by John Creasey
Kyle said quickly: ‘You won’t bring the police into this yet, will you?’
Palfrey blinked. ‘Why not?’
‘They’ll be recognized,’ Kyle said. ‘Your men won’t be – not at first, at all events.’
‘No,’ admitted Palfrey. ‘I’m inclined to agree that it would be unwise to have the police there in strength just yet, but the police must be warned to stand by. So must the military. The nearest garrison town is thirty miles to the south, isn’t it?’ That was a rhetorical question, for he had already checked on these details. ‘Have you told Brett?’
‘I telephoned him, but he was out, and I didn’t leave a message.’
‘I’ll have another shot at him,’ said Palfrey. He got up and went to the telephone. His mind was hazy with the rush of plans and preparations, but one thing was clear: they had found the mine where Garth had experimented, there was no doubt of that; how could they make absolutely sure of getting in without warning the men still working there?
Brett came on the line, and Palfrey spoke quickly, giving only the bare essentials. There were a few moments of earnest consultation, and then Brett said: ‘All right, Palfrey. I will arrange the military aspect of it. You talk to Cartwright and make arrangements with the police. You’d better tell them what they already suspect – that there are experiments with a new explosive going on down there. I doubt whether any of them will realize what kind of explosive, but they will work better if they’re not kept entirely in the dark.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Palfrey. ‘Any news of Gorringer?’
‘None at all,’ said Brett.
Palfrey rang off, satisfied with the situation except for one thing: Gorringer. It was a name to him, and nothing more, though a name which stood for all that was evil and dangerous. He did not even know what the man looked like. If it were Morne, now-
‘I think we’ll go to Morne House, Nick.’
Kyle’s eyes brightened. ‘We?’
‘Oh, I can’t keep you out of it,’ said Palfrey. ‘We’ll work from there. It’s near enough to the mine for our purpose.’ He was on edge to be off, but wanted to speak to Cartwright before he left. ‘You get ready, I’ll be back inside an hour.’
‘What about us?’ asked Susan, glancing at Drusilla.
‘Men must work and women must weep,’ murmured Palfrey.
‘You can’t get away with that,’ Susan declared.
Palfrey said: ‘Don’t make it more difficult than it is.’
Susan shrugged her shoulders. Palfrey went out and drove to police headquarters, where, Bandigo had told him, Cartwright had returned late that afternoon. Cartwright still looked tired, but he was cheerful in much the same way as Cox of Bristol. He listened attentively, and when Palfrey had finished, he said with a grim smile: ‘Yes, I’d realized that it was an explosive, Palfrey. The Wenlock disaster proved that. I can arrange for a cordon to be flung around Wenn Mine and Morne House. Both are necessary, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ said Palfrey. ‘How soon can it be done?’
Cartwright looked at his watch. ‘It’s nearly eight o’clock,’ he said. ‘Shall we say by midnight?’
‘Yes. Good work,’ said Palfrey.
‘And you say the Marquis of Brett will look after the military side of it?’ said Cartwright.
‘Yes. And naval – naval might be necessary.’ Palfrey smoothed back his hair and smiled. ‘We’ve travelled some distance, haven’t we?’
‘We have,’ said Cartwright, heavily. ‘You’re going out to Morne House now, are you?’
‘At once,’ said Palfrey.
‘You’ll want a car escort,’ Cartwright said. ‘I’ll look after it if you’ll give me a quarter of an hour.’
Palfrey smiled. ‘You’re good,’ he said, ‘A quarter of an hour will do nicely.’
Morne House was in darkness. No flares burned. They did not know they had arrived until their headlights shone upon the closed gates.
Palfrey slowed down.
‘That’s the first time I’ve seen these gates closed,’ he said. ‘I wonder why.’
‘Hardy’s orders, I guess,’ said Kyle.
Palfrey thought that he was probably right, and expected to see a policeman rise out of the darkness to question them. But no one moved. Both cars pulled up, and all the occupants except Kyle got out. Now that they had switched off the engines, the silence was absolute. Palfrey tried the gates.
‘Padlocked,’ he said.
