‘Sounds a hundred per cent watertight,’ the Inspector agreed.
‘Once the direction he takes is indicated,’ Dr. Morelle said, ‘it will prove relatively easy to follow your man. Needless to say you will plant your officers as inconspicuously as possible.’
‘Don’t you worry. They’ll take up vantage-points in gardens, and at the windows of houses. One or two will be on street corners dressed up as workmen coming off night-shifts. Everyone equipped with a hidden walkie-talkie.’
‘You have not overlooked,’ Dr. Morelle interposed, ‘the possibility that he may arrive and depart by car.’
‘That’ll be taken care of too,’ Hood replied. ‘If he uses a car there’ll be men in taxis and tradesmen’s vans waiting to pick up his trail.’
‘You will know on his arrival what form of transport, if any, he will be using. Your officer in the belfry will have time to send out a warning accordingly.’
‘Supposing he turns up and makes his getaway on a bicycle,’ Miss Frayle put in suddenly.
‘My dear Miss Frayle,’ Dr. Morelle returned with biting sarcasm, ‘no doubt the Inspector plans to engage a fleet of trained cyclists straining at the leash against such an eventuality.’
Inspector Hood chuckled, but Miss Frayle refused to be snubbed.
‘But supposing he does use a bike?’ she insisted.
‘If,’ Dr. Morelle pointed out assuming an air of unsurpassed patience, ‘he used a bicycle he would still travel at a speed which would require a car, following inconspicuously, to keep him in sight.’
‘True enough,’ the Inspector agreed and turned to Miss Frayle with a sympathetic smile. ‘Even if he uses a bike,’ he said to her, ‘we can keep him in view from one of the taxis or vans trailing him at just the right speed.’
Producing a box of matches Hood proceeded to light his pipe which had got cold while they’d been talking. He appeared not to notice Dr. Morelle’s sensitive nostrils twitch as clouds of acrid smoke began to fill the study. Satisfied by its gurglings and bubblings that his pipe was going nicely, Inspector Hood moved to the door.
‘That’s the way it’ll go,’ he declared. ‘I’m very much obliged to you, Doctor, for dreaming up such a bright idea.’
‘Trust Dr. Morelle to do that,’ Miss Frayle said as she opened the door.
‘Yes,’ Hood conceded, giving her a portentous wink, ‘there are times when we flat-footed cops have to hand it to your boss.’
He shot a grin of heavy humour at Dr. Morelle leaning against his desk, an unmistakable smirk of self-satisfaction on his saturnine face. Then the Inspector took his pipe out of his mouth and scratched his chin with its stem.
‘One thing, though, you may not have thought of,’ he said slowly.
‘What is that?’
‘Going to this church all on your little ownsome, aren’t you?’
Dr. Morelle inclined his head. ‘That is part of the bargain between this individual and myself.’
‘Has it occurred to you he may be just setting a trap for you, yourself?’
Miss Frayle glanced at the Inspector, her eyes wide with alarm.
‘I fail to comprehend your meaning,’ was Dr. Morelle’s answer.
‘Supposing when you get there this chap isn’t behind the wall? You’re waiting and he slides up, sticks a gun in your back and not only takes the bracelet but you too.’
‘And then,’ Miss Frayle gasped, ‘holding the Doctor to ransom?’
‘Just that,’ the other said heavily.
‘Dr. Morelle,’ Miss Frayle exclaimed, a hand flying to her throat in apprehension.
But Dr. Morelle wore a sceptical smile at the corners of his mouth.
‘I cannot envisage anyone contemplating kidnapping me,’ he observed quietly.
‘Why not?’ Hood demanded.
‘For obvious reasons.’
‘I was always under the impression,’ the other got in, ‘you rated yourself pretty highly.’
‘Not, I am obliged to admit, from a material point of view. Though I flatter myself I am of some value to science and those members of the community whom it benefits.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Miss Frayle queried.
Dr. Morelle examined the tip of his Le Sphinx.
‘Were I one of your favoured grimacing film-stars,’ he said to her, ‘my value would be reckoned in many thousands of pounds. Regrettably, however, as Society would rate me, my value is comparatively negligible. Certainly of no size to attract the attentions of a kidnapper.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Hood said.
