by Andrew Garve
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Mellanby said.
‘I wanted to – but I didn’t know whether you’d believe me or not. It couldn’t have looked worse. You knew I loathed his guts – I’d said over and over again that he wasn’t fit to live … It was I who’d suggested he should be brought along to the caravan … I was sure you’d think I’d meant to kill him all the time. There were great purple bruises on his throat – it didn’t look as though we’d had a fight … Who was to say I hadn’t attacked him in bed? Eve was still sleeping it off, she hadn’t stirred – so I hadn’t even got her as a witness. I didn’t dare let you see him – I couldn’t take the risk. I thought if I could get him underground and say I’d buried him for your sake as well as mine, I might just get away with it. So I dug the grave – and when I’d finished I rang you.’
‘And let me think I’d killed him,’ Mellanby said, in a flat voice.
Sherston gave a shamefaced nod. ‘It was a lousy trick, I know …’
‘It was unspeakable,’ Sally said with passion. ‘How could you?’
‘The way I saw it I had no option. When you’re in a real jam you think about yourself first of all … Anyway, there it is – the whole squalid truth. Now it’s up to you. If you give me away, I’m finished, of course … Nobody will believe now that I didn’t do it on purpose. It’ll mean jail for life.’
Mellanby passed a weary hand over his face. ‘What about Eve? You told her about it, I suppose? She was a party to the – trick?’
‘Yes,’ Eve said, ‘I knew … George woke me and told me what had happened, after – after Roscoe was dead. He told me what he was going to do, and I agreed. I take all my share of the blame. I was frightened. I didn’t think you’d believe him, either, John. I’m sorry … I know how you must have worried …’
Mellanby got slowly to his feet. ‘Well – there doesn’t seem to be anything more to say, does there?’
‘What are you going to do?’ Sherston asked.
‘I don’t know – you’ll have to give me time …’
‘Is it worth my while to move the body?’
Mellanby shrugged. ‘Please yourself …!’
‘I’ll take a chance on you, then – I’ll do it tonight.’
‘You can’t, tonight … The place is under water.’
‘Then tomorrow night … You can forget about it, anyway – it’s my responsibility now. I’ll take care of everything … I don’t expect you to forgive me, John, but I can’t really believe you’ll sacrifice Eve and me on account of Roscoe … Anyway, I’ll give you a ring when the job’s done, and hear the verdict. Okay?’
Mellanby gave a barely perceptible nod. ‘Let’s go, Sally,’ he said.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
They drove away up the slope in a brooding silence. Sally’s feelings were so mixed that she found it difficult to sort them out. She was both appalled and relieved. The truth had been very different from what she’d imagined – better in some ways, much worse in others. The thing that had shaken her almost more than Sherston’s admission of the killing was the discovery of Eve’s part in it all. It was a shock to find her so heartless … Mellanby was having other thoughts. His face was set in a deep, puzzled frown. It wasn’t until they reached the high road and turned for home that the silence was broken. Then Sally said, ‘What are you thinking, darling?’
‘That it’s been a ghastly business – and still is,’ Mellanby said.
Sally nodded. ‘I suppose it could have been worse, though … It could have been murder … And at least everything’s explained now.’
‘We’ve only got Sherston’s word for what happened.’
‘Don’t you think he was speaking the truth?’
‘How can one tell?’
‘Well, darling,’ Sally said, after a moment, ‘whether he killed Roscoe accidentally or on purpose, he did kill him – you didn’t. You’ve nothing to blame yourself for any more – that’s the main thing.’
Mellanby grunted. Presently he said, ‘Would a semi-conscious man really become dangerous again so quickly?’
‘I suppose he might.’
‘Wouldn’t he show some sign? Sherston was only a few feet away from him – a change of breathing would have been enough … I’d have thought he’d have been more prepared … And could anyone sleep through a fight in a caravan? The din must have been terrific – you only have to step into the place to start it shaking …’
Sally said, ‘Yes,’ unhappily, and Mellanby fell silent again. Perhaps, he thought, it would be better not to try to discuss it any more at the moment – or make any decisions, either. After a night’s sleep, things might seem clearer … He took out his pipe and began to fill it, using the last few shreds in his pouch.
