by John Creasey
The engine of the aircraft stopped, abruptly. Silence seemed to fill the world. There was hardly a sound, until the men ahead started to run towards the aircraft, and someone called: ‘Come on, Cy.’
‘You’re not going anywhere, and I’ll tell you why,’ said Middleton, hoarsely. ‘Liz began to help Rollison. She knew a bit and guessed some more—she guessed that I’d done nothing about looking for the others, and it made her think I might be mixed up in it. But she was in love with me. Beck knew what she might do, he wanted to snatch her and kill her, but I wouldn’t let it happen. I wouldn’t! I was sure I could keep Liz quiet. But Beck got scared. Do you know what, Rollison, he didn’t trust me any longer. He nearly murdered me. Then he snatched Liz. He thought I would be too scared to talk, and he was right—but I wasn’t too scared to come and get my own back. He tried to kill me, but I’m going to do more than try—I’m going to kill him.’
Rollison heard a stealthy sound before Middleton guessed that anyone else was there. Rollison began to call a warning, but was too late. A man who had crept behind Middleton smashed a weapon on to the back of his head; Middleton went down, making a choking sound.
‘Cy, we’ve got to hurry, we can’t lose any time.’ It was Rickett. ‘Cars are coming along without light, they aren’t so far away. I reckon the police are in them. We’ve got to kill Rollison—’
The darkness was slashed, by bright lights – headlamps and torches, a few hundred yards away. The engine of the aircraft started up again. Most of the men were already near it, clambering in.
‘… and kill Middleton, we’ve got to—’
‘Okay,’ Beck said. ‘It’s a pleasure.’
In the light, dim just here, he took out a gun.
If this fired bullets, it meant death. Rollison, helpless, rigid against the tree, could only wait for split seconds that brought agony.
Beck bent over Middleton, and Rollison heard the hiss of the gas pistol. Had he saved his own life, when emptying those phials?
Beck turned to him and squeezed the trigger. Cool air streamed into Rollison’s face. The gas phials were empty of gas.
If Beck should guess—
Rollison screamed and screwed up his face and began to choke. Satisfied, Beck and Rickett turned away and raced towards the aircraft. Police were still a hundred yards away.
Beck looked a giant scarecrow, Rickett massive and brutish, as they ran.
Men crashed through the undergrowth near Rollison, and a man called out: ‘Mr. Rollison - Mr. Ar!’ That was Ebbutt.
It was safe to answer …
But Beck and Rickett and the rest of the gang were in the aircraft, the police couldn’t stop them from taking off.
Ebbutt rushed up.
Davies called out.
The aircraft, its engine roaring, moved along the runway and then soared into the air.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Finale
There was another sound near Rollison as Ebbutt cut his bonds, and the police made a futile rush towards the aircraft.
A man gave a choking laugh.
‘Wot—’ began Ebbutt.
‘Watch him!’ Rollison exclaimed. ‘That’s Middleton, and he’s armed.’
‘Oh, is ’e?’ Ebbutt moved swiftly, bent over Middleton, and took his gun. ‘Soon put that right.’ He lugged Middleton to his feet, and stood him against a tree, not very gently.
Middleton still laughed in a queer, unnatural way; a choking laugh. It was as if madness had suddenly taken possession of him. In the different beams of light, all bright, his lips were drawn back.
Men stood and watched the aircraft as it blotted out the stars where it passed.
Others came towards Middleton; Aird, Davies, Llewellyn, and Uncle Pi. There were a lot of police and a lot of Redcoats; nearly everyone carried a torch.
‘What’s got into Middleton, now?’ Davies asked. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Funny,’ Middleton gasped. ‘Funny!’ He didn’t look sane. ‘Funny,’ he choked, and then he screamed: ‘Look, look, look!’
The starlit sky was split by a yellowish orange flame; a great roar came back to them; then they saw fire in the air, and knew exactly what had happened.
Pieces of the burning aircraft fell to the ground and split into tiny fragments and spread in a great area. A piece of wreckage crashed and shook the ground.
‘Did he know?’ breathed Davies.
