'Anything fresh, Thompson?' he asked.
'No, sir, nothing. There've been no more visitors since you left last night and Mrs. Bird tells me the lady who came down by car slept in the place. She's still there as far as I know.'
Wells nodded and walked on up the wooded driveway then, skirting the back of the museum, he reached the side entrance to the house.
Mrs. Bird appeared from the kitchen garden with a basket full of runner beans just as he reached the door, and she confirmed Thompson's report.
'When the foreign lady turned up she had her bit of supper,5 she said, 'and told me she meant to stay the night. I always keep a couple of bedrooms ready because that's his lordship's orders. After her meal she went straight up without a word except that I wasn't to call her until she rang for breakfast.'
Milly came out at that moment and smiled shyly at the Inspector. He nodded to her cheerfully.
'We're on the right track now, but it's a matter of waiting until midday, or rather until Mr. Sallust turns up again and I doubt if he'll be here much before then. I've got to kick my heels around for the next few hours and so I was wondering.
'Wondering what?' Milly asked him.
'Well, my plane's at Manston aerodrome, only a couple of miles away and I was wondering if you meant what you said about liking to come up for a flip some time
Milly paled a little under her creamy skin. 'II think it would be rather fun with you.'
'You don't mind, Mrs. Bird?' he asked the older woman.
'As long as you bring her back safe I don't, but aeroplane's are tricky things, aren't they?'
'Not if they're looked after properly. Night landings in unknown country aren't much fun, but it's no more risky than going for a ride in a car on a lovely day like this.'
'All right, I'll get my hat.' Milly turned away, but he stopped her.
'You don't need that only get it blown off as mine's an open plane. I'll borrow a leather jacket for you from one of the pilots.'
Milly looked at Mrs. Bird. 'You're sure you don't mind, Aunty?'
'Of course I don't, my pet, as long as you take care. Run along now and enjoy yourself.'
Gerry and the girl left the back of the house and made their way by the side path through the shrubbery out on to the ' east drive. Both were silent for a few minutes, racking their brains for a subject of conversation. Then Gerry glanced towards the old tower which rose out of a coppice some hundred yards away to their right with the steel structure on its top, which looked like a miniature Eiffel Tower and could be seen above the treetops of the park for many miles in all directions.
'What's that place?' he asked. 'Apart, I mean, from the fact that they may use it now as a signal station to guide their planes in.'
'It's called the Waterloo tower, I think,' she said, 'built in the year of the battle you know, and it has a peal of bells, twelve of them, the finest in Kent up to a few years ago. Canterbury Cathedral had only ten, until they added another couple and came equal with this lot here. There's another tower over there too,' she glanced towards their left where a tall brick building crowned a low fenced in mound that rose from the grass land. 'The old gardener told me that Major Powell Cotton’s father was awfully keen on ships and things; so he used to signal from it to his friends in the navy when they sailed across the bay. The sea is hidden from us here by the trees but it's only a mile away.'
'I see he made a collection of old cannons too,' Wells remarked, looking at the six deep semicircle of ancient guns which occupied the mound.
'That's right. Some of them came from the Royal George, I'm told, and the little baby ones were taken from Kingsgate Castle. The mound itself is an old Saxon burial ground, raised in honour of some great chief, and it's supposed to be the reason we have a ghost here. She's called the "White Lady and walks along a path through the woods behind the tower at night, until she reaches the mound, then 'she disappears. They say she's the chief's young wife and she haunts the place where he was buried.'
'Ever seen her?'
'No, and I don't think anyone has for a long time now; all the same I wouldn't walk along that path at night for anything.'
'Not if I were with you?' Gerry asked, smiling at her.
She blushed a little. 'Well, I might then that would be different.'
A few moments later they reached the park gates and took the byroads through the open cornfields towards Manston. They were silent for a good portion of their two-mile walk but strangely happy in each other's company.
