‘Provided he obeys orders he’ll be all right.’ Appleby murmured this over his shoulder. ‘Or as right as we are. From this point I’d say we share and share alike.’ For some moments he hurried on, and then stopped and pointed. ‘There’s a doorway. It’s open. When we break cover we dash for the wall, hug it close, and then dodge in. David’s in already. Come along.’
Within seconds they had made their run for the tower and plunged through the doorway into darkness. Then they stood quite still, intent on controlling their breathing. A beam of light shot out. Appleby had produced a torch. They were in a square vaulted chamber with a flagged floor. It was quite bare. And David stood in the centre of it.
Appleby stepped forward, handed him the torch, and without a word pointed to a corner. It held the entrance to a spiral staircase. Appleby moved into the light, beckoned Timothy, and then from his pockets produced two small revolvers. The action was so matter-of-fact that they might have been a pipe and a tobacco pouch. He handed one to Timothy. ‘Not Service,’ he whispered. ‘But there’s the safety-catch. Simple as ABC.’ Then he turned to David. ‘Your show.’
They crossed to the staircase. David and the torch vanished. In the rapidly fading light Appleby’s lips could be seen moving. He might have been counting ten. He nodded and vanished too. Timothy followed, and then Pettifor. They were all climbing. Ian set his teeth and felt for the shaft of the staircase. Some sort of rail or rope would have been a good idea. But he could manage it as it was. He didn’t mean to be left down below.
The climb seemed quite as interminable as Ian had expected. At first it was in almost complete darkness, for only the faintest gleam of reflected light from David’s torch was visible. Then they came to an ascending series of lancet windows in the wall. They were obscured by the ivy, but dim moonlight filtered through. They passed two dark doorways: they must be to the first and second storeys of the ancient place. Although they were all moving slowly, Ian found that he was dropping behind. If he had tried to cram on speed he would have yelped. And presumably that wouldn’t do. Still, he would be in at the death – or whatever fate was going to provide for their being in at. And then with dramatic suddenness, the show was on. Voices sounded sharply from above. Ian took two steps at a time. And instead of yelping he managed simply to curse. A little extra row didn’t matter now.
But when he got to the top there was silence again. He tumbled straight into it. Silence and immobility. It was like a still outside a cinema. And it was gangster stuff that was showing.
This room at the top of the tower was as square and bare as the one at the bottom. It had small windows set in deep embrasures, and in one of these an oil lamp was burning. Part of the roof had vanished, and the greater part, too, of one of the walls. It was this missing wall that gave the final touch, Ian thought, to the theatrical character of the scene: when one turned that way one was facing a dim emptiness faintly powdered with stars, like a vast auditorium during some gala performance with tier upon tier of jewellery reflecting back the light pouring from the stage.
And the full cast – the full cast of those whom the action had not already seen despatched – was assembled in a sort of tableau. They might have been holding desperately to a pose during some hitch in the ringing down of the curtain. Only there was no curtain. And this wasn’t a play. It was an actual if bizarre crisis in quite a number of lives.
Dr Faircloth and Colonel Farquharson faced each other across the empty room. They had the appearance of having been standing thus, poised and wary, before the irruption led by David had taken place. Midway between them, but back by the window where the lamp burned, stood a girl. No doubt this was Alice, whose appearance and character had for a time occupied the exuberant fancies of Pettifor’s lot. She didn’t, somehow, look much like Faircloth’s daughter. She looked less like anybody’s daughter than like the orthodox bad woman of the show. But no doubt – Ian rapidly reflected – even the daughters of affluent retired clergymen can stray. And if David had at all fallen for her that morning he must have been in a disturbed state of mind. As for Timothy, he was putting up a very tolerably professional show with his revolver. So was Appleby. But then Appleby, Ian supposed, attended functions of this sort quite in the regular way.
It was Appleby who first spoke. ‘It seems that this particular devil’s broth won’t brew,’ he said. ‘Too many cooks.’
‘Perhaps you mean crooks?’ It was Farquharson who asked this. He didn’t speak with much cordiality. ‘You seem to be rather fond of thinking them up.’