‘Of course he knew,’ Rollison said, in a voice which he hardly recognized as his own. His head was an aching ball, he didn’t know how to keep his eyes open. Jolly – Liz – where were they? Where? ‘He sent them to crash, meant to sit pretty himself. That’s why he wouldn’t travel with them. Grab him!’
Middleton was still laughing, as if his mind had been turned, when the police handcuffed him.
‘I did it!’ he screeched. ‘I gave a time bomb to Rickett, just a little thing, he thought it was a jewel-case. Perfect timing, wasn’t it, perfect—’
He broke off into laughter again, then slumped forward, unconscious from loss of blood.
They went back across the fields towards the car, Rollison carried in a ‘chair’ made by Ebbutt and another East Ender. Middleton was between two police-sergeants; he was no longer giggling; but for support he would have fallen.
Davies talked; explaining.
One of Bill Ebbutt’s men had climbed to the top of a water tower, to watch the cars as they had driven off. He had been able to tell the police that the cars had turned off the road at a certain spot, and Camp officials had placed it beyond doubt as the airfield.
Cars with police, Redcoats, and officials had driven past the approach to the airfield, then doubled back, using sidelights and able to coast because the road led downhill. They had walked across fields and infiltrated into the woods. Others had approached across country, and had been on the other side of the road near the airfield gates. Over fifty men had been in that final raid, and they had waited until the aeroplane landed, to make a sudden swoop.
They had waited too long.
Only Middleton could tell them the whole story, and say where the prisoners were.
They reached the road, with Davies still talking.
There had been one other capture: Rickett’s wife.
Ebbutt helped Rollison into a car.
Middleton began to laugh again. He was stupid with it. The law would probably say that he was guilty but insane. On his unhinged mind depended the lives of Jolly, Elizabeth, and three Redcoats.
At the Camp Rollison was taken to the Sick Bay and his wound dressed. He wasn’t present when Davies first questioned Middleton.
Sometimes Middleton grinned, sometimes he giggled, sometimes he was silent; he did not give a single intelligible answer. A doctor stopped the questioning.
‘You’ll never get any sense out of him while he’s like this, and I can’t allow any more. He’s a hospital case.’
Rollison learned all this when he was up, and went to Aird’s office. Aird, the Colonel, Llewellyn, and Davies were there, with the grey-haired woman and Uncle Pi, whose eyes seemed deeply shadowed.
The grey-haired woman said: ‘Mr. Rollison, isn’t there anything you can suggest?’
Rollison said: ‘Yes. Where’s Beck’s wife?’
‘She doesn’t know a thing about where they usually go,’ Davies declared. ‘I’ve talked to her until I’m blue in the face. She doesn’t know Beck’s dead yet, though. She says that he didn’t confide in her much. She knew something was happening here and that men and jewels were smuggled out of the Camp by the aircraft, but that’s all.’
‘Will this help Jolly?’ the grey-haired woman asked, and there was anguish in her voice.
Uncle Pi said hurtfully: ‘I don’t think it will help anyone.’
Rollison barked: ‘It’s time you talked, Wray. Try explaining why you were in Middleton’s chalet when he was nearly killed. Why you went to Liz’s afterwards? Why—’
Uncle Pi said steadily: ‘I went to se
e if Liz was in Middleton’s chalet. I stood listening in the doorway for some time—I didn’t go in.’
‘Why listen? Why eavesdrop?’
‘I thought Middleton was no good and wanted Liz to find out by herself. If they’d been in there together, I’d have got her away, somehow. Later I went to her chalet to see if I could find out where she’d gone.’
‘It could even be true,’ Rollison growled. ‘But we’ve got to know all we can before talking to Rosa Beck. What did Rosa know, Davies?’
‘Beck, Clark, and Middleton have been bringing stolen jewels and flying them to American, Canadian, and Continental buyers in Ireland. They sold the stuff for dollars or other hard currency— never for sterling. There was a steady traffic in men, too—all crooks on the Yard’s wanted list. Beck fixed forged passports and visas. They hoped to get two more men away, at least—men now at the Camp. Mrs. Beck’s named them.’
No one else spoke; but Uncle Pi glanced impatiently at the door.
