by John Creasey
‘Happy augury,’ murmured Palfrey.
Over the moor the road was for the most part straight and level. They passed through two villages, built of dark stone, in the dour but not unattractive Corshire way. In a third village there was a sharp left-hand turn on the far side. A few hundred yards before it,’ Palfrey said: That’s odd, sweet. No police car.’
Drusilla looked round. Palfrey was right; there was no sign of the car.
They slowed down to less than fifteen miles an hour, and looked back repeatedly, but the police car did not emerge from the narrow High Street, and there was no sound of another engine. Palfrey drew in to the side of the road and listened intently.
‘When did you last see them?’ asked Drusilla.
‘As we turned into the village,’ said Palfrey. ‘We’d better go back.’
‘And run into trouble,’ said Drusilla.
‘We can’t leave them,’ Palfrey declared, uneasily. ‘And we can’t be sure that we won’t run into trouble further along.’ He turned the car towards the village and put on a burst of speed, slowing down only when they approached the first cottage. At a bend in the road, Palfrey braked quickly.
A crowd nearly fifty strong had gathered about the wreckage of the police car. Palfrey got out of the car and pushed his way towards the front. He was still uneasy; odd things could happen in crowds. Then he forgot everything but the sight in front of him. The three men from the police car were stretched out on the pavement; two of them were terribly injured. The nose of the car was smashed completely where it had struck the stone wall of a cottage; the wall had suffered hardly at all.
Was this an accident? Had the police driver put on too much speed? Or had the crash been deliberately caused?
Palfrey joined a doctor who was attending to the men, explained who he was, and set to work to help. There was little he could do. Soon an old ambulance appeared from a side turning, and Palfrey spoke to the village policeman.
‘I just don’t know what happened, sir,’ the man said. ‘Some say they were travelling too fast, and it’s a bad bend here, sir. Some say they heard an explosion first. As if the engine blew up, sir.’
‘I think the quicker you let the chief inspector know, and have him out here, the better,’ said Palfrey. ‘I shouldn’t touch the car until he’s had a chance to examine it.’
‘No, sir. Traffic will have to be diverted.’
‘Do you have much traffic across here?’
‘Not very much,’ said the policeman, ‘especially at this time of the year.’
‘Has there been any this morning?’
‘None that’s stopped,’ he was told. ‘Mr. Gerald drove through half an hour ago with Mr. McDonald.’ He seemed to take it for granted that everyone would know who they were, and certainly did not know that he had given Palfrey another sharp jolt. ‘Going into Corbin, sir.’
They must have driven very fast if they had passed through the village about half an hour before and not met Palfrey on the road. He was sure that he had not seen them. They might have taken another road, of course. It was sheer conjecture that they had been heading for Corbin. He searched the engine and the car, remembering that someone ‘thought’ they had heard an explosion. Nothing which might cause one was hidden in the Talbot.
‘I think we’ll have a spot of speed,’ he said, as he climbed into the car.
The road was flat and straight. On they went, thinking of the crash behind them, wondering what might lie ahead.
Suddenly Drusilla said: ‘Don’t forget that humpbacked bridge.’
‘Bridge?’ echoed Palfrey. ‘Oh, yes, I remember.’ He scanned the road and saw, in the distance, the muddy stream which meandered through the moor.
The bridge came into sight, and Palfrey slowed down. On one side was a copse of trees, and as he drew nearer he thought he saw something beneath the trees. It looked like a car. He kept one hand on the wheel and dropped his other to his coat pocket and his automatic. Yes, it was a car. He reached the bridge, travelling very fast, and the Talbot lurched. As it did so, the car behind the trees backed into the road, making it impossible for them to pass. Palfrey put on the brakes.
A man came strolling from the trees – Kyle. Susan Lee, who had been driving the car, got out and followed him. She was still the fair-haired, laughing, smartly dressed woman whom Palfrey had met at the hotel. Palfrey sat still, unsmiling, with the automatic in his pocket. Drusilla whispered: ‘Now we’ll see what they really want.’
‘Good morning,’ greeted Kyle cheerfully. ‘Sorry to put a scare into you, but I wanted a chat, and the police don’t make that easy.’
