by John Creasey
‘If there is anything you need, sir, you’ll let me know, won’t you?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ Grant smiled and reached the door before Christine and flung it open. It was furnished with comfortable chairs, and had panelled walls, a shelf all round on which stood willow-pattern dishes, copper pots and pans, jugs and brasses.
‘Now inspect the bridal chamber,’ said Grant. ‘Door in that corner leads to our bathroom. Armchairs to idle hours away, and just look at the view!’
‘I have been,’ said Christine. ‘I—oh, darling, we’re really here!’
They stood side by side, arms interlocked, looking out of the window, and a feeling of security and contentment spread over Christine, and with it a kind of breathless wonder that he had fallen in love with her.
‘What time’s dinner?’ she asked abruptly. ‘I’ll unpack, then—’
‘We’ll share all chores,’ Grant said firmly. ‘Not that there’s much to do.’ He opened her case, and saw that it was packed to overflowing. ‘Rather more than one dinner-dress,’ he said dryly. ‘Can I hang anything up?’
‘I’ll do the dresses,’ she said, and crossed to the wardrobe, gay and light-hearted, and opened the door.
She screamed!
Grant sprang to her, and saw in a flash what had frightened her. Hanging inside the wardrobe was a face – a cardboard face, swinging gently from the movement of the door; the face of a grinning Chinaman.
Chapter Two
Pink Mr Prendergast
Christine, trembling helplessly, saw that the face was life-size, and so skilfully painted that at first glimpse it looked almost real. It was fastened by a loop of string to a clothes-hanger. Grant took it down. Closer inspection showed that it was not really a Chinaman’s face, or even Oriental, but it had the set grin which they had seen on the face of the man in the Mercedes. Even a lock of dark hair, falling over the forehead, was there.
Grant put an arm about Christine’s waist.
‘I’m so sorry about this, darling. So terribly sorry, I thought this place was absolutely safe.’
Christine couldn’t speak.
‘At least I prepared you a little,’ Grant said.
She moistened her lips.
‘Yes, you did. I—I shall be all right in a minute.’
He pulled her towards him and gave her a hug which made her gasp.
‘Now I know what a bear-hug is,’ she said breathlessly, and tried to be bright, making herself remember that it would be folly to try to make him tell her more; his confidence must come freely. ‘This is an awfully bad start to our married life, Mike.’
‘It’s damnable, I know, but—’
‘I mean, you’ve made such an awful flop of arrangements,’ Christine said hurriedly. ‘I don’t so much mind Chin-chin Chinaman, but to think that you made all these plans to prevent him from finding out where we’d be, yet he was here ahead of us. It’s shocking bad staff-work.’
‘Hum-hum-hum,’ murmured Grant. ‘Yes. If I weren’t desperately in love with you already, I’d start right now.’ How that did her heart good, another great reward for patience. ‘You didn’t tell me that you had nerves of iron and a pretty wit at times of crisis. Yes, I made plans which I thought were foolproof. Yes, I did know he was back. It was a question of letting Chin-chin put a spanner in the works and postponing the wedding until he was rendered harmless, or pretending that he didn’t exist and hoping that he would have the sense to keep out of the limelight. It’s only a week or two since I knew he was back in England, and you know what these gossips are. Imagine them whispering: “And he practically left her at the church, m’dear.”’ He gave a little bitter laugh. ‘Can’t you hear them?’
‘Yes, I think I can. Mike, don’t look like that! If there’s a thing I’m quite sure about, it’s your love for me. Of course, I wish you’d felt that you could have told me about this before, but—’
‘But you wouldn’t have had half so much fun a-trousseauing,’ protested Grant, ‘and you’d have been looking all about you in church and not listening to the parson, imagining some slant-eyed villain standing among the crowd outside, preparing to do violence.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Christine conceded. It was good to think that he had kept this back for her sake, not his own.
‘Let’s try to forget it for a while,’ said Grant. ‘Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we fly!’
So he wasn’t going to explain any more yet.