‘Do not misunderstand me,’ Dr. Morelle added. ‘I do not consider it undesirable that my worth is not estimated in terms of vulgar cash.’
‘In a minute you’ll have me offering to lend you the price of your next meal,’ Hood remarked, and Miss Frayle burst out laughing. But her laughter vanished as the Inspector went on more seriously: ‘All the same, if you take my tip you won’t turn up tonight altogether alone.’
‘You mean I should go with him,’ Miss Frayle said quickly.
Inspector Hood gave her shoulder a paternal pat.
‘I’m sure you’d be an enormous help, Miss Frayle,’ he said, avoiding Dr. Morelle’s sardonic eye. ‘What I mean,’ he turned to the Doctor, ‘is you’d better carry a gun.’
‘Oh!’ Miss Frayle exclaimed, facing Dr. Morelle to see what his reaction would be.
The Doctor drew at his cigarette and then replied slowly:
‘Touched as I am by your concern for my welfare, have no fears on my behalf. Although I do not in fact anticipate any trouble of the nature you describe, I intend carrying my swordstick.’
Inspector Hood shrugged his heavy shoulders.
‘Have it your way,’ he said. ‘But I think a gun’s more persuasive than a swordstick any time.’
‘I quite agree,’ Miss Frayle put in. ‘I think you ought to take that automatic of yours, Doctor.’
Dr. Morelle merely gave her a smile of supreme self-confidence. With a sinking feeling she realised he was obviously determined to disregard Inspector Hood’s advice.
‘And all you’ll trust me for,’ she burst out, ‘while you go to meet this dreadful man, is to just sit here and wait?’
‘You could not have anticipated my wishes regarding yourself with more commendable accuracy,’ Dr. Morelle complimented her.
‘Don’t you worry,’ Inspector Hood consoled Miss Frayle. ‘He’ll come back all right.’
‘Perhaps,’ Dr. Morelle insinuated, ‘that is precisely what Miss Frayle fears.’
Chapter Eighteen – When Midnight Strikes
A few minutes to midnight Dr. Morelle tapped on the window behind the taxi-driver.
The taxi drew up on the corner of a street and Sussex Gardens, about thirty yards from St. Julian’s Church. Instructing the driver to wait, Dr. Morelle strode briskly towards the church, his swordstick making sharp raps on the pavement. Apart from there being no moon, the night sky was starless. The only light came from the street-lamps. Sussex Gardens appeared completely deserted. A faint smile of satisfaction touched his face. In the apparently deserted streets Inspector Hood’s men were at their posts waiting for the voice of the watcher in the church belfry.
He reached the church and paused to gaze about him.
Opposite him a gap of waste land melted into a number of condemned houses beyond. The dark tumbledown huddle lent a sinister and eerie atmosphere to the scene.
The clock above him began striking midnight. He turned into the passage-way between the church and the high wall of the graveyard. The plane trees, like grey sentinels, lined the walls at intervals, their branches soughing gently in the night breeze.
Dr. Morelle’s footsteps echoed hollowly on the flagstones. He stopped halfway along the passage. Ahead of him a few steps ascended into Gloucester Terrace. He was aware from his careful reconnaissance made earlier that day, how shrewdly the man he was to meet had chosen their rendezvous. Two lines of approach and escape la
y open to him. One on either side of the church, with streets, alley-ways and mews which would afford him every opportunity for concealment. It was for this reason so many of Inspector Hood’s men had been recruited. Whichever direction their quarry took through the surrounding maze of streets, the watchers would be strategically deployed so that they could keep on his trail.
The last stroke of midnight reverberated on the air as Dr. Morelle lit a cigarette. The flame from his lighter illuminated for a brief moment his face as if carved in ivory watchful lines beneath his dark hat. The lighter flame died and once again he stood in darkness.
Behind him loomed the quiescent mass of the old church. The belfry tower was almost directly above, overlooking the wall he was facing.
Dr. Morelle stood still, listening intently.
