by Andrew Garve
In the early afternoon, while Gwenda strolled along the bank of the lode, he considered the moves ahead. The police, having found nothing in the fen, would presumably begin to search for the missing girl around the country. That meant that to-morrow, or the next day, the story would break in the Press.… To-night, for safety, he’d better do something about the radio in the boat—say it had gone wrong, and take it away for repair.… And there must be no, more newspapers for Gwenda after to-morrow—he’d have to think of some explanation to cover that.… Fortunately she hadn’t appeared to be an avid newspaper reader—she preferred magazines and books. And he’d still plenty of those in the caravan.…
In a day or two now, he thought, he should be able to judge how things were going. If they went wrong, he’d have no alternative but to clear out. Even with his powers of invention, he couldn’t hope to talk himself out of what he’d said and done—either with the police, or with Gwenda. But he had his passport, and enough money to get by. And what he’d done so far certainly wasn’t extraditable. He doubted if the police would even be able to put a name to it … It would be a financial catastrophe, of course—but no worse than if he’d done nothing at all. He’d have lost Susan anyway.… Meanwhile, the big prize still glittered.…
The latter part of Tuesday afternoon, and the evening, were exceptionally busy.
While Gwenda was still out on her walk, Hunt took her suitcase from the caravan wardrobe and put it with a light raincoat in the boot of his car.
At five o’clock he telephoned Susan, cancelled his dinner date, and arranged to meet her instead at Hayes Corner.
At five-thirty Gwenda returned, and during the short time he had to spare Hunt went out of his way to be specially charming to her. It was a wrench, he said, to leave her again—but this time he hoped to bring back really good news from Cambridge. He kissed her, and she wished him luck.
He reached Hayes Corner a little after six and told Susan of the “jam” he was in. It was a wearing interview—but with precisely the result he’d foreseen. A strong-minded, loyal girl like Susan would never have thought of not standing by him in his hour of need.…
From Hayes Corner, he drove fast to Cambridge railway station. Concealing most of the case under the raincoat slung over his arm, he walked briskly into the station. His intention had been to leave the case in the General Waiting Room—the best he could hope to achieve. Then, as he passed the Ladies’ Waiting Room, he noticed two girls sauntering across the concourse towards the door. They were smart, foreign.… Talking volubly in French.… As they passed Hunt, he saw that their luggage was labelled Paris. Obviously going home … He addressed them—courteous, smiling—and in bad French, which amused them. Would they oblige him by taking his wife’s case into the Ladies’ Waiting Room and putting it on a seat? They didn’t ask why. They simply smiled, and took it. It was as easy as that.… Hunt went back to the car. The whole episode had lasted only a few seconds.…
It was a bit of a gamble, of course. He knew that. If Gwenda suddenly insisted on having the case, he’d be in a spot. But he didn’t think she would—he could see no reason why she should … Anyway, the whole plot was a gamble—with acceptable risks.… Gwenda, after all, was still alive.…
He got back to the site in time for a late supper. “Well,” he announced cheerfully, as he entered the cabin, “I think the job’s in the bag, darling … I’ve brought a bottle of wine from the van—let’s celebrate.”
Wednesday was peaceful, like the eye of a hurricane. In the world outside, the search must by now have started—but at the site there wasn’t a ripple. Hunt looked carefully through the morning paper, the Record, found it harmless, and passed it on to Gwenda. Having quietly removed the battery from the radio, he reported that it was out of order and that he’d have to get it seen to. He took it to his office, and put the battery back in again. While he was there, he rang Susan, as he’d promised.
For Gwenda, it was the most domestic day they’d yet had. Hunt had no appointments outside the site, and the two genuine customers who called didn’t keep him long. He was in and around the boat a good deal, making up for his earlier absences and those to come, keeping Gwenda happy. Now that he was supposedly waiting only for a final word from Crawford, there was more talk of plans, of the kind of house they might get, of the sort of furniture they liked.… Sickening talk, Hunt found it—but no one would have guessed as much from his enthusiastic manner.…
At six o’clock, listening surreptitiously to the news bulletin in his office, he heard the first mention of the missing girl. The story was about to break.