‘How did you know we would be driving out here?’
‘We didn’t know,’ said Kyle. ‘We recognized your car from a distance. I’m good at recognizing cars. I’d recognize my Packard anywhere if I saw it; I’m now reduced to an Austin!’
Palfrey said: ‘A police car was following me. It crashed. I think someone caused the crash. Two men will probably die.’
‘Oh,’ said Kyle, heavily. Susan’s eyes were no longer laughing. ‘I’m sorry about that, Palfrey, but don’t get the idea that we had anything to do with it. We’ve been one side or the other of these trees all morning; we haven’t moved more than fifty yards since sun-up. Isn’t that so, Sue?’
‘Yes,’ said Susan.
‘Why are you here?’ asked Palfrey.
‘We want to talk to McDonald,’ said Kyle, ‘then we’ll vamoose. I don’t like this moor. It makes me feel conspicuous. It wouldn’t surprise me if we could be seen from Morne House, and I don’t like the feeling of being watched, but there are some things I’ve just got to have, and a line on McDonald is one of them.’
‘I see,’ said Palfrey. Why did he find it difficult to disbelieve this man? There was a curious streak of honesty in him; something innate, something which made him likeable whatever the circumstances.’
‘A four-hour vigil is too long to waste. Or are you in a hurry?’
‘A great hurry,’ said Palfrey.
‘That’s too bad. Now don’t get me wrong, Palfrey,’ went on Kyle, dropping his hand to his pocket. ‘If I show a gun, it doesn’t mean I want to hurt either of you. It simply means that I want to see McDonald and I wouldn’t trust you to go along and do nothing about it. I don’t want to show a gun,’ he added earnestly. ‘Be friendly.’
Palfrey said: ‘Why didn’t you tell me why you wanted Garth, Kyle? Why didn’t you tell me who he is?’
‘Oh,’ said Kyle. ‘So you’re on to that.’ He kept his hand at his pocket, but his expression had changed, and Susan Lee seemed to grow tense. ‘Who told you so soon?’
‘The Marquis of Brett,’ said Palfrey.
If Kyle knew what Palfrey had done in the past, he would know much about Brett, and would be able to judge the implications of that statement. Palfrey did not think it greatly mattered if Kyle knew for whom he and Drusilla were working; the man knew the truth about Garth, that was the vital knowledge.
‘So he did,’ said Kyle, and there was a gleam in his eyes again. ‘Did he commission you, Palfrey?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then that’s another reason why we should get together! You won’t be tied down by the police,’ said Kyle. ‘And I’ve a clear bill with you, Palfrey.’
‘A clear bill of what?’
‘Don’t you remember me telling you about my employer?’ asked Kyle. ‘I referred to him the question of keeping you informed, and the answer has come through. You’re okay. You wouldn’t have been okay if you had still been tagging along behind the police.’ He took his hand away from his pocket. ‘Maybe you’re not in so much of a hurry now.’
Palfrey said, feeling much easier in his mind: ‘I am. Morne has been hurt, and wants to see me.’
After a pause, Kyle observed. ‘That family certainly sends for you when it’s in trouble. Who told you he had been hurt?’
‘McDonald.’
‘And you still trust that guy!’ marvelled Kyle.
>
‘Drusilla telephoned back –’
‘Now, listen,’ said Kyle. ‘In a house like that it would be easy for anyone to confirm a lie, Palfrey. I wouldn’t like to go into Morne House on McDonald’s say-so.’
‘Well, I’m going,’ said Palfrey, flatly.
‘After that police car was smashed up?’
‘Yes.’
‘Palfrey, I hand it to you,’ drawled Kyle. ‘Okay, you can go. Will you handle McDonald?’
‘Yes.’
‘And share the news?’
‘If you can convince me that it’s necessary, yes.’
Kyle grinned. ‘I can convince you. How long do you reckon you’ll be inside?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Are more police coming out to lend you a hand?’
‘They’ll send some, I expect,’ said Palfrey.
