by Ellis Peters
‘There are ten of these things,’ said Barbara, ‘and I am not going into business, that’s flat. Whoever buys the collection won’t miss this one. And at least we can be sure it’ll be appreciated.’
That was when Toby appeared, to be greeted with delight and drawn into the group at once, so that Barbara and Willie were deterred from completing their farewells and leaving. George, an ambiguous figure at this hour, when he might or might not be on duty, waited for the social exchanges to come to a natural end.
‘Lovely to see you again, Toby,’ said Jenny, and kissed him heartily. ‘I hope you’re hungry? I know you said you couldn’t make it for dinner, but I kept some for you, anyhow. Mrs Rainbow, you remember Toby Malcolm? We brought him with us to your house-warming.’
‘Of course I remember,’ said Barbara cordially. ‘He was the best dancer in the room, we did a real exhibition tango together. And of course you already know Willie Swayne—’
‘Ever since he clouted me for pinching birds’ eggs when I was thirteen,’ acknowledged Toby, having sized up the situation between these two in one shrewd glance. ‘And then showed me where to watch for otters. Has he taken you there yet? He doesn’t show everybody!’ One minute flame of male rivalry, mutually understood and enjoyed, subsided again peacefully. Toby couldn’t help erecting his plumes for anyone as stunning as Barbara, and Willie, secure in possession, could only be flattered. ‘Mr Felse gave me a lift up,’ Toby went on, reverting to business as soon as was decent. ‘I shall have to cadge a ride back in the morning. He wants to talk to Bossie again.’ He amended, firmly stressing his own involvement : ‘We want to talk to Bossie.’
‘I doubt if you’d get anything more out of him, George,’ said Sam. ‘But anyhow, bad luck, he isn’t here.’
‘Not here?’ Toby was almost absurdly taken aback. ‘After a tumble like the one I hear he took, I didn’t think he’d be out of the house yet.’
‘He went back to school today,’ explained Jenny. ‘The doctor said he could, he’s perfectly fit. And he rang up this afternoon from Audrey Mason’s, and said could he stay overnight there and go to a birthday party with her Philip. Audrey’s often had him before, and of course nothing had been said earlier, because they didn’t expect him back so soon. He’s quite all right with them, you know.’
‘And he knew I was coming tonight?’ demanded Toby, outraged and disbelieving.
‘I told him. But he still wanted to stay. I was surprised myself,’ admitted Jenny.
Toby turned and looked at George, and suddenly and violently shook his head. ‘I can’t believe it. Not just like that! There’s got to be a catch in it. He’s up to something!’
‘What do you mean? What could he be up to?’ But Sam was willing to believe in the possibility of all kinds of complications where his son was concerned. ‘He intended staying after school in any case,’ he recalled, frowning. ‘He told me this morning, a whole bunch of his class were going to tour the abbey—’
‘The abbey!’ blurted Toby, and gaped at George in wild speculation.
They had all caught the unease by then, and were staring in doubt and misgiving. George said quietly: ‘I think. Jenny, it would be a good idea to ring Mrs Mason. No point in trying to be diplomatic, time could be important. If he’s there, well and good, it’s just his mother fussing, wanting to make sure he’s all right, and behaving himself. If he isn’t, and hasn’t been… well, then it’s out in any case. Then I’ll take over.’
Jenny looked back at him steadily, and steadily turned pale. Without a word she crossed to the telephone and made the call, and all of them watched in intent silence.
‘Hullo, Audrey? This is Jenny Jarvis. Can I have a word with our Bossie?’ Quite a crisp, practical voice, and then the tight, white look as she listened, and they knew what she was hearing, mild wonder and an immediate disclaimer, and the sharp curiosity not yet expressed. ‘He isn’t there? You haven’t seen him, and you weren’t expecting him! I know, it does sound crazy, but don’t hang up. Yes, I was under the impression he was with you, but there isn’t time just now to go into it. Maybe you can help. Wait, I’ve got someone else here to speak to you.’ She held out the receiver to George, her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Nothing, of course! He isn’t there. She knows nothing about him. But he did ring from a house, not from a box.’
