by Clara Benson
She merely smiled. He looked at her.
‘I believe you’re enjoying this,’ he said. ‘You are, aren’t you? I don’t believe it’s the politics at all. You’re in it for the fun of it, like Peacock. That’s why you and he get along so well. Oh, perhaps you were a revolutionary once, but that’s not what drives you now, is it? You like trouble. You like to have men under your thumb, doing dangerous things at your command.’
She laughed, not at all disconcerted.
‘Do you think so?’ she said. ‘Perhaps you are right. I do like to have men in my power. Leonard will do anything I tell him, and so will Sidney, and Anton. And so will you, is that not so?’
‘I might have, before I knew what you were,’ said Freddy. ‘But I hope I’m not quite so easily cowed as to walk blindly to my own doom just because you ask me to.’
‘True. I have not so much power,’ she said. ‘But I do not need it, for I have this. This gun is your mistress now, and you will do as she tells you.’
She raised the pistol and caressed his cheek gently with it, then placed it against his right ear-lobe. Freddy froze, and swallowed.
‘You have already lost one ear,’ she said smoothly. ‘Perhaps we can shoot this other one to match it.’
‘I’d far rather you didn’t,’ he managed eventually.
She smiled and lowered the gun, pressing it into his ribs again.
‘Of course I shall not,’ she said. ‘You did not really believe I should do such a thing, did you? As long as you are good I am to keep you safe and unharmed. It will not do for the police to find bullet-holes in you. Then how shall we convince everybody?’
‘I don’t know how you expect anyone to believe you at all,’ he said. His heart was still racing, but he hoped his tone was casual. ‘I mean to say, it’s a pretty thin story, don’t you think? To start with, you may have noticed that we’re not at the rally. If we sit here all day in the car then there will be no witnesses to place me on the spot for Rowbotham’s killing. Of course, you can still claim I did it if you plant enough evidence, but it’s a fantastic story you’re asking people to believe, and there’ll always be a doubt in people’s minds unless you can prove I was actually there. Aren’t you planning to parade me about in front of some convenient eye-witnesses?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But not until closer to the time. The longer we are outside, the more likely you are to try and escape, is it not so? Here in the car I can look after you alone, but outside it is a different matter. Have patience. We shall wait until one of the men comes back, and then we shall all go out together.’
Freddy’s heart sank. He might have been able to overpower Theresa Schuster alone, but against two of them he would have no chance. His captors were not as foolish as he had hoped. Mrs. Schuster still had the gun pressed firmly against him, and evidently had no intention of lowering her guard. In this confined space, with the pistol sticking into his ribs, he dared not attempt to try and wrest the gun from her.
They sat in silence for a while, then Mrs. Schuster suddenly stiffened and gave an exclamation of impatience. Freddy looked up and saw what she had seen: the elderly Miss Flowers, walking down the street towards them, in the direction of the park, holding an umbrella. She was presumably on her way to the rally.
‘Be silent,’ hissed Mrs. Schuster.
But Miss Flowers had already glanced into the car and seen them. An expression of surprise and pleasure spread across her face and she stopped.
‘We had better get out,’ said Mrs. Schuster quietly. ‘I warn you—if you try to say a word I shall shoot you without hesitation. Open the door.’
Freddy did so, and stepped out onto the pavement, followed quickly by Mrs. Schuster, who took his arm as though to steady herself, then held onto it firmly and stood close to him. He could feel the derringer against his right side, still hidden under the scarf.
‘Hallo, Miss F,’ he said as jovially as he could manage. His mind was racing as he tried to think of a way to attract her attention. A significant glance was out of the question, for Theresa was watching him like a hawk—and besides, he was sure a glance would not be enough to convey the message.
‘Oh, Mr. Pilkington-Soames,’ said Miss Flowers, lowering her umbrella and folding it up. ‘And Mrs. Schuster. How delightful! I was worried I should not see anybody I knew today. There are so many people that it is only too easy to get lost in the crowd, but here you are!’
