‘That’s true enough,’ the other muttered. ‘Anyway, let’s hope it’ll work out that way. But assuming he has got Miss Frayle in his hands, how’s he going to play that card?’
‘It is unprofitable to speculate on the card one’s opponent will play,’ Dr. Morelle murmured, ‘if one isn’t even aware of what cards he holds. We can but trust we shall, in the final game, be in a position to trump him.’
‘Drummer was counting on getting his diamond bracelet back as well,’ the Inspector went on despondently. ‘Still if his daughter does turn up safe that’ll be something for him to be thankful for.’
‘While there still remains the chance both will be returned to him,’ Dr. Morelle pointed out.
‘Hadn’t you better ’phone him now? While we really believe what we’re saying,’ Inspector Hood grunted with grim humour.
Dr. Morelle gave him a look and lifted the receiver.
For the second time in the space of a few moments Inspector Hood’s admiration for the Doctor knew no bounds as he listened to the reassuring manner in which he gave Harvey Drummer a brief account of what had happened. Drummer was obviously bitterly disappointed at the turn events had taken. But Dr. Morelle contrived to buoy him up, emphasising the belief he had expressed to Hood that there was no reason why the kidnapper should not keep his bargain and return Doone Drummer safe and sound.
‘Perhaps you’re right after all,’ Inspector Hood said, when Dr. Morelle had hung up. ‘The blighter will keep his word.’
There was a sudden ring at the front door, and once again Dr. Morelle’s heart leapt with hope. Inspector Hood glanced at him and muttered:
‘Could be her, Doctor. Miss Frayle.’
Dr. Morelle remembered how his hopes had been dashed before.
‘I’ll go and see,’ he said.
Inspector Hood followed him eagerly into the hall. It was the police-sergeant driver of Hood’s car who was at the door. He spoke to Hood standing behind Dr. Morelle.
‘Message for you, Inspector Hood. Just come over the radio from Scotland Yard. Want you to ’phone them right away. Somebody’s been on to them about a mystery woman on an old house-boat.’
The man returned to his car, and Dr. Morelle followed the Inspector back to his study.
‘May be something in it,’ he told Dr. Morelle a minute or two later, as he replaced the telephone receiver. ‘They’ve had a call from a chap in Chelsea. Says there’s some queer goings-on on one of those converted house-boats moored off the Embankment.’ He shrugged. ‘Could be something, could be nothing. Chap who tipped us off will be waiting outside a pub nearby. Want to come along?’
Dr. Morelle reached for a piece of paper on his writing-desk.
‘I will leave a note for Miss Frayle. In the event of her returning during my absence.’
Inspector Hood watched Dr. Morelle rapidly scrawl a message. He had to confess he would dearly have loved to have looked over the Doctor’s shoulder and seen what he’d written to the absent Miss Frayle. Hood would have been disappointed, however, and his conjecture regarding Dr. Morelle’s secret affection, for Miss Frayle received somewhat of a set-back.
Dr. Morelle’s note read briefly:
‘Back soon.’
Chapter Twenty-One – The Secret Room
Miss Frayle opened her eyes with a little moan.
She found herself in an enclosed space which pressed in on her from all sides. It was very dark. She felt for her horn-rimmed spectacles, but they were not there. After a few moments she realised she was huddled next to the driving seat of a small van, and with a rush of memory everything came back to her. The dark spectacled face looming towards her, and the sickening sensation as she pressed the trigger. She heard again the sound of the empty click; she remembered the man’s hands reaching out to her. Then black-out. She had fainted.
The van was not moving, and she saw someone outside at the door beside her.
‘So the patient’s sitting up and taking notice.’
Miss Frayle met those dark spectacles again as the man opened the van door. Once more she found herself puzzling over the vaguely familiar tone in his voice. She tried to recall where she had heard it before. But it continued to elude her. She stared ahead of her and made out a wedge of dim light against the blackness. She turned her myopic gaze to the other window. It was pitch dark. She glanced back at the man.
‘Where — where are we?’