‘I can open them,’ declared Bandigo. ‘Show a light, will you?’
‘It won’t be so easy,’ said Palfrey. He and another man held the light steady while Bandigo worked on the padlock. Palfrey remembered Wyatt opening the door of the Theatre Royal. How long ago that seemed.
Bandigo said: ‘Here it comes.’
‘I’ll walk,’ said Palfrey. ‘You drive, Ban.’
Bandigo grunted agreement and went back with the policemen. Palfrey walked slowly into the courtyard. Soon the silence was broken by the purr of the engines. The headlights shone on Palfrey, but not far beyond him. He had not remembered that the house was so far from the gates.
The fountain appeared in the headlights as the cars drew nearer; the great bear with water spouting from his snout and folded paws.
For the first time, there was no water spouting!
Palfrey’s heart contracted; it made the night seem more eerie and the mystery of those locked gates deeper.
His own car slowed down by his side, with the headlights shining on the great door of Morne House. Kyle called out, but Palfrey did not hear him. This quiet, this darkness, were alike inexplicable.
The cars pulled up. Bandigo knocked on the door heavily. Palfrey told him to find the bell. Bandigo pulled it; the deep clangour sounded, but there was no answer. No answer. By the time Palfrey reached the foot of the steps the bell had rung three times, but there was still no response.
Kyle limped by Palfrey’s side.
‘Can you make this out?’
‘No,’ said Palfrey. He looked at the illuminated dial of his watch. ‘It’s eleven o’clock,’ he said. ‘Cartwright’s cordon should be here soon.’
Bandigo pulled the bell again, but it was a waste of time. One of the policemen asked whether they were going to break in.
‘It’s the only thing to do,’ said Palfrey.’ Let’s try the windows first.’
They split into two parties and made a complete circuit of the house, shining their torches on the windows and on the shutters beyond. All the windows were heavily shuttered; none would be easy to break down. Bandigo muttered an expletive, climbed up the pillars to the top of the porch to look at the first-floor window above it.
‘Just the same,’ he called down.
‘What’s happened to Daniel?’ muttered Palfrey.
‘And Inspector Hardy,’ said a policeman.
Palfrey wondered if it would be worth trying one of the side doors, and looked along the front of the house.
As he did so, something moved near one of the cars.
He did not speak or indicate what he had seen, but looked away and then towards the car again. There was a man standing there, in the shadows; only his hands were visible. Palfrey looked away, hoping the man would come further forward. Instead, when he looked again, the hands had disappeared.
Palfrey said in a whisper: ‘Stay where you are, all of you.’ He turned to go down the steps, but as he did so the hands appeared again, and in one of them was an automatic. Palfrey dropped his own hand to his pocket; then the man in the shadows spoke sharply.
The voice was McDonald’s.
‘Don’t move, any of you,’ he called.
He stood forward so that the light of one car shone upon him, and then shone a torch towards them. It travelled slowly, on Bandigo’s face, on that of the policeman, then on Kyle. It stopped for a moment, then went on and reached Palfrey. ‘Palfrey!’ McDonald exclaimed, with a wealth of relief in his voice. He lowered his gun and came hurrying forward. ‘Am I glad
to see you!’
Palfrey gulped. ‘That’s good to hear,’ he said. ‘Where did you come from?’
‘Inside,’ said McDonald. ‘Over the roof and down the wall. For the first time in my life I’ve been glad of those bears!’ His relief was still evident in his voice as he went on: ‘The only way to get in is the way I got out. That door is probably double-barred inside.’
‘Oh,’ said Palfrey. The anti-climax made him feel foolish.
‘What were you doing there?’
‘Locked in,’ said McDonald.
“What about the others?’
‘I don’t know anything about the others,’ said McDonald. ‘I thought I was on to something and went up to the top floor. I was in a room punting around, and the door was locked on me. I’d no tools, nothing with which to try to get out. But they’d forgotten the window, or perhaps they thought I wouldn’t be fool enough to try to get out by the window,’ he added. ‘I ought to have broken my neck.’