After the news, he had a second quick talk with Susan on the telephone.
Thursday brought the first news in the papers and the first reference to Hunt—an innocuous mention in the Record. Hunt destroyed the paper, and went to prepare Gwenda for the invasion he knew must follow.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have a shockingly busy day to-day,” he told her. “Customers calling, appointments to go and see people—it’s extraordinary at this time of year … A bit ironic, too, when I’m just on the point of packing it all in.… I’m afraid it’ll mean another outing for you.”
Gwenda looked a bit downcast for a moment—but she soon recovered. “Never mind, darling,” she said. “Won’t it mean extra commission?”
“Oh, it’ll mean that, all right.… But I really hate sending you off.”
She smiled. “I’m all right, Alan, really.… I do like the fen very much, and it’s still nice weather, and after all I won’t be seeing very much more of it, will I?”
He kissed her. “I love you so much.”
“Anyway,” she said, “you’ll be out working every day when we’re married, so what’s the difference.… I don’t expect to keep you in my pocket all the time.”
“You’re very understanding, darling.”
“I’ll take a book and a picnic,” she said. “There are a lot of paths I haven’t explored yet.”
Hunt nodded. “You needn’t stay in the fen if you don’t want to—you could strike off across the fields.… But don’t lose your way. And no talking to any strange men!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gwenda said, smiling. “Once is enough!”
It was an enormous relief to Hunt when she’d gone. Now the day was his. Perhaps the most vital day of all.
It proved as busy as he’d expected. From ten o’clock onwards, the phone in the office rang incessantly. Soon, reporters began to arrive—sceptical men, with searching questions. Hunt gave them better copy than they’d dreamed of. A human story, and a splendid mystery. A volunteered set of facts that seemed to damn him. A motive as well as an opportunity. They must have it all, and make the worst of it. That was the plan.…
In the mid-morning, Hunt rang Susan at the Crown, and told her how things were developing. Her father, he learned, had gone to London. Well, he said, she’d better try to get in touch with him and tell him there was trouble. He would read about it in the evening papers, anyway—they couldn’t keep it to themselves any longer. Things had moved unexpectedly fast. Obviously, they’d all have to meet.…
A crescendo of activity now. A call back from Susan. Her father on his way home. A family conclave fixed at the Aingers’ house. More reporters. One or two local people dropping in. An anxious telephone call to Nield asking if there was any news of Gwenda. Must keep up the front.… No sign of Gwenda as the time for the conclave approached. Hunt scribbled a note for her before he left. “Back as soon as I can—not sure when. Keep your head down!” He’d no choice now but to trust to her discretion.…
The climax at Copper Beeches.… Perhaps the most difficult confrontation of all—but Hunt felt he could face it with confidence. His story, by now, had been thoroughly tried and tested, and no one had found any flaw in it. Susan was already won over, and he could rely on her unwavering support. As for Ainger, he might be shrewd in business but he wasn’t all that smart about people or he’d have rumbled his prospective son
-in-law long ago. And he certainly wouldn’t want to believe Hunt a murderer. Neither would Mrs. Ainger. So it should be all right. Most people believed what they wanted to believe. Like Gwenda.…
The family were in the sitting-room when Hunt arrived. He greeted them in a quietly normal way, kissing Mrs. Ainger, waving to Susan, saying “Hallo, sir,” to Ainger with just the right touch of deference.
Ainger had the look of a man holding himself in with difficulty. “Well, this is a fine state of affairs, Alan … Have you seen what they’re saying?” He thrust the London evening papers into Hunt’s hand.
“No,” Hunt said, “but I can guess.” He glanced at the headlines, made a wry face over them—then turned apologetically to Ainger. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, sir.… Susan’s probably told you—we were hoping the girl would be found right away, and that you and Mrs. Ainger needn’t be worried by it. Otherwise, I meant to tell you myself—but things moved too fast.”
“I wish to God you had told me,” Ainger said. “I’d have advised you not to talk to reporters.”