‘We’ll hang around until they arrive,’ said Kyle. ‘There’s a hollow way over there where we can park the car and watch the house. If we see anything that looks like trouble, we’ll be on our way. When the police arrive, we’ll vamoose. When will you send word to me?’
‘I don’t know where to send it.’
‘Try the Rose and Crown in Wenlock,’ said Kyle, ‘and ask for Pettigrew.’
The Palfreys drove off. A few minutes afterwards, glancing to the right, they saw Kyle’s car bouncing over the moor towards the hollow from which he had said he could see Morne House. The interview had done much to satisfy Palfrey about the man.
The House of the Bears. ...
The gates were open. As the car pulled up, the front door opened and squat, dark Markham stood on the threshold.
‘You’ve taken your time coming,’ he barked.
‘We lost no time for the sake of it,’ said Palfrey, sharply. The man succeeded in putting his back up at sight. ‘Is Morne badly hurt?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Have you had another doctor?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Are the police still here?’
‘Two useless idiots,’ declared Markham. ‘Don’t waste time in asking pointless questions, Palfrey.’ He led the way towards the stairs. His wife came hurrying from the landing. ‘Look after Mrs. Palfrey, Dinah,’ said Markham, and he and Palfrey went on alone. They turned a corner, and Markham opened the first door. ‘I think he’s been poisoned,’ he said. ‘I gave him an emetic’
Palfrey snapped: ‘And you didn’t send for the nearest doctor?’
‘You were as near as any of them,’ said Markham. ‘He’s better now. He’s broken his ankle, too, I think.’
Rufus Morne was lying on, not in, the bed. The left leg of his trousers was turned up; his foot was bare, swollen and discoloured. There was a bowl of water and a towel on the floor, and the room smelt faintly of antiseptics. Morne’s red head was raised on pillows and, although pale, he did not really look seriously ill.
Palfrey sat down by the side of the bed and took his wrist.
‘What’s been happening to you?”
‘It is inexplicable,’ Morne said. He ignored Markham, who stood by the foot of the bed. ‘I was perfectly fit and well first thing this morning. I went for my morning ride. I returned for breakfast. Only after I had been working in my study afterwards did I begin to feel ill.’
‘Symptoms?’ asked Palfrey.
‘My heart beat so quickly,’ said Rufus. ‘I felt on the verge of collapse, Palfrey. I got up and tried to go downstairs, but could not walk properly, and fell. That was when I hurt my ankle.’
‘I see,’ said Palfrey. He opened the shirt and busied himself with the stethoscope, ‘You seem all right there,’ he said, after a pause.
‘I am much better,’ said Morne.
‘Good!’ Palfrey looked at his eyes, his tongue, and the palms of his hands. There was no sign of any particular poison, no sign of illness; only the ankle seemed likely to give any trouble.
‘You’ll certainly have to stay in bed,’ Palfrey said, ‘or at least keep that foot off the ground. And an X-ray would be wise.’
They put Morne in the shooting brake. As they were about to leave, Hardy and another policeman arrived post-haste. A few words of explanation satisfied him. Palfrey was glad that the chief inspector would be there with Drusilla. Markham stayed behind with his wife; there was no sign of Mrs. McDonald that morning.
They reached the town without incident. The sanatorium had been warned to expect Morne, and Ross was on the doorstep to greet them. In his bright smile there was a touch of nervousness, Palfrey thought, and when Morne had been taken to the X-ray room, Ross said abruptly: ‘I hope you didn’t share the police suspicions, Dr. Palfrey?’
‘Suspicions of what?’ asked Palfrey.
‘The poison in your tea.’
Palfrey smiled. ‘My dear chap, if you’d wanted to poison me, you wouldn’t have made it so obvious.’
‘Oh,’ said Ross, as if that answer surprised him. Then he smiled broadly. ‘I’m very glad you feel like that, Dr. Palfrey! I was greatly worried, I assure you. I felt that it was a reflection on this establishment.’ He did not seem very sure of himself in spite of his words, and he added quickly: ‘Would you like to see Miss Morne?’