Palfrey said: ‘Do you mean that no one else is inside?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ said McDonald. ‘I can only tell you that I’ve been locked in that room for two hours and couldn’t make a soul hear.’
‘All this is very interesting,’ declared Kyle, ‘but what about getting in?’
‘Three of us will go with McDonald,’ Palfrey said. ‘The others had better stay here. We’ll have to find a way out of the room upstairs and get down to open the door.’ He looked at McDonald. ‘Do you know where to get the ladder to light the flares?’
‘Yes,’ said McDonald.
‘Show one of them,’ said Palfrey, pointing to the police. ‘The quicker we get some light, the better.’
McDonald lost no time and, five minutes afterwards, Palfrey, Bandigo and one policeman went with him towards the south side of the house. In a small stone building near it was an extension ladder; it would reach half-way up the house, McDonald said; after that, they would have to climb up the wall. By the time the ladder was in position and McDonald was leading the way, the flares were burning, and they could see everything clearly in the bright, lurid light.
McDonald was sure-footed, and did not seem nervous, although the climb from the top of the ladder was sheer. He reached a window which they could just see, and then disappeared. Palfrey said: ‘I’ll go next.’ He started the climb, using the ornamental bears, finding the going easier than he had expected. McDonald hauled him through the window. Bandigo and the policeman followed. They found themselves in a small, low-ceilinged room. Bandigo paid attention to the locked door. He examined it carefully, and laughed.
This won’t be difficult.’
Five minutes afterwards, McDonald led the way to a narrow landing. Beneath them was a flight of stone steps, and they went down cautiously.
They met no one and heard nothing. McDonald switched on all the lights as they went, but all the time there was only darkness ahead of them. Soon they reached the great staircase leading to the main hall, only dimly illuminated by the landing light.
At a touch of a switch, one of the chandeliers lit up.
‘Now we’re moving,’ said McDonald, ‘We’d better let the others in.’
Kyle and the two remaining policemen entered eagerly, but were equally affected by the silence of the empty house. McDonald led the whole party in a complete search. Palfrey had never made this tour before, and it seemed unending. Nowhere did they find any sign of life. Eight or nine policemen, four of his own people, the staff and the family had been here at the time when McDonald had gone upstairs.
Kyle said: ‘Is there a cellar?’
‘I don’t know of one,’ said McDonald. ‘We’ve seen everything but the outbuildings.’
‘We might try the telephone,’ Palfrey said.
He picked up the instrument in the small room between the hall and the music gallery, and waited, listening intently. There was no answer. He replaced the receiver abruptly, and said: ‘Could they have left by the road?’
Kyle said: ‘be sensible, Palfrey. The doors were locked on the inside. All of them.’
‘Yes,’ said Palfrey.
The facts which faced them were chilling, uncanny. The great house had been emptied of people within the last few hours, and there was nothing to see how it could have been done.
Palfrey said: ‘We’ll have to make a more thorough search. We might find a door like that at the theatre. The devil is to know where to start.’
‘Ground floor, anyhow,’ said Kyle. He was perspiring freely, and had his leg up on a chair. ‘I’ll have to rest for a while, Palfrey. You fellows get cracking.’
‘We may as well start in the gallery,’ McDonald said.
They switched on all the lights in the gallery. Two men took a wall apiece. They tapped and explored, but found nothing at all helpful; they had nearly finished when the silence of the house was broken by a sharp cry: ‘Palfrey!’
‘That’s Kyle!’ snapped Palfrey. He rushed forward with the others. There was a scuffling noise from the inner room, and another cry. As they reached the door leading to it, a figure appeared for a moment, someone Palfrey did not recognize, and the door slammed!
‘Rush it!’ cried Bandigo.
They flung themselves on the door, but it was locked. They could hear sounds of a fierce struggle within; then silence, followed by a sharp, cracking noise; and silence again.
Bandigo was working furiously on the lock of the door. He got it open in a few minutes, and Palfrey went forward cautiously, his gun in his hand. But the room was empty; there was no sign of Kyle.
The others crowded in. McDonald hurried over to Kyle’s chair. The arm was smeared with blood. There were patches of blood on the carpet by the side of the chair. A little pool had gathered near the fireplace; someone had trodden in it and left a trail.