“They were very pressing,” Hunt said. “It was almost impossible not to … I wouldn’t have brought Susan and the family into it, of course, but one of the chaps had already found out about my engagement, in the village.… As for the girl, when they asked me who she was and what she was doing at the site, it seemed only sensible to tell them. It’s not as though I had anything to hide.”
“That’s right,” Susan said. “It was much better to tell the truth.”
Ainger grunted. “Well, the damage is done now, anyway … All right—let’s have the full story.…”
Once more, Hunt told his tale. Simply, and with dignity. Ainger heard him out in simmering silence. When it was over, he began to fire questions. Their drift was reassuring. Ainger wasn’t suspicious, Hunt realised—he was furious. Not with Hunt, but with the police and the newspapers. He was asking questions to gather ammunition. It was more than an hour before the exhausting thrash over the details came to an end—and by then, Hunt had won a powerful ally.
“Well,” Ainger said, “I think you’ve been treated abominably.”
“It certainly hasn’t been pleasant,” Hunt said. “What I regret most, of course, is that you’ve all been brought into it. I expect Susan told you I offered …”
Susan broke in. “Now don’t start that again, darling, please.”
Ainger said, “Mrs. Ainger and I appreciated your motives, Alan—it was a proper gesture.… But of course Susan wouldn’t hear of it. She’s a fighter, and so am I—and I’m sure you are … To-morrow we’ll go along together and see my solicitor.”
Hunt appeared to consider that. “I think it’s premature,” he said after a moment—knowing very well that he’d have no time to see anyone during the next few days. “Frankly, I can’t take this stuff in the papers seriously—and I certainly don’t feel I need defending.… I’m sure the girl will be found very soon, and then the whole thing will fizzle out.”
“Suppose she isn’t found?”
“Then we’ll have to think again—but let’s give it a day or two.… At the moment, I don’t see what a solicitor could do.”
“He could make trouble,” Ainger said …
“I dare say.… All the same, I’d sooner wait.”
“Well, you must do as you like,” Ainger said. “I’m certainly going to make trouble.… What’s the name of the fellow in charge of the case?”
Back to Gwenda now for the tail-end of the evening. Invented stories about the day’s hectic business. Mechanical expressions of affection, inquiries about her picnic and her walk. The telephone still ringing. Sudden dashes from the boat to answer it.… All the time, too, Hunt had to watch for car lights, to listen for footsteps, to be ready to intercept the police if they returned, or any other visitor … He found it hard, now, to give Gwenda even minimum attention.…
Friday … More telephoning, while Gwenda did the morning chores. An early call to Susan … A call from Ainger, with an account of his visit to the police. Confidence and encouragement exchanged—but more talk of solicitors … A call from the manager of Cosy Caravans, angry about the publicity, demanding explanations.… Back in the boat, no peace either … Gwenda, for the first time, a bit restive—asking if Hunt had rung Crawford and what was happening. Hunt saying he had; pretending he was writing to his boss that day to give his notice and ask for the testimonial Crawford wanted—then the deal should be clinched.… Stalling—for the sixth day … This couldn’t go on much longer. None of it. Hunt knew only too well that he’d built a house of cards. Soon, something would topple it. He couldn’t go on handling Gwenda, and Susan, and Ainger, and the police, and the Press, and his firm. The situation was almost out of hand.… He wished now that he had gone into a pub in Peterborough and established his alibi. He’d underrated the mounting pressure of events, overrated the time he could hold out … What the devil had happened about that suitcase? Surely someone had found it by now …
Then, as he sat in his office, fingering his passport, the police car came again. Nield with his absolution.… Peterborough confirmed, and the suitcase found … Easy, now, for Hunt to play his penultimate act with cold dignity. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ring my fiancée …” The brief, ecstatic talk to Susan. The message for her parents. The relief as the storm subsided.… It had been a near thing—but the plan had worked …
Gwenda was curious when he returned to the boat. “Wasn’t that a police car?” she asked.
“Yes,” Hunt said. “Some fellow’s passed us a dud cheque—very annoying. But they think they’ll get him … Gosh, I feel quite tired.”
He lay on his bunk, as the day drew to its close, thinking.