Freddy quickly saw that he was not to be allowed to speak, for Mrs. Schuster immediately launched into conversation with Miss Flowers. They talked of the rally and the march, and of the speeches that were to be made that day, and of people they had seen. Then Mrs. Schuster was telling Miss Flowers that Anton was somewhere about, as he was to address the crowd, and that Mr. Pilkington-Soames had kindly agreed to look after her that day, for she did not like being alone.
‘Did you go to the march, Miss Flowers?’ she said.
‘I was there at the start,’ said Miss Flowers, ‘but I fear the crowds are a little too much for me these days, so I crept away home and had some tea—I live near Paddington, so it’s easy enough—then decided to walk to the park for the speeches. I am very much looking forward to seeing your husband speak, Mrs. Schuster. And what about you, Mr. Pilkington-Soames? Are you finding plenty of—er—material for your paper today?’
Freddy did not have a chance to reply, because Mrs. Schuster said:
‘Oh, I have promised to introduce him to all the most important people, and I am sure he will find many things to write about. We could not have dreamed that the march would be such a success, do you not agree?’
‘Oh, quite,’ said Miss Flowers. ‘It is just a pity the weather is so damp.’
Mrs. Schuster shivered.
‘Indeed, it is true. And so cold! I am glad I put on my thickest coat.’ She glanced at the vivid pink woollen scarf—almost a shawl—which Miss Flowers was wearing. ‘But you will be warm too, in this thick scarf. It is very beautiful. Did you make it yourself?’
‘Why, yes, I did,’ said Miss Flowers, flushing with pleasure. ‘It is one of my own, from my own pattern. There is a matching pair of mittens, which I have not quite finished yet. I have done them in purple, as a sort of contrast, you know.’
Freddy had been looking up and down the street, wondering whether he dared try and attract the attention of someone less vague than Miss Flowers, and had not been listening carefully to the conversation, so nearly missed this last remark. Almost too late the familiar words registered, and he turned to her, hiding his astonishment.
‘Purple mittens?’ he said. ‘I should have thought green would be more practical.’
Mrs. Schuster wrinkled her nose at him and laughed.
‘Men, they know nothing of colour,’ she said confidentially to Miss Flowers. She gazed down complacently at her own pretty scarf, and Freddy immediately took the opportunity to mouth the words ‘help me’ at Miss Flowers. She made no sign that she had seen, but said:
‘Yes, perhaps green would go better with brown or grey. Green is more of a masculine colour, I think. Perhaps I shall make you a pair, Mr. Pilkington-Soames.’
The two ladies laughed.
‘Are you coming to the park now?’ inquired Miss Flowers.
‘In a little while,’ said Mrs. Schuster. ‘We are waiting for someone.’
‘Then I shall see you later,’ said Miss Flowers. She held out a hand, palm upward, and gave an exclamation of impatience. ‘Oh, I thought it had stopped raining. You had better sit in the car if you don’t want to get wet.’
She made as if to open her umbrella, and Mrs. Schuster and Freddy turned to get back into the car. At that moment Miss Flowers struck, hooking Mrs. Schuster’s right arm with the umbrella, and pulling it backwards with a sharp jerk. Mrs. Schuster let out a shriek as the gun went off, firing harmlessly into the pavement. She dropped the pistol wi
th a clatter, but before she could bend to pick it up, Freddy opened the car door wide, shoved her roughly inside, then slammed it shut, ignoring her cry of rage. He picked up the derringer and stuck it in his pocket.
‘Quick!’ he said, grabbing Miss Flowers by the arm. ‘Let’s go!’
They ran as fast as they could to the end of the street, Freddy hustling Miss Flowers along and not stopping to look behind him. Fortunately, Miss Flowers was more nimble than one might have supposed, and got up quite a turn of speed without Freddy’s help. When they reached Bayswater Road they turned left and ran across the road into the park. Once among the crowds they stopped to catch their breath.
‘I do hope you’re not hurt,’ said Miss Flowers.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Freddy. ‘I’ve no time for it, anyway. We have to stop Peacock and Bishop. They’re going to kidnap Rowbotham and shoot him.’
‘Oh, dear me!’ said Miss Flowers in dismay. ‘Is that what they’re doing? I had no idea of it.’
‘They kept it very quiet, as you can imagine. But they’re going to do it soon, and I have to find a way to stop them.’
