates a man spoke into the telephone.
“This is Jim speaking, who’s there?”
Matt said with soft urgency: “Matt Stone. I’ve a couple of men here we ought to talk to, but I don’t know that I can handle them.”
“Where are you?”
“Outside Wide World Foods—”
“Ask for the van driver named Peters. He’s on the look out for you,” Jim said. “What else?”
Matt said: “Yvonne Brown had a mosquito bite. Then she had a stroke.”
There was a barely noticeable pause before the man named Jim said: “Wait a minute.” He would be talking to Palfrey of course, in that large underground room, and the giant Andromovitch would probably be sitting with him, or else in a room close by.
Suddenly Jim spoke again. “Sap will come down himself. We’ll arrange for a ward at the Lauriston Hospital, take Yvonne along. They’ll have instructions, and by the time you get there they’ll be expecting you. That all?”
“The Carters were burned to death in an attack an hour ago. My prisoners did it. I think Hill might be attacked next.”
“Do whatever you think will save him, and get quick results.”
“Thanks,” Matt said.
“Don’t leave the district until Palfrey arrives unless it’s essential,” Jim added. “Goodbye.”
Matt rang off, smoothed down his hair, and felt cold sweat on his forehead, although the afternoon was hot for England: high in the seventies. The gatekeeper was standing in the doorway, completely bewildered. Matt said: “Thanks a lot, I’ll see you,” and went out, making the gatekeeper stand aside. A short, broad-shouldered man was standing in the gateway, surveying the Chrysler which was blocking his path; his van was level with the gatehouse. As Matt drew level, he said:
“I’m Peters,” and spread his hands with the Z5 sign.
“Fine. Can you take care of the couple in the Sunbeam Rapier?”
“Yes. Anything else?” “Not right now. When you’ve got them safe, go to Hill’s cottage.”
Peters had a big, chunky face and a massive chin. He gave a half smile, and said:
“Fine.” He didn’t ask a question about the girl in the car, but went straight back to his van. By the time he reached it Matt was already in the Chrysler, with Yvonne sitting in it, motionless. She tried to look towards him but could not turn her head.
“The way I told you is right,” Matt said. “Palfrey is on his way right now. He’s making arrangements at the local hospital for you. Just take it easy.”
She stared straight ahead of her.
Matt drove fast, wondering viciously what kind of a fool a man could be. She knew as much as he: that first Jane Hill and afterwards six of the Z5 members had been stricken, as she had been: and that at least three had died.
It took him eight minutes to reach the hospital.
“Yes,” said a porter and a youthful-looking doctor, who were waiting on the steps, “we are all ready for you, we’ll take care of Miss Brown now.”
Then attendants came hurrying with a stretcher.
Matt said: “There’s a lump on her forehead, it was much bigger an hour ago. A mosquito bite swelling. The collapse came soon after that.”
“We’ll check,” the young doctor promised, and watched as the attendants took the girl out of the car with great skill and gentleness. “Where’d she get it?”
“At a place called Oak Hill.”
“Bit high for skeeters, I should have thought,” the doctor said, then turned his attention to Yvonne. He put a hand on hers as she was carried up the steps and he walked beside her. “You needn’t worry at all, Miss Brown, we’ve caught this very quickly. You simply needn’t worry.”
He was lying, of course.
That was just soothing syrup.
Was she going to die?
When Matt reached the factory entrance again, the Sunbeam Rapier was still there, but it was empty. Peters and his van were out of sight. Matt got out of the car and went slowly towards the gatehouse; the gatekeeper was on the telephone. Matt lit a cigarette, slowly, steadily; there was a twinge of stiffness at his elbow, and he winced; it went immediately. His mind wasn’t working as quickly as he would have liked. He stared at the factory buildings, some big sheds, one of them marked: Canned Goods Warehouse. Larry Hill worked in the main warehouse, loaded his van from there, made his deliveries from there, went back when the day’s work was done.
The gatekeeper put down the receiver and leaned forward.
“You all right, sir?”
“Fine, thanks. Larry Hill still here?”
“Yes, sir. He won’t be going out again today. He’s only an emergency driver. Works mostly in the warehouse.”
“Is it right he had a mate?”
“Yes, it—how did you know, sir?”
“I get around. Give a message to Larry’s mate, will you?”
“Yes, glad to, sir.”
“Thanks. Tell him that the sap’s rising in the trees near the cottage,” Matt said, and his grin drove away the other’s look of bewilderment. He passed over a ten shilling note. “Crazy, isn’t it?” he said, “but just do that.”
“I won’t forget, sir.”
“Thanks. When would you expect him and Hill to leave?”
“Early today, sir. Five o’clock or so.”
“Thanks,” said Matt.
A fly buzzed past his face as he spoke, and he didn’t take any notice. As he turned, another buzzed very close to him, and he saw a speck pass in front of his eyes but didn’t really get a clear view of it. Then he heard a vicious little humming sound: the sound a mosquito would make.
He slapped at one as it passed the end of his nose.
The gatekeeper said: “Are you sure you’re all right, sir?”
