by John Creasey
‘Is Snub here?’
‘Just coming in, and looking anxious,’ said Palfrey. ‘He’ll look more anxious in a moment. Isn’t it lovely and dark in front?’
‘You needn’t worry about the darkness,’ said the guide. ‘I’ll switch the lights on as we go through. It wouldn’t do to keep them on all the time, you see, except a few pilot lights. It’d spoil the effect.’
A single dim light cast a diffused glow. The crowd, nearly sixty strong, was gathering about the guide. Some distance ahead there was another glimmer of light. The guide, with the natural showman’s gift, went on talking. Palfrey looked round and could see heads outlined against the roof, but could recognize no one.
‘Take off your hat,’ he whispered to Drusilla.
She obeyed without question; Palfrey removed his.
‘We’ll see the first show and then duck for it,’ said Palfrey. ‘If I read this fellow aright, he’ll switch the light off when we’ve finished this one, and get us all worked up and eerie; he knows his job. That will be our best chance, I think.’
Drusilla felt for his hand. Palfrey squeezed.
‘Now, ladies and gentlemen–’ said the guide.
Palfrey edged towards the far side, to put as many people between himself and Snub as he could. Drusilla still clutched his hand. People were too interested to worry; several were moving about to get a better position, and his own movements were not noticeable. He looked at Drusilla, The light was concentrated on The Fonts, famous stalagmite basins, and was not bright enough for him to see her clearly, and she was close by him; Snub, some distance away, could not possibly pick them out. He squeezed Drusilla’s fingers, and whispered: ‘This is it.’
The light went out.
There was still a dim light, but they could not see a yard in front of them. The guide was moving, people were shuffling, it was eerie and fascinating. The air was cold.
Palfrey reached the wall, felt along it, and tip-toed along, with Drusilla close, stumbling over feet, trying to accustom himself to the darkness. It was not easy, nor would it be easy for Snub.
Palfrey bumped into the wall. Then he saw a glimmer of light and a moment later they were in sight of the entrance. He kept to the side, so that if Snub were suspicious and followed them he could not see them outlined against the light. Half-way along, he paused. There was no sound of footsteps.
‘Snub is enjoying himself,’ murmured Palfrey. ‘We’re all right now.’
They were breathless when they reached the green cottage. There was one welcome sight: the queue had gone. Palfrey glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly a quarter to three. In spite of his assurance to Drusilla, he was worried in case Kyle had become impatient.
They went in, and saw McDonald sitting in a corner, drinking tea and reading a newspaper. He glanced up and winked. Palfrey winked back.
‘What-ho!’ squawked the parrot. ‘Time for tea!’
‘Oh, hallo,’ said Palfrey. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much room here, old lady.’
There was no room at all, but a woman came bustling through a doorway and said that there was room in the garden, if they would like it.
A few large coloured umbrellas, faded by weather, were dotted about among garden chairs and tables. It was cold enough, but half a dozen couples and a small party had dared the weather, and the sun was shining straight into the garden.
In the far corner sat a man, alone, almost bald, with a nutcracker face. .
He looked up and saw Palfrey.
He frowned.
It was only the slightest knitting of his brow, and might have been accidental, but Palfrey took its meaning. This was Kyle, but he did not want to be recognized yet. Palfrey led Drusilla to a table from-which he could watch the man, and, when they were seated, explained.
‘I suppose it means he’s watched,’ said Drusilla.
‘Yes. Not an easy job to spot the villain.’
In the cave there had been an element of amusement at getting rid of Snub. All that was changed. The man Palfrey had met on Wenlock Hill had been a merry soul, akin to McDonald. This man looked ill-tempered, solitary, and as hard as his weather beaten face. He was in the middle-thirties, Palfrey judged.
The woman came up with a loaded tray, walking up the steps as if they were gentle slopes. She made a bee-line for the Palfreys.
As she turned away after serving their meal –
‘Hey, missus!’ the nut-cracker man spoke, and Palfrey frowned, for his accent was not American but broad Lancashire. ‘Hey, missus,’ he repeated for all those present to hear. ‘When tha’ cooms oop again bring us another dish of tea.’
‘Yes, sir, thank you.’