‘Elizabeth Cherrell overheard some planning, and …’ Davies told Rollison what he already knew, then added grimly: ‘That’s all Mrs. Beck admits to knowing—except that she was a victim of a faked attack, with the idea of pretending to be scared into talking to you, so that she could put us on the wrong track about the Caves at Harlech. You saw through that man, didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t see far enough,’ Rollison growled. ‘When can we tackle Middleton again?’
Davies said regretfully: ‘He’s not right in the head, Mr. Rollison. We cannot rely on him for any common sense, and we cannot overdo it.’
That was true, and had to be faced.
‘I’d make Mrs. Beck talk if I had to strangle her—’ Uncle Pi began hoarsely.
‘Let me do the strangling,’ said Rollison. ‘Where is she?’
‘Still in the hospital,’ Davies told him.
Rosa Beck’s hair looked like beaten brass. Her eyes were heavy. She looked exhausted, and there was no interest in her expression when Rollison came in. Just outside the door were Davies and Aird; by the open window, two others, including Uncle Pi. But in this little room Rollison and the woman appeared to be alone.
Rollison pulled up a chair.
‘Better?’ he asked.
‘I’ve nothing to say to you—nothing at all.’
‘Think again,’ Rollison said softly. ‘And forget all your hopes, Rosa. Cy’s dead.’
That shook her. She looked at him sharply, in sudden fear.
‘That’s a lie!’
‘He’s dead. Middleton blew up the aeroplane. Cy was making his last journey in it. Middleton kept away.’ He paused. She believed him – and what mattered was that she should believe the lie now on his lips: ‘Middleton’s on his way to the hide-out. He wants to pick up the cash that’s there, take Liz Cherrell, and get away. Is that your idea of a happy ending: Cy dead, Middleton sitting pretty?’
‘It’s a lie,’ Rosa gasped again.
‘All right,’ Rollison said, very slowly. ‘You think it’s a lie, but I know it’s true. I saw the aeroplane blow up. I know how you felt about Cy. I know that you were one of the few who weren’t afraid of him. I know how cleverly you tried to fool me. I pretended to believe you, but was quite sure they weren’t in any cave. Now listen. It isn’t your fault that Cy’s dead. It will be your fault if Middleton gets away with this. Where’s the hide-out? I want to be there, waiting for him.’
Her eyes had the burning intensity that had once been Cy Beck’s.
‘Cy’s—dead,’ she breathed. ‘You mean it!’
‘I’m sorry, Rosa.’
‘Go and get Middleton!’ she screamed. ‘Catch him, hang him. He’s at …’
Ten hours later, Rollison and Uncle Pi and a grey-haired woman, whom Rollison now knew to be Lilian Small, were together in a car when the Eire police raided a small house not far from the Ulster border.
There was a rough landing-strip near by; a so-called ‘amateur’ aero club; three guards who were taken completely by surprise; two men wanted for murder by Scotland Yard; and the prisoners – alive.
Jolly was shaken but unhurt. When he saw Lilian Small, his eyes lit up.
Elizabeth was frightened, bruised, but still so very beautiful; when Uncle Pi went towards her, she saw something in his eyes which told her great truths. He must have been satisfied by all that he saw in hers.
There were also two thin, emaciated men, who still wore their red coats, and one who would soon have been as bad.
There was a good hoard of stolen jewels; of dollars; and the names of the crooks still waiting at the Camp to be smuggled abroad – as well as a list of all who had been taken out of the country and information which would help the police to trace them and bring them back.
More facts soon came out.
How Elizabeth, once in love with Middleton and ever loyal, had gradually lost her faith in him; but he had fought to save her from Beck, who would have been ruthless. There had been that much good in Middleton.
How the missing Redcoats had left in the airfield wagon, been hailed when it was near the airfield, lured among the trees, attacked, and sent to Ireland with the next smuggler-’plane. Beck and the gang had not wanted to kill for the sake of it – had planned to finish the game and go to the States, leaving the men alive.
How Beck had planted the jewels in Elizabeth’s chalet, while planning her capture, hoping to make the police think she had run away for fear of being found out. Beck had been prepared to do anything to gain precious time.