Except for the rustle of the leaves there was silence. From the direction of Paddington Station came the ghostly shriek of a train. The tip of his cigarette glowed reddishly for a moment as Dr. Morelle filled his lungs with smoke. He exhaled slowly, the cigarette smoke wreathing his head in a wraith-like vapour before it melted into the darkness.
The moments dragged by, and he glanced at the luminous face of his wrist-watch. Two minutes past midnight. The thought was barely beginning to grow in his mind that perhaps the other was not going to keep the rendezvous when he suddenly tensed. From the other side of the wall arose the softly whistled notes of the haunting Melody in F.
Dr. Morelle’s fingers closed over the package in his pocket. He had collected the diamond bracelet that evening from Harvey Drummer, giving him an outline of the plan for the rescue of his daughter. He took the small package out of his pocket, held it for a moment as he measured the distance, and then threw it over the wall. The whistling broke off abruptly, and he caught a faint sharp thud from the other side. There followed a sound of someone scuffling.
Then complete silence.
Dr. Morelle waited for a few seconds, then he swung on his heel. His footsteps echoed as he walked back the way he had come. He turned into Sussex Gardens and proceeded towards his waiting taxi. So far as he was concerned everything had gone exactly as he had anticipated.
As the sound of the taxi died away a small, slim figure materialised out of the shadows of a garden on the opposite side of the road a few yards distant from the church.
It was Miss Frayle.
As the time arrived for the Doctor to leave for his rendezvous, Miss Frayle had grown more and more apprehensive. She was convinced Inspector Hood’s warning of the danger Dr. Morelle risked was only too well founded. Twice she had tried to persuade him at least to carry his automatic. But without any success. After his second brusque rejection of her advice she had offered another plan.
‘Don’t you think it would be a good idea if I followed you in another taxi? Keeping well behind you, of course —’
‘The idea,’ had been the icy response, ‘has every earmark of blundering stupidity typical of your earlier suggestions.’
‘But supposing it is a trap? I shall be worrying myself frantic —’
‘If you wish to enliven the tedium of awaiting my return, why not rest your overworked imagination by transcribing those shorthand notes which appear to fill your note-book, still undeciphered?’
Hiding her tears of vexation Miss Frayle had turned away. He knew perfectly well that as a result of Doone Drummer’s disappearance routine work had been considerably interrupted, not only for him but for herself. Just as he knew she would give every moment she could to catching up on any work which, through no fault of her own, remained unfinished.
Anyway, that was that, she told herself angrily. So far as she cared he could stick his silly neck into trouble and she hoped it would strangle him. He couldn’t say he’d not been warned. Not only by her but by Inspector Hood as well.
Then there rose in her mind the suspicion that far from running into danger he planned to trap the kidnapper single-handed. Simply to impress Doone Drummer. Miss Frayle writhed mentally as that dagger of jealousy twisted yet again in her heart.
Thus the seeds of revolt were sown.
She would show the Doctor that though she may not be all that alluring, she was not quite the hopeless idiot he pretended to believe her to be.
Setting her jaw determinedly she had begun to make her plans. She had contrived to arrange for a hired car to be ready at the time Dr. Morelle left the house en route for his midnight rendezvous.
The moment he had gone she had grabbed the automatic, cold and sinister from his desk-drawer, and slipped it into her coat pocket. Hurrying across to her car waiting on the other side of Harley Street she glimpsed Dr. Morelle getting into a taxi.
Feeling like a character from any film melodrama she had told her driver to follow the taxi, and then sat hunched forward in her seat beside him, her spectacles an inch or two from the windscreen. She had stopped the car as it was about to turn into Sussex Gardens. Telling the driver to wait she had hurried after the tail-light of the Doctor’s taxi. Swinging into Sussex Gardens just as the taxi was pulling up she’d hidden herself behind the pillar of a gate opening on to a front garden. She had no plan of action, except stick as close to Dr. Morelle as she dared.
She had heard the tap-tap of his sword-stick fade as he approached the church. She had stood clinging to the shadows, heart in mouth, waiting. The church clock had struck midnight, then presently she had caught the low whistled signal. The Melody in F.