‘Criminality in various degree is involved, I think.’ Appleby looked gravely from Farquharson to Faircloth, and then to the girl. ‘And now, as we are all present – or all, with one insignificant exception – it will be reasonable to begin.’
Faircloth, who had been standing quite still with the air of a man who is thinking hard, vigorously nodded his head. ‘I quite agree. And it must plainly be your first business, Sir John, to arrest the man Farquharson.’
Appleby appeared to consider. ‘You would advise that?’ he asked mildly.
‘But most certainly!’ Faircloth looked astonished. ‘Isn’t he the blackmailer at the bottom of all this, and have I not just tracked him now to this tower, where I have found him detaining this lady against her will?’
‘This lady?’ Appleby glanced at the girl again. ‘Your daughter, I understand?’
‘Certainly – my daughter.’ Faircloth produced this after what might have been a flicker of hesitation. ‘You know how I was rather anxious at Alice’s not having turned up. Then I had a reassuring telegram. Henchman saw it. Judge of my consternation when, later in the evening, I noticed that it had not been despatched from the place where Alice was staying, but from the village of Farthing Bishop! When I recalled all the violent events of the day, my alarm grew. I drove over to investigate, and was attracted by the light of this tower. I climbed up, and discovered my daughter locked in this very room. Then Farquharson arrived, and I had scarcely confronted him when you yourself made your timely appearance. My daughter will tell you how he had carried her off, being aware that, while driving over the moor this morning–’
‘Must we really listen to this?’ Taking a step forward, Farquharson interrupted angrily. ‘Don’t you perfectly well know–’
‘I could do with knowing a good deal more.’ Appleby’s mildness of manner continued. ‘We’ve heard Faircloth’s explanation of his being here – or at least we’ve heard him beginning to embark on it. Presently, it seems, this rather silent lady is going to take up the tale. But first, Colonel, we might perhaps have a word from you? Perhaps you would care to give your own explanation of your presence?’
‘Very well. I got a telephone call from Faircloth less than an hour ago, saying that he had found his daughter here in this tower, and in distressing circumstances. He begged me to treat his appeal as entirely confidential, and to come over at once. As you can see, I did so.’
‘Without telling anybody?’
‘Certainly. You yourself, Sir John, were not available. But I came – as I think you can guess – in a somewhat more wary manner than Faircloth reckoned on. That is obvious, I imagine, from the fact that I am alive now.’
‘I see.’ And Appleby turned to the girl. ‘Perhaps, madam, you have something to contribute?’
For a moment the girl neither spoke nor moved. David Henchman was staring at her round-eyed. Perhaps he was remembering his persuasion that she was an ordinary sort of girl – the kind one usually met. Then he flushed and looked quickly away. Silently the girl had shrugged her shoulders. It was a small, utterly revealing gesture. The girl wasn’t that sort of girl after all.
Appleby had paused for a moment. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if there is no further spontaneous testimony being offered, I suppose I must say one or two things myself. And I’ll begin with the documents in the case. They are three in number. One is no doubt in Dr Fairclot
h’s pocket: it’s his telegram. The second is in my pocket, and is best described as a significant fragment. The third is in Mr Pettifor’s pocket. It’s a letter, I think, from his late brother. And it represents the start of the whole series.’
‘Series?’ Pettifor took up the word dully.
‘The whole series of murders and attempted murders that have occupied a number of us since round about noon today.’
9
Slowly Pettifor had brought out his wallet, selected a paper, and handed it to Appleby. ‘Perhaps’, he said quietly, ‘it needn’t be read now. But I’ll tell you about it. Soon there will be nobody, I suppose, who reads a newspaper who won’t know the whole story of these unlucky deeds. What I was after, of course, was preventing that.’
Appleby nodded. ‘Quite so.’