‘From there, you may be sure.’ George took the line. ‘Mrs Mason? Superintendent Felse here. No, no cause for alarm, I merely called in here to talk to the boy again, in case he had anything to add to what he’s already told us. Obviously you’ll have gathered he’s mislaid for the moment, but as he seems to have arranged French leave himself, I’d write it off as a rather inconsiderate prank on his part. But in the circumstances we’d naturally prefer to run him to earth as soon as possible. I believe your boy’s a classmate of his. Do you think I could have a word with Philip? He may just have overheard something at school that will give us a lead. I won’t frighten him.’
Philip came on the line sounding already considerably scared. Better make the questions such that he need only answer in monosyllables, the mother would undoubtedly be listening.
‘Philip, you can help, if you will. All I want to know is whether Bossie Jarvis telephoned home from your house this afternoon, an hour or two after school ended. He did? Yes, I know, he asked if he could, and you let him, that’s all right, why shouldn’t you? And your mother wasn’t in, I guess? She’d gone to the library – yes, I see. Did you hear what Bossie had to say when he rang up? No, never mind, just tell me if I’ve got it right. He said he was staying overnight with you, to go to a party, so they wouldn’t expect him home at all until tomorrow after school. Is that it? And he made you promise not to say a word – I know! All you need tell your mother is simply that you let him use the phone when he asked. But tell me this, did he tell you anything about what he was really going to do? All right, I believe you.’ It was what he would have expected. Bossie wouldn’t confide his fell purposes to anyone unnecessarily. His own special bunch, accomplices at all times, were another matter. ‘Now you hand over to your mother again, and stop worrying. You’ve done all you can to help us now.’ And to the concerned and suspicious mother he said cheerfully: ‘Thank you, Mrs Mason, I’m sorry we had to bother you. Don’t let Philip distress himself, he simply let his friend call home from your house when he asked. Quite natural, and not at all his fault if it was for a wrong purpose.’
He might have some explaining to do, though, about why he hadn’t mentioned doing Bossie that simple favour. That was his worry, however one might sympathise with him. George held on to the telephone after he had cut the call.
‘Mind if I go ahead, Sam? Philip knows nothing beyond the fact that he span you a yarn to cover up something else he wanted to do. Hullo Jack? George Felse here. You know young Bossie’s gang better than I do. Get up here and round up any of ’em you can get hold of. Wait, I’ll get the list from Sam, I’m calling from his place. Sam, did he mention who was going with him on this abbey trip?’
Sam named them, the first faithful few Bossie had named. George relayed the information briskly. ‘I’ll stay here on call until you find at least one of ’em. The thing is, we’ve lost Bossie. He laid a smoke-screen – yes, quite definitely of intent – to cover a night’s absence. No one knows where he is, not until you collar Ginger or one of the others. Get with it!’
‘I’m gone,’ said Sergeant Moon, and hung up without a single question. George called the Mottisham Abbey number, which by this time at night would ring only in the caretaker’s flat in the lodge. But there was no answer from John Stubbs.
‘He probably makes a complete round at night,’ said Sam, straining to catch the distant, insistent ringing. ‘He may be the other side of the grounds. And we don’t know that’s where Bossie’s likely to be.’
‘Yes,’ said Toby, ‘we do. The whole day has been his show. That parchment of his came from there, and he was the only one who knew it, and if that gang went there today, it
was because he gave the orders.’
Sam said ruefully: ‘He said they were planning a special project.’
‘You can say that again!’ agreed Toby. ‘But it was Bossie’s project, and very special. Shouldn’t we just go straight down there, Mr Felse?’
‘Wait till we hear from Jack Moon first. But I’ll get someone to go in from the station at Comerford.’
And after that they waited, all of them, even Barbara and Willie the Twig too involved to break away, all waiting for Sergeant Moon to come up with one of Bossie’s chorister-gangsters, and prise his general’s secrets out of him. Jenny, white-faced but grimly composed, sat nursing the musical box that contained a tiny china shepherd, complete with ribboned crook and angelic lambs, and played ‘The Shepherd on the Rock’, though she had quite forgotten that she was clutching it as if it had been a charm to retain hold of her own strayed lamb.