The gamble had paid off. He’d exposed himself to the strongest suspicions. By his letter, and his story, and Gwenda’s disappearance, he’d built the most powerful case against himself that anyone could build. No worse evidence could be brought against him. And he’d been exonerated. He was officially cleared of the crime he hadn’t committed.
Now he could safely commit it.
Nothing could be done before dark—but after that, the sooner the better. The empty fen would be as safe to operate in at nine o’clock as at twelve. And every extra moment at the site was a moment of hazard.
Hunt could hardly wait now for dusk to fall. The strain of facing Gwenda, of cosily chatting in these last few hours of her life, had become unbearable. The supper she offered him was more than he could stomach, and he had to make excuses. For an hour before dark he prowled alone around the site, nervously eyeing the entrance, broodingly eyeing the fen. Watching the light fade.…
At eight o’clock he went back to the boat. Gwenda was sitting with her elbows on the cabin table, looking thoughtful.
“Darling,” she said, “when are we going to see Mum and Dad?”
Hunt fought down his sudden, overwhelming irritation. It was vital that he stayed on good terms with her to the end. Watch it, boy, he told himself. Keep calm. Don’t spoil everything now.…
“I don’t know,” he said. “When do you want to?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking—there’s no reason why we shouldn’t go quite soon, is there? I mean, your new job’s fixed, so there’s nothing to wait for.”
“That’s true.”
“I would like to get it over, Alan … And anyway, I’d like to see them again. I was wondering what’s the best thing to do. Should I go on my own first and break it to Mum.…? What do you think?”
“It’s up to you,” Hunt said.
“Of course, I could tell her everything in a letter—but that seems a bit cowardly … I think perhaps we’d better go together—they’ll feel better about things when they actually see you.… What about going on Monday?”
“Yes, Monday would be all right.”
“We could drive over and get there after tea, when Dad comes home.”
Hunt gave a curt nod.
“I’ll have to let th
em know I’m coming. If I write now they’ll be sure to get the letter on Monday morning.… Could you let me have some paper and an envelope?”
“Why not do it later?” Hunt said. “I was just thinking it would be nice to go for a row. It’s a lovely night, and the moon’ll be up before long.”
“I’d sooner do it now,” Gwenda said. “It’s been a bit on my mind.… Then we’ll go for a row. I’d like to.”
“Very well.…” Seething, Hunt went to the van and got a pad and envelopes. She’d been so amenable all these days—why the hell did she have to get obstinate now? Of course, he could finish her off right there in the boat, and shut her up. But then there’d be the business of moving the body. It would be much easier if he could get her to go into the fen under her own steam. And safer. Better to wait.…
He returned quickly with the writing things. “Here you are.…”
“I think I’ll just say I’m bringing someone with me,” Gwenda said. “It might help to prepare them.”
He nodded. “Don’t be too long, that’s all …” He went out, and started prowling again. Watching the car lights sweeping through the village. Watching apprehensively in case one of them turned into the site. He’d arranged with Susan to see her to-morrow—but suppose she took it into her head to drive over to-night after all. …?
Every few minutes he looked into the cabin to see how Gwenda was getting on. Slowly, it seemed … She appeared to be in the throes of a difficult composition. “Don’t hurry me, darling,” she said. Hurry her … ! He’d lost a valuable hour already … It could all have been over by now …
Gwenda had made several false starts. Finally she wrote:
Dear Mum and Dad,
I expect you’ll be surprised to hear that I’m thinking of coming to see you quite soon. All sorts of things have been happening since I left—quite nice ones, really, but not at all what you suppose. I didn’t go to the Bakers’ after all—something happened, and I’ve been in a different place, a lovely spot not far from Newmarket … I want to tell you all about it, Mum—about what I’ve been doing, I mean. Would it be all right if I came home late on Monday afternoon, so I could see you and Dad together? And perhaps stay for a day or two? You won’t be able to answer this, so I’ll take it I can come, because it’s rather important. I’ll be bringing someone with me, a man that you’ve met. I’m going to be married, Mum, and everything’s going to be all right. I’m happy—very happy, really—but it will be a relief to see you and tell you everything. All my love to Dad and you until we meet.…
