by John Creasey
The field was large, and on the far side of it he saw his quarry scrambling over a hedge. Pursuit was likely to be a waste of time, and Hammond swung round.
He saw no trace of Craigie, but nearing the house his voice floated out from the hall. In a few seconds Hammond saw Craigie putting down a telephone-receiver, and regarding him with a half-smile.
‘No luck?’ he said, and then went on: ‘I thought he’d get away. Anyhow, the police will cover the roads as quickly as possible, but I doubt whether he’ll be caught.’
Hammond glanced up at the woman he had hurled aside so roughly, who was slowly coming down the stairs.
‘Hallo, Lois,’ Craigie said quietly. ‘This is Bruce Hammond. Bruce, this is Mrs. Kerr.’
Hammond decided that Kerr was a lucky man. Lois showed no sign of being ruffled, or inclination towards panic. She pushed pack a tendril of hair behind her right ear and held out a shapely, competent, entirely steady hand.
‘Just Lois,’ she said, simply, and turned her glance back to Craigie. ‘You didn’t get him, I suppose?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, well, he’s only loosened a few tiles, and those he left intact Bruce took down with him.’ Her eyes were laughing, but became suddenly serious. ‘At least he didn’t do Emile any harm.’
‘Is the boy all right?’ Craigie asked quickly.
‘I think the nurse will be able to handle him,’ said Lois, and Hammond thought she sounded a little puzzled when she said ‘nurse’. ‘He was frightened, but he didn’t cry out.’ She led the way into a long, low-ceilinged room. An enormous fire-place, deep and satisfying, took up a large part of it. ‘How are you, Gordon?’
‘I missed lunch,’ Craigie said.
‘Oh, confound you!’ exclaimed Lois. ‘I knew something like that would happen today; it’s Bessie’s afternoon off. It’ll have to be something cold. For both of you?’ she asked, looking at Hammond.
‘A snack will do me,’ he said. ‘I had a late breakfast.’
‘It’s a contagious habit,’ declared Lois. ‘Now let me see—Christine won’t be back for an hour or two. Bob rang up to say that he hoped to be here about half-past three, and Bill will be with him. But they’ll have lunch on the road.’ She hesitated. ‘Will you come into the kitchen while I get it ready?’
Craigie smiled.
‘If you expect to get a story out of Bruce with that simple ruse, you’re wrong. He’s closer than Bob ever was.’
‘But I’m good at cutting bread,’ said Hammond promptly.
‘We may not come to that,’ said Lois distractedly as they moved towards the kitchen.
He liked Lois’s free and easy manner, the naturalness with which Craigie sat on a corner of the table and declared that he had no objection to watching, but he could be counted out for washing up. He was seeing Craigie, and others of the Department, in an entirely different and more human light than that in which he was used to seeing them, and he liked it.
They were sitting down at the kitchen table, at Craigie’s insistence, when footsteps echoed along the red-tiled passage. They were quick and sharp, those of a woman; but there was a queer something about them which puzzled Hammond. They made him look curiously towards the door. He half-expected to see Loftus’s Christine; he did not know whether Christine was engaged to Loftus or not, but was aware that their names were often associated.
It was not Christine; it was the nurse.
She had taken off her white cap and her dark hair was ruffled. The curious directness, and intensity of her blue eyes fascinated Hammond. He echoed, unconsciously, Loftus’s first thought on seeing her: ‘By George, she’s lovely!’
He pushed his chair back.
‘Please don’t get up,’ said Nurse Caroll. ‘He’s all right, now,’ she added in answer to Lois’s unspoken query, ‘but I’ve promised to go up to him again in a few minutes.’ She unrolled what appeared to be a folded pillow case which she had brought with her, exposing two arrows.
‘I thought I’d better bring them,’ she said rather primly, ‘and there’s one in the grounds, isn’t there?’ Hammond was fascinated by her voice, with its faintly husky note, and by the directness of her manner as she added: ‘It ought to be brought in; it might be dangerous.’
‘Dangerous?’ Craigie asked.