How Jolly had been waylaid, simply to give Beck a strangle-hold on Rollison.
How Susan Dell had been a nervous wreck, dangerous to Beck and the gang; and been murdered. Clark, in love with her, had threatened trouble and been killed swiftly.
How Middleton had invented a wife he had to visit when he had to get away from the Camp; and, falling in love with Elizabeth, found his ‘wife’ a liability, but talked of her so that he could win general sympathy – especially Elizabeth’s. And how the desire to break away from Beck and live a normal life had become an obsession, turning his mind because he feared Beck so.
So he had twisted and turned, trying to discredit Rollison, fearful of what Elizabeth or Rollison might discover, fearful of Beck, but, even after Beck had nearly killed him, unable to unmask the man.
And how Uncle Pi had persuaded Aird to talk to the Colonel, and so begin the Toff ’s investigation – because Uncle Pi had believed that Elizabeth was in danger from a Middleton who wasn’t quite sane.
There was a great concourse of people at the gates of the Camp. Only the toddlers remained at the swimming-baths. Most of the halls and games rooms, the playing-fields, the milk bars, and the licensed bars were also deserted. The throng was crowding to see Rollison’s car as he drove with Jolly by his side.
The Colonel and Aird had already said good-bye, and given their thanks.
Ebbutt and his men had gone home.
Uncle Pi was with Elizabeth, for once neglecting the Camp’s children; and Elizabeth was well and much less troubled.
The three rescued Redcoats were in hospital.
The flags bordering the Camp fluttered gaily in a stiffish breeze which stirred the waters of the pools and the leaves of the trees and bushes, but the sun shone brightly, and the water and the distant sea were blue. The mountains were capped with purple haze, lending them beauty.
The crowd was waving, laughing, cheering.
The gate-keepers waved.
Just outside, making a kind of guard of honour, were a hundred Redcoats, men and girls, laughing, waving. And then, as they went out of the gates, the Camp bands struck up a triumphal march.
At last, they were past all this and on the open road.
‘Jolly,’ said Rollison, ‘You’ve got to admit that they do things in style.’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more, sir,’ said Jolly. ‘As you are well aware, I was extremely dubious about the wisdom of accepting the commission; and having accepted it, doubt
ful whether we should find that we could—ah—endure the atmosphere.’
Rollison kept a straight face.
‘But we survived.’
‘We did indeed,’ said Jolly. ‘In fact, I freely admit that I would willingly have stayed longer, if only because I so greatly enjoyed the company of Mrs. Small, who was a great help in all my inquiries. She has been at the Camps for so long that everyone knew her and no one was surprised that she asked questions. But for her I am doubtful whether we would have discovered as much as we did in the short time at our disposal,’ went on Jolly, pretending to be bland but speaking rather more quickly than usual; as if not quite sure of himself. ‘I understand that she had decided that this will be her last season at the Camps, she is to spend all her time at the organization’s London Headquarters. They are not so very far removed from Gresham Terrace,’ Jolly added; and rested, glancing sharply at Rollison.
‘Well, well!’ marvelled Rollison. ‘How very convenient! We owe her so much that it would be most inconsiderate not to take every opportunity to express our gratitude, wouldn’t it? Of course,’ he added solemnly, ‘you could show it in other ways. I suppose your room at the flat could be turned into marriage quarters, if—’
‘I think, if I may say so, sir,’ murmured Jolly, ‘that we are being a little previous in considering that. There are other matters worth attention, too. In addition to the original fee, there is to be a substantial bonus. The insurance companies will pay you a recovery commission for the jewels found in Ireland. A most satisfactory ending, sir, on the whole.’
He was relaxed; smiling.
Long before they reached Bala, for they chose to go home that way, he was humming the light air from La Ronde.
Series Information
Published or to be published by
House of Stratus
Dates given are those of first publication
Alternative titles in brackets
‘The Baron’ (47 titles) (writing as Anthony Morton)
‘Department ‘Z’’ (28 titles)
‘Dr. Palfrey Novels’ (34 titles)
‘Gideon of Scotland Yard’ (22 titles)