‘In a garage,’ was the succinct reply.
A garage. She gave a little gasp. Was he planning to lock her in the garage with the engine running so that she would suffocate from the exhaust fumes? She froze with terror at the thought.
‘Came in quite useful this van. Owner won’t know I’ve borrowed it. Naturally. Fixed myself with a duplicate key.’
‘What — what are you going to do?’ she gulped shakily.
‘Have to blindfold you,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Pity about your glasses. They fell when you passed out. Smashed.’
‘Blindfold me?’
‘That’s the idea. Precautionary measures. So you won’t see where I’m taking you. Get out,’ he said. He pulled the van-door wide. She hesitated for a moment. He said: ‘Shouldn’t try any funny business; I’ve got a gun.’ She caught the malevolent grin on his face as he added: ‘And I made sure mine’s loaded.’
She got out, swaying a little from the effects of her faint, and leant against the van to steady herself. She faced him uncertainly. His dark glasses seemed to glint evilly beneath the shadow of his hat pulled well over his eyes.
‘Turn round.’
She turned obediently. She felt something like a handkerchief being placed over her eyes. He tied it securely at the back of her head, and she was effectively blindfolded. Her hands were forced behind her back, and a cord cut into her wrists as he bound them together.
Then she found herself being carried in his arms. She heard the scrape of the garage door opening and closing behind her. There came the dull sound of his footsteps and she realised he was wearing rubber heels. She took in gulps of fresh night air.
He stopped suddenly and she could feel him tense. His words hissed in her ear.
‘One squeak out of you, and it’ll be your last.’
‘At once she closed her mouth tightly hardly daring to breathe. The man still stood taut, listening, then he relaxed. She heard him draw in his breath between his teeth and he was off again. From somewhere came the sound of a car in the distance. It drew nearer and then faded away. He stopped again and put her down. There was the scrape of a key in a lock, followed by the sound of a heavy door opening. He gave her a push and she stumbled forward. The door closed after her and the key scraped again. He grasped her arm and led her forward. Her heels clicked sharply on the stone floor.
‘Walk on your toes,’ he muttered.
At once she bounced along on tip-toe. His grip tightened on her arm and halted her. There was the sound of another key being turned, the faint squeak of a door opening, and she was pushed forward again. The door squeaked behind her, the lock clicked.
Once more he was urging her forward. This time her footsteps were deadened by what felt like matting on the floor. Again he stopped her, a door opened, she was pushed forward, the door closed. Now the sound of the footsteps were muffled by a carpet. She felt his grip tighten again on her arm. He whispered in her ear:
‘Stairs. Watch how you go up.’
It occurred to her to tell him that as she was blindfolded she couldn’t very well watch how she went. Then she felt the jab of something hard in her back and decided perhaps this was not the time for such comments. They reached the landing and a sudden pressure on her arm warned her to stop. They stood for a few moments and she could hear his quiet breathing.
Obviously he thought he’d heard something. She thought she detected a creak which might have been a door opening or someone on a stair, but she couldn’t be certain. After a few moments he seemed satisfied all was clear, and they went on up another flight of
stairs, the carpet still muffling the sound of their footsteps.
Another landing and he urged her along it. They stopped, a door-handle turned, she went forward and the door closed behind her. She heard a light switched on, and there was a brightness edging her blindfold. She heard him move away from her, then a drawer opened and closed.
He stood beside her again and took her arm. A door creaked open again before her. Then it was as if she was going through the darkness of a cupboard, and yet another door opened and closed behind her. Another click of a light switch and she was breathing in an atmosphere that was stuffy and airless. She was urged forward once more, and now she was treading on wooden boards.
A door opened again, another click of a light switch and the door closed behind her. She felt his fingers at the back of her head, and her blindfold was removed. He was standing staring at her, his hat still over his eyes and still wearing dark spectacles.