‘Yes. I don’t know what they’ve been dipped in, but there’s something.’ She pointed to a stain which ran some two inches along the barb of the arrow, the whole of which was no more than nine inches long. ‘Of course, it could be water, but I don’t think it’s very likely.’
Hammond was on his feet. ‘Nor do I,’ he said. He wondered why neither he nor Craigie had worried about the arrows; it had been Lois’s arrival, of course, which had turned their minds from them. ‘I’ll go and look.’
Craigie smiled disarmingly at Nurse Caroll. ‘We didn’t come up for them, nurse, in case it disturbed Emile.’
‘I gather that,’ said Nurse Caroll quietly.
Hammond, by the door, felt an inward annoyance. Craigie had not overlooked the arrows; he alone was guilty of that, and he was tempted to admit it. He saw no point at the moment, however, in indulging in a spate of self-accusation, and decided to go on into the back garden. He had judged the lay-out of the house quickly, and guessed that the arrow would be in the vegetable garden, unless, of course, it had lodged in the roof.
He went forward, his thoughts travelling to the stain on the barb; why had the nurse been so sure of the possibility of poison? That was a little surprising, although poisoned arrows might spring to an imaginative mind, once the clue of a stain was there.
He was searching amongst some rows of cabbages when a quiet voice spoke from behind him.
Hammond spun round.
He knew it was the nurse, although he felt a queer stab of surprise when he saw her. She was standing quite close to him, and he imagined she was smiling a little, probably because of the way he had jumped.
‘Shall we look?’ she asked.
‘It’s a good idea,’ admitted Hammond. ‘I’d judged that it would be about here, but I don’t know the lay-out too well.’
‘Nor do I,’ said the nurse. ‘I only arrived here this morning.’ She led the way towards a patch of grass between two marrow beds, and Hammond watched her walking, she had a smooth, easy grace, taking long strides which her full nurse’s skirt made possible.
Then she stopped abruptly.
She did not exclaim, although Hammond did when he saw what had made her stop. A Scotch terrier was lying on the ground at the end of the marrow bed. The dog was stiff and lifeless, lying on its side so that they could see the almost hairless skin of its stomach. Its teeth were bared, as if it were snarling in death at whatever had injured it so mortally.
Close by, almost touching one of the legs, was the arrow.
The four of them gathered in the kitchen.
Hammond did not feel like finishing his meal, his hunger had quite gone. Lois had said little, but her face had paled when they had told her what they had found; the Scottie had been hers. She had gone to see him, nodding in Hammond’s exhortation not to touch him.
Hammond had the arrow held in a handkerchief.
The nurse put on a kettle.
‘There’s no doubt about that stuff,’ Craigie said a little needlessly. ‘We’ll get it examined as quickly as we can. The dog must have sniffed, and probably licked, it.’
The nurse turned from the stove, hesitated, and then said very quietly: ‘Please forgive me if I sound officious, but I was asked to come to look after Emile. I wasn’t warned that anything like this might happen. If it’s likely to again, I think someone should be at hand, don’t you?’
Craigie said at once: ‘Someone will be, I promise you.’
The nurse said gently: ‘I’m making a cup of tea, is that all right?’
‘An excellent idea.’ Craigie rose from his chair and drew Lois aside. ‘Just a moment Lois.’
They strolled from the room, leaving Hammond al
one with the nurse. He watched her movements, each one quick, graceful, capable. Hammond felt a queer tightness at his breast as he watched her, knowing that he was staring but unable to stop himself. Then abruptly he said: ‘Has Emile talked to you much?’
‘Quite a lot, since yesterday,’ she told him.
‘Has he explained what happened to him?’
‘Indeed, yes, poor child.’ Her voice was practical and matter-of-fact, as she searched for cups and saucers. ‘You haven’t heard much about him?’
‘Not enough,’ he said.
She told him, without over-emphasis, all that Emile had said. Hammond listened to a picture drawn so vividly that he could almost feel the lad’s terror, while he remembered his own flight, his own narrow escapes, dread hours of hiding in barns and lofts, and ditches as the Germans passed by. He waited until the nurse had finished and then said quietly: ‘I can feel for him.’ He might have been talking to himself. ‘It’s the modern equivalent to hell, and don’t I know it.’