Loretta was still lying stiff and encased, but her eyes were open and she had lost something of the drawn, haggard look she had worn before. She recognized Ross but not Palfrey. When Ross uttered Palfrey’s name, she turned her eyes towards him quickly.
Palfrey glanced towards the corner, where now a policewoman was sitting.
Loretta’s hand moved slowly towards him. He touched it and she smiled up at him. ‘Did you get those things?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ said Palfrey.
‘Did you understand them?’ Her voice was very low. The policewoman’s chair creaked, as if she were straining forward to catch the words.
‘I’m still studying them,’ Palfrey said.
‘Have you found – the mine?’
Swift excitement surged through Palfrey. Of course! The drawing on the tracing paper represented the plan of a mine!
‘No,’ he said, ‘not yet.’
‘You must,’ she said.
‘I am trying,’ he assured her. ‘Does anyone else know, Miss Morne?’
A change came over her, and she said slowly but very firmly: ‘I cannot tell you.’ She closed her eyes, and he could see that she was determined not to say anything more. She stirred when he removed his hand, but did not open her eyes.
He went over to the corner.
‘Did you get that?’
‘Not all of it, sir,’ said the woman sitting there. ‘Wasn’t there something about a mine?’
‘Yes.’ He gave her the gist of the statement, and added: ‘I shall be seeing Chief Inspector Hardy very soon, so I’ll tell him. But make sure that your message goes to Corbin at once. You’d better give it to Colonel Cartwright himself.’
There was a tap at the door, and Ross appeared. Sir Rufus was out of the X-ray room now, and was being wheeled along to see his daughter. He looked at Palfrey cheerfully enough, and did not seem perturbed by his plight.
‘How is she?’ he asked.
‘Sleeping,’ said Palfrey.
This was the first time he had seen Morne with his daughter. He decided to stay. Ross went off, and the policewoman also went out. Palfrey sent away the push-chair attendant, took the chair himself and pushed Morne towards the bed. Then Palfrey went to the window, pretending to look out, but watching Morne all the time. For a few seconds the man’s face showed only concern. Then he smiled, eased himself forward and touched Loretta’s hand. He held it for a moment, and she stirred. Morne took his hand away and looked at Palfrey.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
The man was passionately fond of his daughter, there could be no doubt of that.
Half an hour later Palfrey was looking at the hastily prepared X-ray plates. There was no fracture and no serious dislocation; Morne had only sprained his ankle.
But what had c
aused the fainting fit and the giddiness? Halsted could have told them so much. As it was, he might have a record of his professional visits to Morne. The record would say if there were any symptoms of a weak heart. There was none.
Back at Morne House, Markham and Morne said they did not know where Gerry and McDonald had gone. McDonald had received a telephone call soon after speaking to Palfrey, and said that he must go in to Corbin immediately. Gerry had wanted to do some shopping. It was odd that they had chosen to go immediately after Morne’s accident, and Hardy seized on that point, but could make nothing of it.
McDonald’s mother, Drusilla told Palfrey, was in her room. She was remarkably shy of company. Something seemed to have given Dinah Markham a new lease of life, and she talked lightly and brightly. Drusilla mentioned this to Palfrey when they were along for a few minutes before tea. Hardy was going to leave immediately afterwards. He had told them that there was no sign that the accident on the road had been arranged; it might, perhaps, have been caused by a blow-out. But clearly he was not satisfied.
‘Can we stay here?’ Drusilla asked Palfrey.
‘I can’t even make up my mind whether I want to,’ said Palfrey, and then laughed at Drusilla’s expression. ‘I think we had better visit the Rose and Crown, don’t you?’
‘Well, if we’re going, let’s go before it gets quite dark,’ said Drusilla. ‘I don’t fancy driving across the moor by night.’
Palfrey went upstairs to see Morne, who welcomed him with his unfailing courtesy. For a few minutes, Palfrey chatted brightly. There was no need for him to stay, the ankle would soon recover if he rested it, and –
Morne said quickly: ‘I shall be most disappointed if you do leave, Dr. Palfrey. I feel that if there is a repetition of the attack which I had this morning, I might not recover so quickly unless you are at hand. I hope you will stay, at least for the night.’