‘Fly where?’
‘Almost anywhere,’ said Grant. ‘I’m determined to have an uninterrupted honeymoon,’
‘Darling,’ said Christine, pressing the bell with great deliberation, ‘we are not going to run away. What kind of honeymoon would it be if we worried in case we were coming back to—well, to whatever this is? We’re going to stay here until it’s all over, then we’ll have a guaranteed trouble-free honeymoon!’ She looked up at a tap at the door. ‘What I’d love is a drink, I’ll feel better then.’
A white-coated lad came in, with oily, black hair and a sallow, unsmiling face.
‘A gin-and-lime, a double-whisky and some soda-water,’ Grant ordered.
‘Yes, sir.’ The lad went out.
‘I wonder if you’re right about staying,’ Grant mused. ‘Chin-chin might not stay in England very long, because he has a police record as long as that waiter’s face.’ Then how had the man come to know Michael? ‘We might go away for two or three weeks, then come back to find that all is well. Let’s dine on it, we’ll talk more about it afterwards. How long will it take you to change?’
‘About half an hour.’
‘I only want ten minutes,’ said Grant. ‘When we’ve had our drinks, I’ll take a look round the hotel grounds and see what they’ve really got to offer.’
Twenty minutes later he went out, and walked briskly along the passage towards the lounge-hall. No one was there, except the porter; even the lounge itself was empty. But there were voices outside, a girl laughed, and the party who had been riding came in, two young men and two young women. Engagement rings were glittering on the girls’ hands. Both glanced at Grant, as most women did. He appeared oblivious of them, and went out to the drive, looked at the parked cars, then walked round to the back of the bungalow.
Uplands was not only perfectly situated, but admirably run. The building itself was large; he knew that there were thirty bedrooms. There were two wings, east and west, as well as the centre block, where he and Christine had their room. There were paths through the shrubberies, as he remembered, and they stretched for over a hundred yards, towards meadow-land on either side and the orchard beyond.
For a while he walked up a gentle slope, but beyond the swimming-pool the hillside became steeper and the going heavier. He lengthened his stride until he drew near the top of the hill, which was crested by a copse of beech and oak. Then he turned and looked down over Uplands. He could see not only the farmhouse but several cottages on either slope of the valley.
A car came into sight, heading from the main road. The slanting rays of the sun shone on its green sides.
Grant stood quite still, one hand in his pocket, the other clenched in front of him. The car seemed to move very slowly, as if making sure he could recognise it as a green Mercedes. As it drew near the bungalow Grant’s teeth clamped together.
It went past.
He relaxed a little, although still watching it. Beyond Uplands a thick belt of trees hid the road, and when the car had disappeared behind them he did not see it again. He waited for some minutes, then took out a slim gold cigarette-case, put a cigarette to his lips and flicked his lighter.
‘Excuse me,’ a man said; ‘will you be so good as to give me a light?’
Grant spun round; the light went out and the cigarette dropped from his lips. The man who had approached him so silently stoo
d a couple of yards away, small, plump, pink-faced, middle-aged. He had pale blue eyes, a snub nose, a rose-bud of a mouth, and no chin to speak of. At first, he had been smiling; the smile disappeared as he added: ‘Did I scare you? I am sorry.’
‘That’s all right.’ Grant flicked his lighter again, and the other came forward, cupped his hands about the flame, and lit his cigarette. Then he gave a perfunctory smile, and backed away.
‘Thank you. Isn’t it a charming view from here?’
‘Very,’ said Grant.
‘And such a pleasant, quiet spot,’ said the pink, plump man. ‘I feel that I have escaped the vortex of catastrophic events and come to rest upon the calm beauty of the country. Don’t you have that kind of feeling, while you’re here?’
‘I’ve only just arrived,’ said Grant.
‘Well, so have I,’ said the other. ‘I hope we shall get better acquainted, Mr—’
‘Grant.’