She glanced round the small room. Facing her was the only window, small and high in the wall. It had been covered with some dark paint, making it impossible for anyone to look out. In one corner was a small iron bed with some blankets thrown on it and a chair and cupboard beside it. In the other corner was a fitted wash-basin. Another chair and a piece of worn linoleum in the centre of the bare boards completed the furniture.
‘Not exactly the Ritz,’ he grinned at her. ‘But then you shouldn’t be staying long.’
‘Where have you brought me?’ she asked.
‘Just a little hide-away I’d prepared,’ was the reply. ‘Though I didn’t expect two guests.’
Her short-sighted eyes widened.
‘You mean you’ve got someone else here? Doone Drummer?’
‘In the next room,’ he nodded.
She had found Doone Drummer, all right, she thought bitterly.
Her thoughts turned to Dr. Morelle. He would have got back to Harley Street by now, of course. She tried to imagine what his reactions would be when he discovered that she was missing. But her imagination boggled at the attempt.
She wondered how long the driver of the car she had hired would wait before he gave her up. Would he get in touch with the Doctor to find out what had happened to her? Or would he decide it was none of his business and just put it down on the bill in the ordinary way? Fervently she prayed he’d think there was something odd about her not returning, and would inform Dr. Morelle of what had happened. It was the only clue the Doctor would have to give him any idea where she had gone.
Then she recalled his automatic she had taken. But it might be any time before he realised it had disappeared. It was probable he might guess immediately that for once she had disobeyed him and followed him to St. Julian’s Church. What a fool she had been, thinking she could follow in his footsteps, pretending to be a detective.
She consoled herself with the thought that perhaps hers hadn’t been the only failure that night. Her intuition that Dr. Morelle’s scheme had somehow come unstuck had been justified. That something must have gone wrong was proved, she thought ruefully, by the fact that the wanted man had not only escaped, but had added a second to his list of victims. She wondered if the man facing her had also collected the diamond bracelet.
She wondered about Doone Drummer. Poor thing, she thought, she wouldn’t be looking so glamorous now. What a dreadful business it must have been for her. How had she coped with it? Miss Frayle focused her gaze on the figure before her.
‘Is that the truth?’ she asked. ‘Is Miss Drummer really in the next room?’
‘She’s there all right.’
‘Alive?’ Miss Frayle queried after a moment.
‘Alive,’ was the reply. ‘Though she’s not exactly herself.’
An icy hand clutched at Miss Frayle’s heart.
‘What have you done to her?’
‘Just kept her quiet,’ he said casually. ‘Same as I’ve got to keep you quiet.’
As he moved towards her the hand he had kept behind his back came forward, and she stood stricken with terror.
‘Don’t get scared,’ he told her. ‘You won’t feel a thing.’
The hypodermic glinted evilly in the light of the unshaded bulb overhead. In one movement, her bound wrists were grasped, the sleeve of her right arm pushed up, and a stab of pain brought a quick gasp from her.
‘Not quite the methods used by Dr. Morelle,’ his voice mocked her. ‘But, I flatter myself, just as effective.’
Miss Frayle fought off a feeling of sickness that swept over her. The sensation suddenly gave place to one of overwhelming terror. Had he injected her with a drug that would not merely make her unconscious but would kill her? Had he already murdered Doone Drummer that way? Her head swam with shock, the palms of her hands ran with sweat. She lurched back towards the bed in the corner, gritting her teeth against the black horror that enveloped her and sharpened by the pain in her arm.
Why, why, she cried to herself, had she disobeyed Dr. Morelle? He who’d always been so right in the past. Why had she been so foolish ever to doubt him? Now she would never see him again. She was dying. The drug was already beginning its dreadful work.
‘Pull yourself together,’ the man’s voice cut in to her chaotic thoughts. ‘You’ll be dropping off into a nice sleep presently.’ He interpreted the expression on her face and added: ‘You’ll wake up all right. Tell me something,’ he went on. ‘What was the bright idea Dr. Morelle and this Inspector Hood you mentioned had worked out for me?’
Miss Frayle made no answer for a moment. Then:
‘I — I don’t know.’