‘Can we stop in Monmouth and get some tobacco?’ he said. ‘I’m right out.’
‘Of course …’ They were already entering the outskirts of the town and Sally began to look out for a shop. Most of them seemed to be shut. ‘It must be early closing day,’ she said.
‘Oh, well, never mind … I’ll probably be able to get some in Gloucester.’
They continued through the town and crossed the river. As they approached the station Mellanby suddenly said, ‘There’s one open,’ and pointed to a little general shop with a tobacconist’s licence. Sally looked around for a place to stop. A train had just come in, and there were a lot of people and cars about on the narrow road. The station yard seemed the best place. She pulled in, and they walked back to the shop together and made the purchase.
As they approached the car again, Mellanby noticed a man strolling along near the kerb with a bundle of papers under his arm – a neatly-dressed, elderly man with white hair. Mellanby couldn’t see his face, but there was something vaguely familiar about him … In an unhurried way the man turned – and their eyes met … Mellanby gave a gasp of astonishment. Of all people in the world, it was Charles Faulkner!
The old man looked even more startled than Mellanby. For a moment he stood stock still. Then a smile of pleasure spread over his face and he advanced with hand extended. ‘Mr Mellanby! Well, you’re the last person I expected to meet here.’
‘Extraordinary!’ Mellanby said, staring. Then he remembered that Sally didn’t know the man. ‘Sally, this is Charles Faulkner – I took that cheque to him, remember …? My wife, Mr Faulkner.’
Faulkner gave Sally an old-fashioned bow. ‘A really remarkable coincidence,’ he said. ‘But there – the world’s a small place. I once ran into an old friend on the quayside at Bangkok whom I hadn’t seen for twenty years … Well, how are you, Mellanby? No further trouble over that scoundrel Roscoe, I hope.’
‘No,’ Mellanby said.
‘I’m glad to hear that … I still think your husband’s action was quixotic, Mrs Mellanby, but I must admit his generosity has made a great difference to me.’ Faulkner’s shrewd eyes dwelt on Mellanby for a moment. ‘Do you often come to these parts?’
‘Very rarely – we’ve been visiting some people we know … What are you doing, Mr Faulkner – holiday-making?’ Mellanby was looking at the papers under Faulkner’s arm.
‘That’s right,’ Faulkner said, ‘just for a few days … I’ve always been fond of the Forest of Dean – especially at this time of year.’
‘It’s certainly very fine,’ Mellanby agreed. ‘You’re staying here in Monmouth, are you?’
For a fraction of a second, Faulkner seemed to hesitate. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘At the Crown? It’s a nice inn – we had an excellent lunch there today …’
‘No …’ Again there was that trace of hesitation. ‘I’m at the King’s Arms – it’s also very good …’ Faulkner smiled benignly at Sally through the upper lenses of his glasses. ‘Are you spending the night at the Crown? – if so, perhaps you’d care to join me in a glass of something after dinner?’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Sally said, ‘but we’re actually on our way home now … Children, you know …’
&nb
sp; ‘Ah, yes …’ Faulkner glanced at the car. ‘Well, in that case I mustn’t detain you … It’s been very pleasant to meet you again, Mellanby. I shall always be grateful to you. Goodbye, Mrs Mellanby.’ He smiled again, and raised his hat, and walked slowly away with short, prim steps.
‘What a sweet old boy!’ Sally said, as they got back into the car.
‘Yes,’ Mellanby said, in a preoccupied tone. He was watching the retreating figure. As Sally turned the Rover in the direction of Gloucester, he swivelled round and continued to look through the rear window. Faulkner had stopped walking, and was gazing after them. Then there was a sharp bend in the road, and Mellanby lost sight of him.
‘Well – extraordinary isn’t the word for it,’ he said.
‘It’s the kind of thing that’s always happening, darling …’
‘Oh, I know one often meets acquaintances in the oddest places, but …’ He broke off, frowning. ‘I’d have said he’d just come off that train.’