‘Mr Grant. My name is Prendergast. And I really appreciate this little haven from the turmoil and the strife of the outside world.’ He bent his solemn yet childish gaze on Grant. ‘I never feel safe these days, do you?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Grant. ‘Often.’
‘Do you?’ asked Prendergast. His smile was ingratiating. ‘What a fortunate man you are, Mr Grant. I find the condition of the world today creates an atmosphere of constant worry and anxiety, even danger.’ He uttered the last word softly, there was almost menace in it. ‘Of course, it depends so very much on what one does for a living, I suppose. I am an artist.’
Grant looked at him, narrow-eyed.
‘And I hope to paint a great deal here,’ declared Prendergast. ‘Usually I paint portraits.’ He gave that word slight emphasis too. ‘But I also hope to study and reproduce nature on canvas here. I cannot believe that the peace of this neighbourhood will ever be disturbed by violence, can you?’
Grant said: ‘I don’t see why it should.’
‘True, too true! Shall we walk back?’ Prendergast started first; he had a curious little strut. ‘So delightful, so serene,’ he sighed.
‘Don’t you exaggerate the violence elsewhere?’ asked Grant.
Prendergast looked round at him, blinking.
‘Perhaps—perhaps you are right, and it has become an obsession. But—look.’ He took a folded newspaper from his pocket, that morning’s Monitor. He unfolded it, stabbing his forefinger at different headlines. ‘Robbery—fraud—hold-ups—violence—racial wars—vendettas—’
He said this while strutting towards Uplands and without once glancing round at Grant, who made no comment and lengthened his stride so as to draw level. They passed the swimming-pool and the tennis courts, and Grant headed for the courtyard. Here, Prendergast paused.
‘I go in the other way,’ he said. ‘Au revoir, Mr Grant. See you at dinner.’
He beamed, and strutted off.
A small string orchestra played light and lively airs during dinner. The long window of the dining-room overlooked the far side of the valley.
Dusk was falling, and concealed wall-lighting spread a soft glow over the room. There were forty or fifty people here, most of them at tables for two, although one or two larger parties were in the corners. The young foursome which Grant had met was still gay, and wine flowed freely.
Christine had recaptured her radiance of the morning. She wore an off-white gown, with wide puffed sleeves and a square neck. The wine had helped restore her mood of happiness, and to drive fear away. Her grey-blue eyes glowed, while Grant was telling her of his encounter with the little pink artist.
‘You look as if all that had gone in one ear and out of the other,’ he said, as he finished.
‘It didn’t, darling, but that little pink man over there keeps looking at me. He must be Prendergast. If you hadn’t told me about him, I should have been sure I’d made a conquest. And it’s better to keep up appearances, isn’t it—if I looked like a frightened fawn, Chin-chin Chinaman would probably celebrate with champagne. Have you found out anything about Pinkie?’
‘There hasn’t been time.’
Christine put down her glass.
‘Mike, I don’t mind what happens, I don’t terribly mind the mystery, I know you’ll explain when you can, but please tell me what you intend to do. Don’t try to fight this trouble without telling me.’
‘I’ll tell you everything from now on. No more posing as a strong, silent man,’ Grant promised.
‘In small doses I think I should like the pose,’ said Christine, with a catch in her breath. ‘Darling, would it be unreasonable to say that I’d like to know the worst I can expect. I mean, darling, it would be a kind of revenge if he just spoiled our honeymoon. Do you think that’s as far as he’ll go?’
Grant said, very slowly: ‘I just don’t know.’
‘It must have been a very nasty business when it started,’ said Christine.
‘It was,’ Grant said, and left it at that. Christine couldn’t restrain herself from saying after a pause: ‘I don’t know that I should like to be left alone for long, Mike; I’m jumpy already. What does one do in the evenings?’
‘They’ll clear this room for dancing,’ Grant told her, and added with a perfectly straight face: ‘Or we could have an early night.’
‘Why, what a novel idea!’ Her eyes laughed at him. ‘Let’s have a stroll first, the moon might give us ideas.’