At the aerodrome a friendly artificer lent Milly a flying coat and she was soon installed in the observer's seat of Wells's Tiger Moth, a little scared, but even more excited at starting on her first flight.
For nearly an hour they cruised over eastern Kent, first along the northern shore over Birchington, Herne Bay and Whitstable, then southeast to Canterbury, where the towers of the ancient cathedral, lifting high above the twisting streets of the town, were thrown up by the strong sunlight which patterned the stonework like delicate lace against the black shadows made by its embrasures. Ten minutes later they had reached the coast again and were circling over Hythe on the southern shore of the county. Turning east they visited Sandgate, Folkestone and Dover, flying low round the tower of the old castle upon its cliff, while below them the cross Channel steamers and the destroyers in the Admiralty basin looked like toy ships that one could pick up in the hand and push out with a stick upon a voyage across a pond. Away over the Channel the white cliffs of Calais showed faintly in the summer haze. From Dover they sailed on to Walmer, Deal and Sandwich, then across Pegwell Bay to Ramsgate, and completed the circle of the Thanet coast by passing low over the long beaches of Broadstairs, Margate and Westgate, where the holiday crowd swarmed like black ants in their thousands and countless white faces stared up towards the roaring plane, waving hands and handkerchiefs in salutation as it soared low overhead.
'Well, how did you like it?' Gerry Wells turned to glance over his shoulder as he brought the plane to a halt once more on the Manston landing ground.
'It it was fine,' Milly said a little breathlessly. She had feared that she might be airsick, but the thrill of watching the tiny human figures in the sunlit fields, and town after town as they circled above them, with some new interest constantly arising out of the far horizon had made her completely forget her fear after the first few moments. Her cheeks were glowing now with a gentle flush from the swift wind of their flight and her blue eyes were sparkling in her delicate little face with happy exhilaration.
As Wells helped her out of the plane he had not the least twinge of conscience at having neglected his duties for an hour or so to give her the experience. He had no regular hours and his work often kept him up all night so he felt perfectly justified in taking this little break which had given Milly and himself so much pleasure.
Having seen his plane into its borrowed hangar they set out again for Quex Park and arrived back at the east gate by half past eleven. Their friendship had now grown to such a state that talking no longer proved a difficulty and Milly was giving him an account of her childhood which, although utterly lacking in all interest for most people, he found quite absorbing.
When they reached the house they went into Mrs. Bird's sitting room and found a lanky, unshaven, bedraggled figure lounging in one of the worn armchairs. It was Gregory and he was in none too good a humour.
He smiled at them with a cynical twist of his thin lips. 'Well, you had a good time I hope? Thinking of settling down in Thanet for a holiday?'
Gerry Wells raised his eyebrows. 'So you're back already? I hardly thought you'd be likely to get here before midday.'
'It's lucky I'm here at all,' snapped Gregory. 'Having risked my neck with that blasted parachute of yours. Still, I've been kicking my heels here just on two hours, while you've been disporting yourself, I gather, with the intention of showing Miss Chalfont what a mighty fine pilot you are.'
Milly went crimson. 'II think I'd better go and find Aunty,
if you'll excuse me,' she murmured uncomfortably, all the gaiety gone out of her pretty little face.
'Run along, my dear,' Gregory said more amiably. 'It's not your fault if our heroic policeman decides to take time off to amuse himself and I'm not his boss anyway.'
Wells drew his shoulders back a little as the girl fled from the room. 'I take what time off I like, Mr. Sallust, but don't let's quarrel over that. Did you have any luck when you landed?'
Gregory shrugged. 'As I survived the ordeal it was almost inevitable that I should. Their headquarters down there is a little place called the Brown Owl Inn. It's miles from anywhere in the middle of the marshes but near the railway line running from Dungeness to Ashford. I had to stagger a mile through every sort of muck before I got near enough to see what was going on and by that time most of the planes had dumped their stuff and got off again. The interesting thing is, though, that while I was there a goods train came in from Dungeness and unloaded several hundred wooden cases, then the cases the planes had brought were loaded on to it instead, and it puffed off, presumably to London. Afterwards the stuff from the train was loaded on to a fleet of Lorries which duly trundled away inland; all the gang who had handled both sets of goods going with, them. The two different lots of cases, which were swapped over, had exactly the same appearance, by the way.'