Her interest in him quickened.
‘How can you know?’
He smiled crookedly. ‘I’ve just come from France.’ He paused, and then went on: ‘Nurse, you’ve gathered that this might be dangerous, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Nurse Caroll, ‘though I was hoping Emile would be all right from now on. His enemies must know he can do no more harm.’
‘Ye—es,’ said Hammond. ‘Unless——’ he paused, and his eyes grew eager, for he thought of the boot and the fact that he had assumed the ‘enemies’ had found the letter. If they had, would they worry about the refugee? His thoughts were a little confused, and for the first time he was unaware of Nurse Caroll’s intent gaze.
Before he spoke again he heard a car snorting along the drive. He heard the brakes squeal and a door slam. Then a vast voice bellowed: ‘Bless my soul, it’s the old man himself! Hallo, Gordon!’ There was jubilance in the voice, and it was explained a moment later as the voice went on: ‘We’ve got it, the boot, the letter, the message, the lot!’
10
The Message
Loftus was easing himself from the Bentley as he shouted the words. The front door was wide open, and Craigie was standing in the porch.
Kerr was already approaching Craigie, and shaking hands.
Loftus put his stick to the ground, hoisted himself up, and came forward slowly but eagerly. He saw a movement behind Craigie, the flutter of a nurse’s uniform, and the figure of a man whom he did not immediately recognise.
Then Hammond reached Craigie’s side.
Loftus stopped short, raised his stick from the ground and waved it in the air.
‘Hallo, Bruce!’ The bellow sent a flush of satisfaction through Hammond, pleasure that he was recognised so quickly, that he was accepted with such obvious goodwill. Then he wondered whether Loftus knew what Craigie had already decided, and a shadow darkened his pleasure.
Loftus put his stick down and advanced, smiling widely. ‘The past and the present meet, do they?’ he said, and shook hands. ‘May it be less of a curse for you than for me, my son.’
Hammond felt the shadows fading.
‘Thank you for those kind words,’ he said laughing.
‘And now,’ suggested Kerr, ‘supposing we get to business?’
‘Lead on!’ cried Loftus.
His good spirits were boisterous, yet they were not irritating, as good spirits sometimes were. Hammond was thinking that since he had seen Loftus the man must have lost three stone. Yet the smile remained unaltered. The loss of his leg did not appear to have affected him unduly.
Not until they were grouped in comfort round the long, low sitting-room did Craigie tell Loftus and Kerr what had happened. He spoke before Loftus had taken the letter from his pocket, and Hammond saw something of the liveliness disappear from the big man’s face.
When Craigie finished, Loftus asked an unexpected question.
‘Was Nurse Caroll in Emile’s room when it happened?’
‘Yes,’ said Craigie.
‘The second arrow struck the window just as she reached it,’ said Lois. ‘It couldn’t have been three inches from her face.’
‘Good,’ said Loftus, and it was clear to them all that he was relieved. Hammond looked at him quizzically, but like the others he asked no questions. There was little talk while Loftus took an envelope from his pocket and spread the letter out on his knee. Before he read it—and by then the letter itself was something of an anticlimax—he said quietly:
‘We searched all the trees this morning, and found one boot. It was the right one, and the letter was under a sock in the sole. It doesn’t give us as much information as we’d like, but it does tell us something. For the rest, two men were killed in the fight last night. One of them was the old woman’s son Teddy, who was wearing the boots, the other was a Dr. Brice. The evidence from Welton, the policeman who managed to throw the boots away, suggests that at least four and possibly six men were engaged in the attack.’
Craigie nodded; no one spoke.
Hammond found his interest centring on the letter, for which so much had been risked. It was even possible to assume that it was the indirect cause of the murder of Ferdinand.