There was a half-moon, softening the outline of trees and the hedges, glistened on the swimming-pool, making mystery where there was none and shadows which stretched across the grass on which they trod. They walked close together towards one of the shrubberies.
It was pleasantly warm for an evening in May.
Christine wore a short mink coat, and a filmy scarf over her head. The wind had stiffened, and blew from the west, bringing the strains of the dance-band from Uplands. They weren’t the only people out: the foursome had broken up into pairs a few minutes before, and they could hear voices some distance off as they walked along a twisting path through the shrubbery.
‘How far does this shrubbery go?’ asked Christine, as if it mattered. Only his strength and his nearness did; he was like a drug, making her forget all unpleasant things.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Grant. ‘It seems longer than it is, because the path winds to and fro; I should think it’s about—’
His words were cut short, and Christine’s fingers bit into his arm, for nearby a girl gave an ear-splitting scream, which sounded hideous on the calm night air.
Chapter Three
Mistaken Identity?
The scream had hardly died away before another shattered the quiet. A man cried: ‘What’s up?’, a girl gasped: ‘That’s Anne!’ There was rustling among the shrubs, then heavy footsteps as of a man running. Another scream started, but broke off, and ended in a gurgling cry. The girl said: ‘Tom, don’t leave me!’
Grant gripped Christine’s arm.
‘Let’s hurry.’
He half-ran, half-walked with her along the path, twisting and turning a dozen times. Abruptly they came upon another couple, some twenty yards away. Grant called out: ‘What’s on?’
The couple turned.
‘Who’s that?’ the man demanded in a shaky voice.
‘Grant, from the hotel. Have you found her?’
‘No,’ the young man said, and added in a quieter voice to his companion: ‘It’s all right, darling. Anne probably saw a fox or something. Anne!’ He called her name more loudly. ‘Derek! Are you there?’
There was no answer.
‘They were ahead of us,’ he said, and looked at Grant, apparently relieved when he recognised him. ‘Anne’s a bit excitable, it might not be anything much.’
‘Then why don’t they answer?’ demanded his companion.
G
rant, taller than any of the others, could make out the path clearly as it twisted and turned. A movement farther away caught his eye, and he looked towards it. Some way off a man was hurrying downhill towards the meadows and the road in the valley. He was alone except for something which loped by his side, a huge creature which showed up clearly.
‘That—that’s not Derek,’ muttered the young man.
‘Tom, I’m scared,’ said the girl, in a shivery voice.
The man named Tom looked at Christine.
‘Would you and my fiancée like to go back to the hotel? Then Mr Grant and I could—’
‘I’d much rather stay here,’ said Christine quickly.
‘Oh, I’ll stay,’ said the girl.
Grant asked: ‘Would the others stick to the path?’
‘Oh, I think so,’ said Tom. ‘No point in going off it. We’ll lead the way.’ He turned and strode along the path, Grant kept by his side, the two girls were close behind. The man and the dog were no longer in sight, but another sound broke the quiet—the stutter of a car engine. Soon headlamps gave a diffused light; the car was travelling away from Uplands and the main road.
None of the party spoke.
A new sound came: a moan. The girl with Christine gasped. Tom glanced at Grant, who pushed on ahead as the moan was repeated. He turned a corner in the path and saw a girl lying near the bushes at one side. She wore a light-coloured dress which was caught up round her knees, and was turning her head from side to side as if in agony. Beyond her, her companion lay quite still.
Grant called: ‘Christine, stay where you are a minute.’
Tom went to the girl on the ground, and dropped on one knee beside her, saying: ‘It’s all right, Anne, it’s all right,’ while Grant bent over the man.
A glance was enough to show that he was dead; his throat was terribly lacerated, and blood spattered his shirt-front and his coat.
Within half an hour of the discovery of the young man’s body, a car-load of police had arrived from Shaftesbury, with an inspector, a detective-sergeant and three uniformed policemen. Others had arrived since, as well as a doctor.