‘What on earth makes you say that?’
‘Why, the papers he had under his arm – a Times, a Spectator, and Punch. Just the thing for a five-hour journey from London – but an odd collection to carry about otherwise.’
‘Was it the London train?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mellanby said.
He relapsed into silence again. The car sped on. They had covered several miles when Mellanby suddenly said, ‘Do you mind stopping again, Sally – at a telephone box?’
‘Darling, you’re behaving very strangely … What’s the matter?’
‘I’d just like to make sure about something …’
They went on for another mile. Then Sally braked. ‘Well, there’s your box … Do you want any change?’
‘No, thanks … I won’t be long.’
Sally watched him enter the box, look up a number, and dial. She saw him talking. His face looked strained. He talked for only a moment or two. Then he came quickly back to the car.
‘Well?’ she said.
‘Faulkner isn’t staying at the King’s Arms – they don’t know him there … I thought he hesitated.’
Sally stared at him. ‘But that’s fantastic … Why should he say he was?’
‘He had to say something, because I pressed him … Sally, I’ll swear he’d just come off that train. I believe he was waiting for someone to pick him up.’
‘But wouldn’t he have said so? He didn’t have to tell us he was staying.’
‘He might not have wanted us to know he’d come down for some special purpose … Sally, I don’t believe meeting him there was just a coincidence. Think of it! We come here because we want to talk to the Sherstons about Roscoe, and we meet a man I’ve only seen once before in my life, who’s connected with Roscoe almost as much as we are. It’s almost incredible that that could be just by chance … And he told us a phony story … Sally, perhaps he’s here to talk about Roscoe, too!’
Sally shivered. ‘Darling, you’re being awfully sinister … What exactly are you driving at? Do you mean there may be some connection between Faulkner and the Sherstons?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘How could there be? I don’t understand at all.’
‘Neither do I,’ Mellanby said. ‘All I know is that I’m not satisfied – not with anything. If you ask me, there’s something very very odd going on. I may be wrong – but I’ve got to make sure … Sally, let’s go back to the caravan.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Twenty minutes later they were back on the slope overlooking the camp. They had been away from it for a little over an hour. At Mellanby’s suggestion, Sally stopped the Rover at a point where it was still hidden from below by the curve of the hill, and they went cautiously forward on foot till they could see over the brow.
‘Look – there’s another car.’ Sally said.
Once again, Mellanby studied the camp through his glasses. The second car, parked beside the Chrysler, was a smart Riley saloon. The caravan door was open, but the van itself appeared to be empty.
‘I believe they’re sitting out on the other side of it,’ Mellanby said. ‘I can see someone’s foot …’
‘Their guests must have arrived, darling – the young couple … Faulkner wouldn’t have a car here, not if he came by train.’
‘That’s true …’ Mellanby looked a bit deflated. ‘Still, we may as well make sure now we’re here.’
‘Won’t we have to have some reason for coming back?’
Mellanby thought for a moment. Then he took his gold watch from his wrist and slipped it into his pocket. ‘I lost my watch somewhere,’ he said. ‘The strap broke … That’ll do.’
They walked back to the Rover and got in. Mellanby said, ‘I should let her run down in neutral – it’ll be quieter …’ Sally took the brake off and the car slowly gathered speed, trickling silently down the grassy track and coming to rest almost exactly opposite the Riley. Mellanby got out quickly, and together they walked round to the other side of the caravan.
A rug was spread on the grass in the yellowing evening sun, with bottles on a tray beside it. There were four people there – the Sherstons, and two men. All four were on their feet, as though they’d sprung up in alarm at the sound of the Rover door. One of the men was Charles Faulkner.
But it wasn’t on him that the gaze of Mellanby and Sally fixed itself in sudden, spine-chilling horror – it was on the other man.
For the other man was Frank Roscoe!