‘Well, to the letter,’ said Loftus. ‘Decoded, here it is:
‘ “Further to message of February 19. Preparations are in advanced stage. Date believed to be April 21st but may be varied. Proceed with this to London immediately.” ’
There was no signature, and there were no explanatory notes. Both Craigie and Hammond leaned forward to examine it. The paper was soiled, brown and green in patches. One corner was torn, and there was a darker brown stain on one sheet of the paper, for there were two, the second being blank.
Lois broke the silence.
‘We don’t know much more, do we?’
Loftus gave a half-hearted grin.
‘No, my poppet, but for you, more than enough. Bob, can’t you convince her that the Department’s plots are no matter for a soberly run nursing-home?’
‘Enough of that,’ said Kerr bluntly. ‘This came to us, we didn’t come to it, and for once I’ll tell Gordon where he gets off if he tries to keep us out of it now. Anyhow, with Emile here, whether with your approval or not we’re the centre of attraction.’
Unperturbed, Loftus said: ‘Now we know.’ He leaned back and closed his eyes. ‘I’ll say it,’ he added. ‘We know that the preparations are on a large scale, and we can assume that they’re comprehensive. Germany’s usually are. They’re effective on or about the 21st of April. The only thing we don’t know is the subject of them. Has anyone any ideas?’
‘No more than you have,’ Kerr said.
‘I suppose,’ Lois put in thoughtfully, ‘it can’t have anything to do with invasion?’
‘There speaks the logical woman,’ said Hammond suddenly. ‘Obviously it could have, but I doubt it very much. I don’t think Jerry will be able to muster men and material enough to have a shot at us this Spring. I doubt if he would even if he wasn’t tied-up in Russia.’ Hammond stopped, and the others looked at him without speaking. ‘We’re only guessing,’ he went on. ‘Why waste the time on it? Did you get the message of the 19th of February, Craigie?’
‘No,’ said Craigie, ‘it didn’t get through.’
Kerr said: ‘Could Emile know about it?’
‘The fact that they had a shot at him today suggests that he might,’ said Loftus looking at Hammond.
‘We—ell,’ said Hammond, running a hand over his head, ‘I had a talk with the nurse—Caroll, did you say she was called? Emile chatted quite a bit this morning. He told her that he had no idea what the letter was about, and that Legarde, or Langham, gave him no clue. The second sheet of paper,’ Hammond added, ‘in case anyone has the bright idea that it’s written over in invisible ink, was put in to protect the actual letter. Emile put it there himself.’
Craigie spoke quietly, looking out of the window and giving the impression that he was uttering his thou
ghts aloud.
‘We’re not much further on than we were last night. It looks as if the other side thought there was more in the letter than there is. We may get word from one of the other agents, of course, but I wouldn’t say that was likely.’ He looked at Hammond. ‘What do you think, Bruce?’
Hammond shook his head slowly.
‘Nothing, yet,’ he said. ‘I’d like a talk with Emile; is there any reason why I shouldn’t stay here for a few hours, if not for the night?’
‘No,’ said Lois and Kerr together.
‘Thanks.’ Hammond looked at Craigie, who nodded. ‘I’ll do that, then,’ he added, ‘and we’ll just watch results for the next twelve hours. You’ll be taking care of the London end?’ he added.
Loftus looked interested.
‘Is there one?’
‘I think I’ll get back to town,’ said Craigie, ‘leaving you three to talk the matter over. If you’re not coming back tonight, Bruce, give me a ring. If there’s any news at all I’ll call you.’ He stood up, and they went in a bunch with him to the door.
‘Ought you to go alone?’ Hammond asked.
Craigie smiled, and Kerr said:
‘He doesn’t travel alone these days, we’ve taught him better.’ He smiled at Hammond’s look of enquiry, adding: ‘There was a car behind you, although you probably didn’t see it. We can’t afford to lose our Father Confessor, so there’s a system by which he’s followed wherever he goes.’
Hammond realised the truth of this precaution as Craigie drove away. Faintly, discreetly, the purr of the following car came to them.
With the going of Craigie, Hammond felt curiously deflated. While Craigie had been there the anti-climax of the letter had not been fully effective; it was now. In consequence Hammond was silent for something more than ten minutes, and the conversation amongst the others was no more than desultory.