The woman went off; the man went on eating. Palfrey picked up his knife and fork. ‘We’d better start eating,’ he told Drusilla.
‘Is that Kyle?’
‘I’m not sure. I’ve only seen him in darkness before. See if anyone is paying him much attention, will you?’
He looked one side of the garden, Drusilla the other. The large party chattered, couples leaned forward and spoke in whispers.
Except one couple.
A man and woman, youngish people, dressed in town clothes, the woman rather smart, the man neat and dapper, were sitting over their bacon, egg and chips. They did not speak. Now and again they looked towards the nut-cracker man, as if they, too, were trying to decide whether they knew him. The woman was good-looking in a bold way; she wore too much lipstick and rouge, and her hair was rolled in a golden net. The man was of different quality. He had dark, sleek hair, heavily oiled and brushed straight back from a high forehead. There was something foreign about his sallow face.
Nut-cracker got up.
As he moved towards the steps, the other couple got up and put a ten-shilling note on their table. Nut-cracker went down the steps, walking like an old man. The others followed him. It was too deliberate to be accidental; they were following him.
The Palfreys got up.
‘Stay with Mac,’ Palfrey whispered, and hurried ahead of Drusilla.
McDonald looked up as Palfrey went out in the wake of the others. Palfrey jerked his head back towards Drusilla, and mouthed the words ‘Take care of her’. He did not know whether McDonald understood him.
Out in the road, Kyle was walking up the gorge. The others followed him as far as the cave which the Palfreys had visited. Then the girl, after a word from the man, left him and walked up the steps towards the cave. Palfrey hung back, for he could see at a greater distance now. The sallow man went on, and Palfrey saw that he had his hand in his pocket.
Kyle did not change his pace and the sallow man kept up with him. Palfrey did not know whether to keep well behind or to hurry and force an issue. There was something frightening in this slow, deliberate chase; for it was a chase.
The sallow man called out, abruptly: ‘Kyle! ‘
Kyle did not answer or stop.
‘Kyle!’ The sallow man gained a little. Palfrey quickened his step.
No one else was about. There were no cars. The three men seemed to be alone in the vastness of the gorge. The only sound was their footsteps. The sallow man did not once look round, although he must have known that he was being followed. The three of them went on, the sallow man gaining on Kyle.
Kyle stopped, moved towards the side, and sat down on a boulder.
There was another, larger, boulder between Palfrey and the sallow man, and Palfrey crouched behind it, his hat in his hand. For the first time the foreigner looked round. He seemed satisfied that they were alone. He went up to Kyle and spoke, but Palfrey could not hear the words.
Another car came up the gorge, a Packard with a big body. Palfrey remembered Kyle’s Packard, and then he saw the driver, a man, with a woman sitting next to him. Palfrey hardly noticed the woman; his eyes were fixed on the man, whom he could see quite clearly, for the car was slowing down. He looked exactly like the ‘Kyle’ of the green cottage!
The sallow man continued to talk. The
Packard drew level with them, then stopped with a squeal of brakes.
The sallow man turned . . .
The ‘Kyle’ to whom he had been talking got up and hit him!
It was a powerful blow to the stomach, and the foreigner had no chance to protect himself. He doubled up. The door of the Packard opened, the motorist ‘Kyle’ leaned out, and the two men between them bundled the foreigner into the back of the car. A woman shouted! Palfrey, half-turning, saw the foreigner’s girl-friend running desperately towards the scene, and running behind her was the man with the snub nose.
Another car came humming up the gorge.
The Packard door slammed. The foreigner was inside, with the two ‘Kyles’ and the woman. The fair-haired woman was screaming “Stop him! Stop him!’ A passing cyclist stared in astonishment, braked hard, and nearly came off. Brakes squealed behind Palfrey. He looked round and saw Snub on the running board of a small car which he had presumably commandeered. He uttered the word ‘Police’, as the car flashed past in the wake of the Packard, but the Packard had disappeared. Palfrey did not think the small car was fast enough to catch it.
The woman with peroxide hair stood shaking her fists no longer shouting. Suddenly she turned round. She was sobbing and gasping, but she ran down the gorge and Palfrey followed her at a smart pace. As she drew level with the caves, Palfrey saw McDonald and Drusilla approaching. They were staring at the frantic woman, and so were most of the other people in this more populous part of the gorge. Palfrey beckoned, and Drusilla hurried towards him.