All of them looked at the floor, their eyes moving with one accord towards the last dark patch of blood near the bookcase built into the wall by the fireplace.
McDonald said: ‘That’s it.’
‘We can’t do much on our own,’ said Palfrey. ‘We must have more help.’ He looked at the clock over the fireplace; it wanted a few minutes to midnight. ‘The police will be on the moor by now,’ he said. ‘Somebody had better go and tell them all to come here; then we shall feel that we can take more action.’
‘I want to stay here,’ said Bandigo.
Palfrey said: ‘Will you fellows go?’ He was looking at the policemen.
They agreed without hesitation, and left immediately. Contact with the police cordon should be made about a mile from Morne House, and within half an hour, unless they met with trouble on the road, the police should be here in strength. Palfrey was uneasy at having to wait, but he knew that there was no choice left open.
‘Are you going to try to open that wall?’ asked Bandigo.
‘Not yet,’ said Palfrey. ‘I think-’
He was looking at the bookcase as he spoke; and he saw it move. McDonald caught sight of it and jumped away. Bandigo dropped his right hand to his pocket.
One end of the bookcase moved outwards. It moved soundlessly, slowly, and a dark void became visible behind it. Palfrey took out his gun, stepped towards the fireplace and covered the gap.
A man said: ‘Stand away from the opening, all of you.’
‘Stand away,’ the man repeated. ‘Don’t be foolish enough to think you can defend yourselves. Sir Rufus wishes to speak to you.’
One of the servants came through. He straightened up and looked at Palfrey’s gun with a sneer. Another man followed him. Palfrey thought: ‘They seem very confident.’ He heard a movement behind him and looked round. There were two other men in the room, near the minstrel gallery door, and both were armed. The hopelessness of the situation came over Palfrey like a dark shadow. In this house it was impossible to defend oneself, impossible to know when one was safe. He put his gun into his pocket. Bandigo did the same.
Morne wanted to speak to him.
There was a
movement from behind the bookcase. The servant stood on one side, his head bowed. It was fantastic. Palfrey, McDonald and Bandigo stood in a half-circle about the bookcase, with the armed men behind them.
Morne stepped through.
He was faultlessly dressed, and looked more composed than Palfrey had yet seen him. He limped slightly. His red hair was brushed back in waves from his forehead, his brow was unfurrowed, he looked impressive and remarkably handsome; there was something almost regal about him.
Palfrey smiled; ‘So you’re responsible, Morne.’
Morne smiled faintly. ‘Sit down, Palfrey. All of you sit down, please.’ He stood in front of the fireplace, looking at them, one hand in his coat pocket, the other held in front of him. ‘I do not quite know what you mean by saying that I am responsible, Palfrey. If you mean that I am responsible for my daughter’s accident, you are quite wrong.’
‘I was thinking of Garth and Gorringer,’ said Palfrey.
‘Of Gorringer, you need have no further fears,’ said Morne. ‘I do not know how much you have learned. I suppose you know as much as Kyle knows. He has just been persuaded to tell me that. That is why I thought it best to talk to you, Palfrey.’
Palfrey did not speak.
‘Of the early days of this adventure,’ Morne said, ‘you know much of the truth. Anster, Cunningham, Malcolm and Grayle were my friends. They knew what Garth had discovered. They believed that this discovery could not safely be left in the hands of governments swayed by power politics, fired by greed, intoxicated by their own power. I fully agreed with them, Palfrey. I agree now. You are a reasonable man, free of prejudice. Don’t you agree?’
Palfrey did not speak.
‘I think, at heart, that you do,’ said Morne. ‘It was decided then to make sure that Garth’s discovery should be made known only to a small circle of men on whom complete trust could be placed. Unhappily, Gorringer was included in that circle. He was not incorruptible.
‘I was aghast when I heard of the death of my friends. At that time I believed that outside persons were responsible. I even suspected Nicholas Kyle. I am convinced now that he was driven by excellent motives, although undoubtedly he was misguided.’