‘This letter was sent across by Arthur from Tremlett yesterday morning. It must seem very strange to anybody who didn’t know the man. It was to ask me to be on the Loaf, and watching Knack Tor, at noon today. I was to wait for an hour, and I was to look not for people, but for a signal. If there was no signal, I was to go away. If there was a signal, I was to go across to the Tor, for Arthur would be needing my support badly. If I saw anybody other than Arthur, I was not to approach them.
‘All this was very strange – but my brother went on to hint an explanation. It concerned somebody called Redwine, of whom I had never heard. Redwine was making a demand on him. It was if he had strength to resist that demand that there would be a signal. If there was no signal, he would have given in – and this meant, he added, that he would be done for, although it was possible that nobody would ever know.’
Pettifor paused. And Faircloth looked across at Farquharson. ‘Blackmail,’ he said decisively.
‘Yes – blackmail.’ It was Pettifor who replied. ‘I could see no other explanation. As I have explained to Sir John, my brother was deeply sensitive about certain events in his earlier life, and there were some that he would have died rather than have made known. Even so, and even although my brother’s character was such that his strange letter was now wholly inexplicable to me, there was something in it that puzzled me. It was, I think, the sense it conveyed of some unknown degradation facing him, and of some moral issue that he must confront utterly alone. At least I knew him well enough to see that there was nothing I could do except carry out his instructions. I did so. Or I tried to do so. But unfortunately I failed.’
David interrupted. ‘You mean, sir, you were on the Loaf?’
‘No. I took the road to the north of the moor – not that by which you yourself approached Knack Tor – and during the run my car broke down. It took me, being a poor mechanic, more than half an hour to put it right. When I began my walk across the moor, I was still much behind my time. And then I saw what could only be Arthur’s signal. It was a thin column of smoke going up from the summit of the Tor. I felt an immense sense of relief. Obscure as the whole matter was, I recalled that Arthur never misused words. If he had declared that a signal would mean that he had found strength to resist something wrong, then it was so. But if he had declared that he would then sorely need my support, that was so also. I hurried on. The smoke faded and vanished when I had still nearly a mile of heavy going before me. When I reached the summit, it was to find my brother dead. He had been shot through the forehead. But there was no weapon to be seen.
‘Strange as it must seem, I acted before I allowed myself to feel. I hurried, that is to say, to the farther verge of the summit, and scanned the moor. I was just in time to see two figures vanish along the track.’
‘In fact, sir, you saw Redwine and his assistant going after me.’ David said this hesitantly. He didn’t much like to interrupt.
‘No doubt. Well, then I did feel. I was overcome with grief and horror and bewilderment. I sat by my brother’s dead body for a very long time.’
Appleby, who had been standing quite immobile during this narrative, stirred slightly and asked a question. ‘Really a very long time? Sometimes one can feel that quite a short interval is that.’
‘Certainly for more than an hour. Slowly, during that interval, my mind became capable of intellectual operation. Uncertainly at first, and then with full conviction, there came to me a sense of what lay at the bottom of the tragedy. Arthur’s signal, I saw, had been something more than a signal. It had itself been an honourable deed. And he had paid for it with his life. Yet in the world’s opinion his death would be a disgraceful one. I saw that I had a duty – to my brother and to our name. But a duty can be one thing, and any practical means towards fulfilling it may be quite another. I was brooding on my problem – for I had, thank God, seen that I had a problem – when I was startled by voices at the base of the rock. They were the voices of two men.’
‘Sir John and me!’ David blurted this out.
‘No, no. This was hours before that.’ Pettifor smiled faintly. ‘I doubt whether you had yet possessed yourself of Ian’s famous horse.’
‘Did you recognize either voice?’ Appleby asked.
‘No. It would not, in my alarm, have been easy to do so. And perhaps my immediate action was unaccountable. But I felt instantly that here was danger – and danger which I could do no good by facing. I ran to the farther side of the summit, descended with what speed my small skill permitted, and concealed myself as best I could at the bottom. Virtually simultaneously, the new arrivals were scaling the other side, and presently – although very faintly – I could hear them talking again above. I realized that they were quarrelling. And then there was a shot…and silence.’