It was a quarter of an hour before Sergeant Moon called back, which seemed an age, though actually it was good going, in view of what he had to report.
‘Believe it or not, yours isn’t the only missing lad tonight. It’s infectious. Ginger Gibbs came late for his tea, moped around an hour or so, and has since disappeared. No panic there yet, he often goes off on his own ploys until getting on for ten, but his folks don’t know where to look for him. Spuggy Price has also made off again, and being a couple of years younger he is expected to be in before now, and they’re getting annoyed about it. Gwen the Shop says her Bill and those two, and maybe Jimmy Grocott, too, she thinks she heard his voice, had their heads together in her store-shed at the back, round about half past seven. Since then she hasn’t seen any of them. But I’ve run one to earth for you finally – little Tom Rogers. He wasn’t at the meeting in Gwen’s shed, but he was with the gang this afternoon. Seems they all went round Mottisham Abbey together, and after they came out, Bossie said he was going to get in and have a hunt round during the night. He wouldn’t let anybody else stay, but they saw him in through the fence up the back lane before they quit. Tom thinks they must have got more and more worried about it after they got home, and made up their minds they must go back, and either fetch him away or stand by him. That’ll be Ginger, is my guess. Got the germ of a conscience. Anyhow, this lad’s pretty sure that’s where they’ll all be. You don’t want Tom, do you? I know everything he knows, now.’
‘No, send him home to bed. We’ve got enough of them on our hands. We’re on our way down. If you get there before us, see if you can locate the warden for me, and hang on to him if you do find him. There’s no getting in touch with him by ’phone so far. Nobody’s answering.’
‘Stubbs?’ Sergeant Moon took that up sharply. ‘That’s interesting, because I got a flash from Brice in Birmingham, just before you called me out. He’s been following up all the connections there, and came up with a nice little item on Stubbs. Before he came to this job at the abbey, and started frequenting the Rainbows, it seems he was courting steady in the city. Young woman in the antiques business. Dropped her after he got in with Rainbow on his home ground, and clapped eyes on Mrs Rainbow. You’ve got it! – before that he was mashing the Lavery girl!’
‘Toby, come with me,’ said George. ‘You know the exact place Bossie’ll be after. Sam, I know you’ll want to be on hand, too.’
‘I’m coming,’ said Jenny firmly, and put down the musical box gently on the hall table, astonished to find her fingers stiff and bloodless when they released their hold.
‘We’ll be enough. Jenny. No panic now, we know where he is, we’ll go and get him.’
‘We don’t know it’ll be that simple. We don’t know what he’s set in motion. You know him! I want to be there.’
‘You come on down after us with Barbara and Willie, then.’ He caught Barbara’s eye, saw the glance she exchanged with Willie, and knew that he was understood. The Land-Rover would be driven down to Mottisham at an unwontedly sedate pace, and parked discreetly away from the main action, in the hope that by that time Bossie would have been hauled out of hiding safe and sound. Not that Jenny was a hysterical type, far from it; but once already her infant prodigy had almost got himself murdered, and parents are apt to overreact to that sort of thing.
‘Come on, then!’ said George, and led the way out to his own car at a run, with Toby and Sam on his heels. The greater their start, the better.
The night was dark, moonless and overcast. Traffic was always light up here at night, and the sense of the border hills closed in even on lighted roads, like the shadow of history, age-old and solitary and quite unmoved.
‘Now suppose you tell me,’ suggested Sam, with arduous calm, ‘just what you know about all this business that we don’t know.’ And Toby told him the reason for Bossie’s misplaced loyalty. Apart from that they were all silent until they turned into the lane that led to the gates of the abbey, when Toby suddenly said aloud: ‘I wish now I’d never touched the bloody thing!’
‘Oh, come off it!’ said Sam comfortingly. ‘I wish I had a quid for every time I’ve said something like that. What makes you think you should be any different?’