‘Follow her, will you?’ Palfrey said urgently. ‘Not out of the village. Messages to the Cliff Hotel.’
‘Yes,’ said Drusilla. She turned at once and went hurrying after the frantic woman, while McDonald stood undecided. Palfrey joined him.
‘This is Drusilla’s job,’ he said. ‘We can’t go everywhere the woman can.’
‘What’s been happening?’
‘As daring a piece of kidnapping as I’m ever likely to see,’ said Palfrey and laughed in sheer admiration. ‘It was perfectly done. By two Kyles.’
‘Two Kyles.’
‘Yes. And Snub’s gone hurrying after,’ said Palfrey. ‘Sorry,’ he added. ‘I’m not quite myself.’ He looked after Drusilla, now nearly out of sight, and added: ‘I suppose it was wise to let her go alone.’
8: TRUNK CALL
The woman turned neither right nor left until she reached the end of the road, where she hurried to a telephone kiosk. The door closed slowly behind her. Drusilla could hear her voice, but not the words. She seemed to be shouting at the operator. Then she opened the bag again, looked through her purse, dropped it and cried so that Drusilla could hear: ‘I haven’t got anything smaller than a two-shilling piece. I must get through!’
Something was said. She shouted again, and then pushed open the door with her foot. Drusilla, taking risks, was nearest her. ‘Here, can you give me change for two shillings, please? I’ve got an urgent call!’ It was a coarse voice, loud and agitated.
Drusilla had a shilling and some sixpences. The woman grabbed them and dropped the two-shilling piece she was holding out in exchange. She gasped, turned back and said: ‘I’ve got it! I’ve got it!’ A pause. ‘Yes, Mayfair 01341. Yes!’
‘Mayfair 01341,’ repeated Drusilla to herself. The woman took her foot away and the door closed. Drusilla repeated the number over and over again as she watched the woman, who tapped her foot against the glass door, sighed with exasperation, and then suddenly stiffened. Her voice sounded clearly: ‘He can’t be out!’
She argued volubly, but did not get her call. At last she came out of the kiosk, and Drusilla slipped in after her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Palfrey on one side of the street and McDonald on the other; McDonald was nearer the woman, who walked on a short distance to a waiting bus. She walked up and down in front of the bus, which was marked ‘Bristol’, then seemed to make a sudden decision and climbed in.
McDonald sauntered over and followed her.
Drusilla left the kiosk and joined Palfrey. He was standing behind a doorway, and could not be seen from the bus.
‘She isn’t likely to notice anything, but we’d better not take chances,’ Palfrey said. ‘Any luck, darling?’
‘Mayfair 01341, but no reply,’ said Drusilla.
‘Good work!’
‘Not exactly good,’ said Drusilla. ‘She’s demented, Sap. What happened?’
Palfrey told her as they strolled back up the road towards the cottages. Then he espied a number of people sitting at little tables, as if at tea, high on the bank above them. A flight of wooden steps led up there, with a sign inviting custom.
‘We can watch the road without being seen up there,’ Palfrey said. ‘Can you manage more tea?’
‘I’ll swim in it to help,’ said Drusilla.
There were few people in the tea-room, which had a corrugated iron roof and rows of garden tables and chairs. The Palfreys sat opposite each other near the road, and had to get very close to the edge in order to see everyone there.
Keeping an eye on the road, Palfrey told Drusilla all that had happened.
‘Which one was Kyle?’ she asked, fascinated.
‘I can’t say,’ admitted Palfrey. ‘I saw them together for a few seconds, and they weren’t quite so much alike then. I fancy the car-driver was the real Kyle; the other fellow was a little stiff in his movements even when they were bundling the foreigner into the car. That’s two,’ he added.
‘Two what?’
‘Captives of Kyle,’ answered Palfrey. ‘First Fyson and then this customer. I wonder where Kyle keeps them.’
‘Hardy would say that you take that much too lightly,’ Drusilla remarked.
‘Yes, wouldn’t he! The point is that Fyson was not a nice man, and I didn’t like the look of the sallow customer. Did you?’