Pettifor had paused, and for a moment nobody said a word. Then Faircloth once again gave his decisive nod. It was as if he felt a clear picture to be building itself up in his mind. ‘In fact,’ he said, ‘thieves – or blackmailers – were falling out.’
Pettifor nodded, but not as if he had much attended to the words. ‘I remained hidden’, he said, ‘for ten minutes or more. There continued to be no sound from above, and at length I resolved to climb back to the summit. What I found there, you can guess. There was now another dead man. I was so staggered that for some minutes I could do nothing to the purpose. Then I crossed to the farther verge. A single figure was retreating from the Tor – much where I had seen the two figures running rather more than an hour before. But this figure was merely walking rapidly away.’
Appleby glanced from Faircloth to Farquharson. ‘But you couldn’t identify it?’
Pettifor shook his head. ‘My sight is no longer very good at distances. And now I come to that part of my narrative which I would most willingly spare myself the recital of. I would beg you to remember that my moral position was a very difficult one. It is possible that what I did cannot be justified by any moral considerations – as it certainly cannot be in law.’
‘My dear sir’ – Faircloth spoke with easy benevolence – ‘you may be assured of our sympathy in anything you have to relate.’
‘Thank you.’ For a moment Pettifor appeared bewildered, and then he went on. ‘The two bodies – my brother’s and the stranger’s – lay, or had been disposed, in a manner suggesting a gunfight or duel – with a pistol in, or near, the hand of each. The third man, that is to say, had killed his companion, and left this appearance of an affray between that companion and my brother. I saw no comfort in this contrivance. And suddenly my resolution was taken. I must get my brother’s body away. I had already known, indeed, that my duty lay there. And now, under the stress of this new and fantastic situation, a bold plan came to me. I too could contrive the appearance of something. If Arthur’s body was found in its present situation – indeed, if it was ever found at all – nothing could prevent scandalous revelation and speculation. Therefore it must vanish. And I very well knew where, not half a mile away, it could vanish – and for ever. I remembered too that my car, although unpretentious, could be got over the moor. It had been given me by Arthu
r, who had used it on his own land. It would not be indecent, I concluded, to employ it as his hearse. So I set off to see if I could, in fact, bring it up to the Tor. The task proved surprisingly easy. I climbed again to the summit. I removed the small pistol which had been set in Redwine’s hand, and substituted for it that which had been set in my brother’s – and from which had come, of course, the shot with which Redwine had been killed. What I should leave on the summit, therefore, was simply the appearance of a suicide. It was utterly unknown to me, remember, that David had been on the summit and actually seen – perhaps even recognized – my brother’s body.’
‘I certainly didn’t recognize him,’ David said. ‘I’d never met him. But he did seem vaguely familiar. I suppose it was a family likeness.’
‘My plan, so hazardous in the conception, was turning out to be surprisingly simple in execution. There was one very bad moment, which I can hardly bring myself to mention. I had no means of lowering Arthur’s body to the ground. I had to enforce upon myself, therefore, the clear distinction between what was merely mortal in his remains and what of a higher and immaterial nature I was concerned to preserve: his reputation after death. I threw the body down.’
‘And then – according to your view of the matter – all went well?’ Appleby asked this a shade hastily.
‘Certainly. There was a little difficulty later in getting the body far enough into the bog I had chosen. But I managed it. Arthur was of a spare physique.’
‘I see. That, of course, was fortunate.’
Pettifor nodded – and the vein of fanaticism in him appeared oddly in the gesture. ‘I had, of course, stripped the body. It was thus that I was able to motor immediately to Tremlett and contrive the appearance of the drowning accident. When I returned to Nymph Monachorum, and found Faircloth proposing a visit to Knack Tor, I was naturally rather startled at first. But on second thoughts the proposal commended itself to me. I should be present at the discovery of Redwine’s body, and be a witness to the marked appearance of suicide. But the affair of the man in knickerbockers, and the revelation of David’s adventures, showed me that all was not to be plain sailing after all. And the situation, as you know, was soon entirely out of my control.’
Appleby Plays Chicken Page 18