Wells's eyes brightened. 'I think I get the idea. They're probably shipping cargoes of non dutiable goods in a small freighter. Those would be cleared by the customs without any charges in the normal way, of course, then consigned to London by the railway. But they must have got at some of the railway people to halt the goods train for a few moments near their secret landing ground; then the contraband that the planes bring over is substituted for the non dutiable stuff and delivered in London without any questions being asked.'
'That's about it,' said Gregory, 'though why they should bother to make the exchange I don't quite see.'
'I do,' Wells grinned. 'A fleet of lorries anywhere near the coast at night, might quite well be pulled up by one of the preventative men. By using this method they eliminate that risk and get the contraband straight through to London. The thing we've got to find out now is the address where the goods are to be delivered at the other end after they leave the London goods depot.'
Gregory produced the carefully folded form of the stolen telegram, addressed to Corot, from his pocket and spread it out although he knew its contents by heart now. 'Look,' he said, 'at the last two lines, "Seventh", that was yesterday, 43 47, "Eighth", that's today, 43, again 47. From the repetition of the numbers it looks a reasonably safe bet they mean to use the same landing ground to ran another cargo tonight; but we're not having any funny business with parachutes this time. We'll fly over to Ashford this evening, hire a nice safe car there, park it somewhere where it won't be noticed a few hundred yards from the Brown Owl and see what's doing. Maybe, if the luck holds, we'll be able to secure the information you want.'
Tine,' Wells agreed. 'We'll have to get on that train somehow, if it's only for a moment, so that I can get the address to which the goods are being forwarded in London.'
The next move having been arranged, Gregory decided to go in to Margate. It did not trouble him that the room Wells had occupied at the Queen's had probably already been let again, owing to the holiday rush, as the proprietors of the St. George's were old friends of his and he felt certain that, however full up they were, they would fix him up with a bath and a bed for the afternoon. Margate too was more convenient than Birchington for Manston Aerodrome, so it was agreed that Wells should pick him up at the St. George's, before going out there, at seven o'clock.
As Gregory stood up Mrs. Bird came in. 'You'd better make yourselves scarce now you two,' she said. 'That Miss Szenty is a proper lazy one, lying abed there and wasting all this lovely morning, but I've just taken her breakfast up so she'll be down shortly, and you don't want her to see either of you about the place. She says she'll be staying here for the next few nights so you'd best watch out when you visit us again or you may run into her in the garden.'
'Thanks, Mrs. Bird. I'm just off,' Gregory told her. It was some small comfort to be reasonably certain that he would be able to find Sabine there if an emergency made it necessary for him to get hold of her in the next day or two. Tired as he was, he wished desperately that he could remain and see her when she came downstairs, if only for a few moments, but he dared not risk it. His previous blunder was still fresh in his mind. It was a hundred to one that she would take to flight again the second she got rid of him and, in addition, it would give away the fact that the police knew Lord Gavin to be the tenant of Quex Park.
'Coming, Wells?' he said abruptly.
'Not your way,' the Inspector answered with a shade of embarrassment. 'As I'll be at a loose end till this evening I thought of spending the afternoon in Birchington.'
'Take her to lunch at the Beresford,' suggested Gregory with a cynical twist of his lip. 'Be careful you don't get ran in for cradle snatching though.'
Gerry Wells flushed angrily. He saw no reason why he should deny himself the pleasure of remaining in Milly's immediate vicinity, and asking her to lunch with him had been the very thing he had had in mind, but before he could think of an appropriate retort Gregory had turned his back and slouched out of the door.