Tensed, hardly daring to breathe, she had peered cautiously round the gate pillar. This was it. The dramatic climax had arrived. It was with almost a sense of disappointment that the familiar tap of the sword-stick returning reached her, and she had ducked back out of sight. Soon she heard the taxi drive off.
Now Miss Frayle was experiencing a feeling she had been decidedly let down. It had all seemed so uneventful. Dr. Morelle hadn’t apparently been in the slightest danger. Realising, however, she ought to feel delighted, even if it was a bit of an anti-climax, Miss Frayle began to retrace her steps towards the car.
It was essential for her to arrive back to Harley Street before the Doctor. She was relying on the car’s extra speed to get her there before his taxi. She had already made up her mind to confess to him that she had flagrantly disobeyed his orders. She felt confident his anger would melt like snow when he realised she had behaved as she had simply in order to be there in case anything had gone wrong. If danger had threatened him she would have been ready — she could tell him with every sincerity — to sell her life dearly on his behalf.
Could Doone Drummer, with all her brains and beauty, offer more?
Something made her stop suddenly.
Behind her came the sound of someone clambering over a gate. She turned, her heart beating quickly. A dark figure appeared out of the shadows by the church. A man. She recalled Dr. Morelle’s words that the only way anyone could get in and out of the graveyard was over a locked gate. That was obviously where the man had just come from.
It must be the kidnapper!
She drew back into the protecting shadow of an overhanging hedge. With fascinated eyes she watched the figure on the other side of the road walking quickly towards her. She glanced up and down Sussex Gardens. No sign of anyone else. No detective disguised as an old woman or a working-man. No police-car camouflaged as a tradesman’s van to be seen.
Suddenly Miss Frayle experienced one of those flashes of intuition which in the past had been the subject of Dr. Morelle’s sardonic disdain. For some inexplicable reason she sensed that the plan for trapping the kidnapper had somehow gone awry. She threw another glance around her. Still no signs of the police. Now the man across the road drew level with her.
She felt the pressure of Dr. Morelle’s automatic in her pocket. A wave of determination surged through her. In case that intuition of hers was right she made up her mind to keep the man in sight for as long as she could. She thought of her waiting car. She guessed the driver would, however, only wait so long before returning inevita
bly to let Dr. Morelle know she had not come back. Which, she told herself, might be all to the good. If she ran into danger she would be assured that Dr. Morelle, however angry he might be with her, would come swiftly to the rescue.
The figure on the other side of the road was now about thirty yards ahead. Silently Miss Frayle went after him. She kept one hand tightly round the automatic, as much to prevent it banging against her leg as for its reassuring feeling. The man was walking very quickly, and she soon found herself being forced to quicken her pace into a half-run.
She cast a glance over her shoulder. Still no sign of anyone. A stray cat darted across the road in front of her, but Miss Frayle felt it reasonable to assume that in no conceivable way could it be a detective in disguise.
The figure ahead suddenly vanished around a corner. Miss Frayle promptly tore across the road, slowing up when she herself gained the turning. She adjusted her horn-rimmed spectacles which had slid down her nose and peered cautiously round the corner.
Some thirty yards away a small van was drawn up in the shadows between two pools of lamp-light. The man she had been following had vanished. Then she saw the way he must have gone. Farther down on the other side she spied the dark narrow opening of an alley. He must have ducked into it.
As she was about to cross over after him someone appeared beside the van. It was a man, and he was looking up and down the road. One of Inspector Hood’s detectives, she told herself. She changed her mind and hurried towards him. Apparently he had missed seeing the other man disappear into the alleyway.
He stood there staring at her as she approached.
‘You’re with Inspector Hood?’ she said breathlessly.
He was wearing dark glasses, she realised. There was something vaguely familiar about him. She must have met him before with Inspector Hood.
‘Who are you?’ he asked her curiously.
‘Miss Frayle,’ she said promptly. ‘Dr. Morelle’s assistant.’ She went on hurriedly: ‘Didn’t you see which way he went? That man?’
‘No,’ the other responded. ‘Which way did he go?’
Dr. Morelle and the Drummer Girl Page 13