She wondered if Dr. Morelle would ever learn how she had died without giving away the information her murderer had tried to drag from her. The man watching her shrugged and smiled thinly.
‘Think nothing of it,’ he said. ‘It flopped anyhow. I was just curious. Must say I can’t figure out why he let you run your head into a spot.’
Once again she was puzzled by the tone in his voice. Where had she heard it before? She was finding it difficult to bring her mind to bear on the problem. All she could do was to protest loyally:
‘It was my own fault. I — I disobeyed him.’
Her voice sounded as if it was someone else speaking.
Her eyelids drooped and she tried to push away a tremendous desire to let herself collapse on to the bed. Now she heard her own voice coming as if from a great distance. She couldn’t make sense of the words, and then suddenly a bright ball of light was blazing down at her. For a moment she managed to get it into perspective, and she knew it was only the electric light bulb in the ceiling. Then it was a blazing sun again.
There was a movement beside her, and an enormous figure loomed over her. It grew larger and larger; it became darker and darker as if it was smothering her, and she remembered no more.
The man looked down at the inert figure on the bed with a little smile of satisfaction. He crossed to the light and snapped it out. Opening the door he glanced back into the room, which was in darkness except for a faint glimmer from the painted-out window. He closed the door after him, turned the key in the lock and pocketed it.
He stood on the small bare landing at the head of the uncarpeted stairs leading to two empty rooms below. It was a damned lucky accident he’d stumbled on this place. He recollected how almost from the moment he’d found it he’d realised it would make an ideal spot for dumping someone you wanted to hide. It was finding it which had probably sown the first seed of this kidnapping business in his mind. The most useful thing about the place was that it was so marvellously near where he’d installed himself.
After a moment he crossed to the door next to the one he had just closed, looked in and snapped on the light. He stood there for a few moments staring into the room, then switched out the light and closed the door again.
His fingers closed over the package in his pocket. The diamond bracelet. He frowned slightly as he wondered what the scheme was Dr. Morelle had cooked up with the cops. He would liked to have known. In case they
might be planning another trap on similar lines for him. Had Miss Frayle been lying when she’d said she didn’t know what the plan had been? He decided he’d give her a going-over about that when she recovered consciousness and before he gave her another shot of dope.
Anyhow, he congratulated himself, the luck had been with him all along.
Whatever throw of the dice had wrecked the combined efforts of Dr. Morelle and Scotland Yard to nail him, he had to thank his lucky stars for it. Result: he’d come out of it not only with the bracelet — he still had to check it added up to ten thousand pounds, though something told him Dr. Morelle wouldn’t have tried to fool him — but also with Miss Frayle as an added string to his bow.
He grinned to himself. Maybe he’d give Dr. Morelle a ring. He should be back at Harley Street by now all right. Feeling pretty hot under the collar over Miss Frayle.
Chapter Twenty-Two – Aboard the ‘Aloha’
The police-car drew up outside the Jollyboat Inn and a short figure stepped forward eagerly. Inspector Hood got out, followed by Dr. Morelle.
‘You the cops, ain’t yer?’ the little man muttered from the side of his mouth.
‘I’m Detective-Inspector Hood from Scotland Yard. This is Dr. Morelle.’
‘Blimey. Toffs on the job, eh?’
‘You are Eddie Rice who telephoned Scotland Yard just now about some funny business you witnessed on a house-boat down here?’
‘I’m Mrs. Rice’s little boy,’ the other replied perkily. ‘And that stuff I told ’em about wot’s going on at the house-boat is true. Every word of it.’
Dr. Morelle scrutinised Eddie Rice from beneath the shadow of his hat. He was a man of about fifty-five, with a thin pinched face above the dirty-looking choker. An old cap with a broken peak was stuck over one ear, and his expression was foxy.
‘Why didn’t you tip off the local police?’ Inspector Hood was asking.
‘I was afraid you’d ask that,’ the other confessed. ‘It’s like this. Me and the local cops — police, I mean — don’t hit it off too well.’
Dr. Morelle and the Drummer Girl Page 15