Chapter Thirty-Nine
It was a shattering moment. Sally gave a cry and clutched at the side of the caravan for support. Mellanby stood as though rooted, his face stiff with horror and disbelief. It wasn’t possible – it couldn’t be … He’d actually seen Roscoe dead in the grave …
For a second or two, no word of any kind disturbed the tableau. Faulkner had taken off his glasses and was quietly polishing them. Sherston and Eve looked almost childishly self-conscious. Roscoe was staring at Mellanby. It was he turning on the others with the authority of leadership, who harshly broke the silence. ‘You damned fools! – I thought you said they’d gone home!’
Faulkner gave a faint shrug. ‘I watched them drive off. How could I know they would come back?’
‘I guess we’ve had it, Frank,’ Sherston said.
Sally sat down on a hummock of grass, holding her head in her hands.
Mellanby looked round him in a dazed way. He could still scarcely believe it – yet this big man, with the remembered voice and the trace of a scar still on his cheek, was undoubtedly Roscoe, in the flesh and formidably alive. He could never have been in the grave. He hadn’t died. As well as shock, Mellanby was feeling something else now. The final lifting of a giant weight. Roscoe was alive! The long, hideous nightmare was over. No more digging, no more racking anxiety, no more self-questioning … But still incredulity lingered. How …?
Roscoe said, in a mocking tone, ‘Maybe you’d like to pinch me!’
A deep, consuming anger took possession of Mellanby. It had been a plot, of course … He could see it all, now – the pattern of it, anyway … The whole thing had been a diabolical conspiracy between these four from the beginning. The golden opportunity, the careful reconnaissance at his home, the ‘accidental’ encounter with the caravan … Roscoe’s wolf act, the deliberate unpleasantness, the intolerable provocations – all leading up to the staged fight … The planned removal of the ‘unconscious’ man, the phony ‘death’, the hasty ‘burial’ … The well-timed letter from Faulkner, leaving Mellanby no option but to settle Sherston’s bogus confession when exposure loomed, his eagerness to move the non-existent body on his own … Cunning, resourceful, utterly unscrupulous …
‘You – devils!’ Mellanby said softly.
‘Oh, come,’ Sherston protested. ‘We’re not as bad as that. Nobody’s been really hurt, after all – and nobody’s going to be. You don’t have to have any anxiety on that score, Mellanby, even though you have found us out – we’re not violent types. Only in fun –
eh, Frank?’
Only in fun,’ Roscoe said, with an uneasy smirk. ‘A few well-rehearsed punches and a self-inflicted scratch or so …!’
Mellanby gazed incredulously round the circle of faces. The impassive old man … Eve, with her lovely smile and heart of ice … Sherston, looking as though he’d been caught in some minor schoolboy prank …
‘Doesn’t agony of mind mean anything to any of you?’ he burst out ‘Don’t you realize what we’ve been through …?’
Oh, you’re too soft Mellanby,’ Roscoe said. ‘You fret too much. You should learn to take things in your stride.’
‘It was monstrous,’ Mellanby said. ‘The most monstrously wicked thing I ever heard of. If there’s such a thing as retribution …!’ He broke off, and dropped down beside Sally. ‘Darling – are you all right?’
She raised her head and nodded. The colour was beginning to creep back into her cheeks. ‘I’m better now …’
‘Can I get you some water?’
‘No, I’m all right … John, can’t we go?’
‘We will very soon,’ he said. He got up and faced them again.
He had himself more under control now. ‘How did you do it Sherston? How did you manage it? I saw you cover him up …’
Sherston gave a feeble grin. ‘Not him, Mellanby. It was a window-dresser’s dummy – one of our few props, sacrificed for the good of the cause … Four feet down, with a scratch mark on the cheek – it would have deceived anyone in the poor light … Quite well executed, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, yes, a most polished performance!’ Mellanby said. ‘All of it.’
‘Thank you …! I’m glad you’re beginning to take it a bit more calmly …? We had bad luck, of course – if it hadn’t been for that road widening nonsense, we’d have got clean away with it. I quite thought we had.’
‘You were running some pretty big risks, weren’t you?’
Mellanby said. ‘Suppose I’d insisted on going to the police when I first saw the grave …?’