'He's a rum one and no mistake,' murmured Mrs. Bird gazing after him resentfully.
'Oh, he's all right,' Wells shrugged. 'Bitter at times as though something had hurt him once, right inside if you know what I mean, but there's something about him that one can't help liking, all the same.'
Milly accepted the Inspector's invitation joyfully and they lunched together at the hotel. An hour later they were bathing in the west bay beyond the town. The tide was in now but a narrow strip of golden sand enabled them to sun themselves afterwards and Wells thought it altogether the most delightful day he had ever experienced.
He would have like to linger on the beach indefinitely but his sense of duty to be done did not allow him even to consider such an attractive prospect, so, a little after six, he set off again and by seven he had collected Gregory from the St. George's Hotel, shaved now and refreshed from his bath, sleep, and an excellent dinner. An hour later, having made the hop to Ashford in Wells's plane, they were running out of the town in a small hired car towards the scene of Gregory's adventures on the previous night.
By the time they had completed their fifteen mile run the sun was setting and soon twilight obscured the more distant prospects across the low-lying marshland. They pulled up at the Brown Owl Inn and went inside for a drink; just as though they were a couple of ordinary motorists.
It was a tiny place, much smaller than it had seemed to Gregory when half obscured by semidarkness the night before, and boasted only one small parlour which served the purpose of saloon, private bar, lounge and taproom, all in one. A big red-faced man, who seemed to be the owner of the place, as well as barman, served them. His manner was surly and offhand so they failed to draw him into conversation, as they did not wish to arouse his suspicions by forcing themselves upon him and appearing too inquisitive.
Gregory, never at a loss for a plausible lie, said that they were employed by the Ordnance Department, and had to spend the night at Lydd, the Artillery depot, in order to witness some experimental firing with a new gun which would take place early the following morning.
The landlord listened to their statement with a nod of his head but made no comment on it. He had accepted a drink for politeness' sake, but lounged there behind his bar, stolid and apparently uninterested in their business.
Wells stood another round of drinks then, as an old grandfather clock in the corner of the low room chimed nine, he said to Gregory: 'We'd better be getting on I think,' so they went out to their car and drove away.
Gregory pointed out the actual landing place of the smuggler planes as they passed it in the car just after leaving the Brown Owl. It was a long flat stretch of grassland about three h
undred yards wide, between the railway embankment and the road. The place showed no trace of occupation in the evening light and they thought it better not to make a closer inspection of it in case they were observed from the windows of the inn.
The Inspector asked Gregory if he thought he could find the place again where he had abandoned the parachute; so that they might try and retrieve that expensive piece of Government property before darkness set in.
'Drive on for another half mile or so towards the coast,' Gregory suggested, 'then we'll have a look round and see if we can spot it. We've got to park the car somewhere well out of sight, anyway.'
A few moments later they found a grassy stretch to the left of the road, over which they could drive the car for fifty yards, and they pulled up between two low mounds where there was little chance of it being discovered after nightfall.
Gregory got out and, scaling the fence, ran up the railway embankment. The landscape was dusky now in the fading twilight but, almost at once he saw a grey blob, a little to his right on the far side of the railway. It was the parachute; its tangled cords and material draped over some low bushes.
Calling Wells he set off towards it; marvelling at the ease with which he could cross the tricky country compared to the frightful time he had had when blundering over it in pitch darkness.
They bundled up the parachute and got it back to the car, then settled down to wait, knowing that there was no prospect of the smuggler fleet arriving for another two hours at least.
Fortunately they had brought some sandwiches with them and, sitting on two tussocks of coarse grass, they made a leisurely meal which whiled away a fraction of the time before them.
The night had now closed in and the time of waiting seemed interminable but they had known that they would have to face it if they were to see the landing place by daylight. Gradually the hours dragged themselves along until, at half past eleven, they decided to leave the vicinity of the car and conceal themselves somewhere nearer to the landing ground, so that they would be able to overlook it.
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