There was one police car waiting for them, as well as Sergeant Moon’s ancient Ford. The portion of the drive between the old entrance gates and the ticket-kiosk was still shrouded in its overgrown trees and shrubs, and hid unusual activities very efficiently. Jack Moon came out of the darkness to meet them as they climbed out of the car.
‘I sent a couple of the lads round to look for the place where the kid got in. We’ve got it pinned and covered now, if he slips out that way. We’ve made no other move yet.’
‘And Stubbs still isn’t around?’ The resident warden was no scholar himself, his orders as regards the work in hand came from Charles Goddard, but his responsibility for the site, like his authority within it, was absolute, and he should have been there. ‘What are his free nights, do we know?’
‘We do,’ said Moon flatly. ‘On Wednesday, Thursday and Friday he can be away the entire day if he likes, but he’s responsible for security from six o’clock on. Saturday and Sunday evenings he has a relief to make the evening rounds, so he’s free from closing time. The rest of the week he’s in sole charge, apart from the help he gets during the day, which is voluntary but usually plentiful. This is Tuesday, and he should be here. He may be, but if he is, he’s taking a hell of a time over making the round of the property. It’s big, but not that big.’
‘With or without him,’ said George, ‘we’re going in.’
‘That’s what I thought, so I fetched Grainger along with me.’ Grainger was the best man in the Midshire force on locks, and happened to live in Moon’s territory. ‘The telephone switchboard is in the ticket-office, we’re going to need that, and of course the office is locked. Even if Stubbs is off with the keys to everything in his pocket, there should be a second set in there somewhere. Has he got your authority to break in?’
‘As fast as possible,’ said George without hesitation, and led the way. Authorisation could be legalised afterwards.
‘History repeats itself,’ murmured Toby, following, and shook his shoulders to dislodge a foreboding that was not so easy to jettison. ‘Well, I got out again all right!’
CHAPTER NINE
« ^ »
Bossie was relieved but vaguely disquieted when he tried the door at the corner of the northern walk, to find that, like the gate, it was still unlocked. But after all, there was nothing here to steal, nothing profitable even from the point of view of an antique dealer, except the tiles in the flooring, and it was doubtful if they carried a great commercial value. Dispersed from their proper site, they were just moderately-priced antiquarian junk. In situ they were treasure. And nobody was going to bring a fleet of pantechnicons and remove the stable block en masse.
Once inside, he eased the latch softly back into its cradle, and stood for a moment in the vast darkness, sensible of the shape it took, feeling his hair erected by the soaring of the timbered roof, and his vision channelled
into the form of its noble length, closed in on either side, on his left by the eighteenth-century brickwork with its high, small windows that hardly showed at all for relief against the dark, on his right by the huge, decrepit stone wall that had survived at least six hundred years. Under that wall his membrane had been found, lying among the growth of grass and weeds nurtured on years of rubble, dust and moisture. And he was sure now that it had been one among many, very many, and could not by any accident have been winnowed far enough away from its fellows to be discovered in absolute solitude. And nobody else had even made similar finds here, or they would have been written up for everybody to read, and photographed and made much of. No, the secret was here, somewhere, however obscurely hidden. He was certain.
When he had stood still long enough to have his breathing under control, and to be sure he was really alone, he switched on his torch. The long vista of the north walk opened before him, the ancient vaulting gone, the complex timbering of the later roof making a shadowy pattern overhead. The stones of the north wall showed wonderfully jagged and crude in the cross-light, and at their foot the earth flooring, swept bare and trodden hard, looked the least likely hiding-place for secrets that he could imagine. He walked its length, searching the angle of floor with wall, and could see no possible place where anything could have been hidden from those who had done this thorough job of cleaning the ground.
Bossie drew back and viewed the whole. There was a quantity of stuff, old wood, fragments of carved, weathered stone retrieved from various places about the site, rope and twine, all piled in the far corner, together with a handcart and some brushes and brooms. Nothing there to conceal treasure, though they might, if necessary, conceal somebody who wanted to be invisible here. Then there was the area of relaid paving tiles, inside the ropes, and a heap of excavated tiles, some whole, some broken, waiting to be assembled into the pattern, after due repairs.