‘Not a bit,’ admitted Drusilla.
‘So my sympathies are still with Kyle,’ said Palfrey, ‘but I hope we see him before long. By to-morrow we shall have to tell Hardy the whole story. No evasions this time. At least he can’t blame us for what happened.’
‘I’m all for telling him,’ said Drusilla, ‘but why must you?’
‘Our Snub. A Corshire man, I feel pretty sure, and when he jumped on to the small car he yelled “Police,” so Hardy proved he is a dark horse by having us watched in London. There are a lot of things I’m prepared to take,’ went on Palfrey, ‘but being suspected by the police isn’t one of them. Hallo, there’s Snub!’
Snub was getting out of a car further up the gorge. The Palfreys watched him as he walked past the caves, past them and then towards the telephone kiosk near the bus terminus. He was there for some time. ‘Making his report to Hardy, I suppose,’ murmured Palfrey.
It was now after half-past four and Palfrey began to despair of seeing Kyle again that day. It was a most unsatisfactory situation. The only result of their exertions was the Mayfair telephone number and the possibility that McDonald had found where the fair-haired woman lived. McDonald, however, being unpractised in such affairs, might easily lose her.
‘We’d better take a walk,’ said Palfrey. ‘I don’t want to leave until after dark.’
They paid their bill and went down the flight of steps. As they reached the road they heard a car coming from the top end of the gorge. Palfrey glanced towards it, conscious of the grandeur of the gorge itself. The tops were now covered in mist, and he shivered slightly; he no longer liked mist. Then his eyes brightened, and he exclaimed: ‘There’s the Packard!’
‘It’s travelling fast,’ said Drusilla.
‘Surely it’s not being chased!’
The car came hurtling towards them. The road was almost clear, now, and a few people pressed against the sides as the car flashed by. Twenty yards from the green cottage it began to slow down. Then the driver jammed on the brakes. It was a woman. She was dark, sleek and had a humorous mouth. A Tyrolean hat sat jauntily on her dark hair which hung down
to her shoulders in a glossy page-boy bob.
Kyle, or a man who looked like Kyle, was by her side.
He opened the door while the car was still moving, jumped out, blew a kiss, and the car moved off again. It disappeared at speed.
Kyle stood looking about him. Perhaps because the Palfreys were so near, he did not see them at once. He was not the man whom they had seen in the garden of the cottage. He was younger and rather taller, and his face was broader, though it, too, looked rather like a nut-cracker, and was berry-brown.
His grey eyes were narrowed until he saw them. Then he beamed.
‘Well, well! If it isn’t Dr. Palfrey!’ He strode across the road. ‘I’m glad you made it, Palfrey, I was afraid you would be too shocked to stay around.’ He looked at Drusilla and grinned. ‘Chloroform certainly didn’t suit you, Mrs. Palfrey. You look much better without a red nose.’
Drusilla laughed.
‘But I mean it,’ said Kyle. ‘Are you two hungry?’
‘We’ve drunk enough tea to float a battleship,’ said Palfrey.
‘That’s too bad. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and then it wasn’t much of a breakfast. Will you object to watching me eat?’ He did not wait for an answer, but took an arm of each and went into the cottage.
The woman came in, took Kyle’s order and pressed the Palfreys to have a cup of tea with him. Drusilla wavered. ‘Sure, bring some tea,’ said Kyle. He turned his silvery grey eyes on Drusilla and went on: ‘I thought the English could always take a bowl of tea.’
They were alone in the room now, and Palfrey decided that it was time Kyle stopped fooling.
‘The English are a patient race,’ he said, ‘but there are limits to their patience. Were you here at half past two?’
‘No. That was a friend of mine. Not bad make-up, was it?’
‘Not bad,’ admitted Palfrey.
Kyle said: ‘Let me get it off my chest, Palfrey. When I sent for you I didn’t expect to have any trouble today. Then I learned that I was known to be staying down here. The Frenchie was on my tail. I didn’t want to make trouble for you. I persuaded my friend to take my place. I told him to give you the ice if you arrived – and I had an idea you would arrive,’ went on Kyle, with a chuckle. ‘Then Susie and I looked after Frenchie.’