‘But how?’
‘I’m not sure. I shall think of something in a minute. Now, you’d better go and telephone Henry Jameson. After that, talk to the police. There are enough of them here to stop an army of assassins. In the meantime, I’ll try and warn old Rowbotham.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ said the old woman.
‘When all this is over I shall kiss you, Miss F,’ said Freddy. ‘I had no idea you were working for Intelligence. It’s just lucky you turned up when you did.’
‘Not lucky at all,’ said Miss Flowers. ‘Mr. Jameson was looking for you all yesterday and had a watch kept on your flat as he suspected something had gone wrong. When the motor-car turned up he had it followed and sent me along to find out whether you were inside it. With any luck they’ll have arrested Mrs. Schuster by now.’
‘Good Lord!’ said Freddy, who had begun in recent days to doubt the competence of his masters. ‘Jolly good show, what?’
‘At any rate, there ought to be someone I can speak to hereabouts,’ she went on. ‘Mr. Jameson has a few men standing by, as he suspected there would be trouble—although as far as I know nobody expected anything like this. I only hope we can stop it.’
‘So do I,’ said Freddy grimly. He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s nearly four. Rowbotham’s due to speak about now, I think. There’s no time to wait until we’ve managed to find your chaps, as they might put the plan into action at any moment. I think I shall just have to risk going in there myself. At any rate, I might be able to waylay Rowbotham and stop him from falling into the trap.’
‘I shall find someone and return as quickly as I can,’ promised Miss Flowers.
She departed with celerity and Freddy looked across at the stage. There was no-one up there at that moment, but in front of the stage three circus performers dressed in yellow were keeping the crowd entertained with somersaults and feats of agility. St. John had mentioned that there was to be something of the kind, Freddy remembered. By the stage was the small tent in which Rowbotham was to be attacked. Were Peacock and Bishop waiting there even now? How did they intend to stop anybody else from entering? By their authority as Committee members of the East London Communist Alliance, he supposed—for nobody would expect official representatives of the rally’s organizing body to have any nefarious purpose in mind, and most people would be quite likely to do as instructed if turned away from the tent. Freddy was wondering how best to proceed when he noticed that a small group of men were now standing on the stage. One of them was heavy-set, with lugubrious features and a red nose. Freddy recognized him as Mr. Rowbotham himself. The union man conferred with the other two men, who appeared to be assistants or secretaries, then moved forward, to a smattering of cheers and applause, and began to speak. The crowd, including the circus performers, fell quiet and listened. Rowbotham was not a natural orator, but he had a simple, no-nonsense way of expressing himself which endeared him to his many supporters. Freddy had listened to his speeches often enough, and in any case had no time to listen, for there was not a second to lose. He began to push his way through the crowd towards the stage. Unfortunately, his attention was on his objective and he was not looking where he was going, and as he went he trod heavily on the foot of a man who was eating a pork pie, causing him to drop it on the ground.
‘Sorry, I’m in a terrible hurry,’ said Freddy, and attempted to push on. But the man was not in a mood to let the offence pass without redress, for he was tired, wet and hungry, and his corns were paining him, and this young fool had not only aggravated his existing affliction, but had also done him out of his dinner.
‘Oh, no you don’t,’ he said, moving to block Freddy’s way. ‘What d’you think you’re playing at? You can’t just run off and leave a man’s pie in the mud. What are you going to do about it?’
To judge from the smell of him, he had been drinking, and he was clearly in a bad temper. Ordinarily, Freddy would have bestowed his most ingratiating smile upon the man and pressed a few shillings into his hand, but he had no money on him—presumably his note-case had fallen out of his pocket at some point while he was unconscious on Thursday night—and so he had nothing to offer by way of recompense.
‘Why, I—er—’ he said. ‘I’m dreadfully sorry. I’d stump up if I could, but owing to certain unfortunate contingencies I’m afraid I’m a little embarrassed for the necessary at present.’
‘What?’ said the man suspiciously.
‘He means he’s got no money,’ said a sharp-looking fellow standing nearby.
‘Well, that ain’t good enough,’ said the offended party, and made a grab for Freddy’s collar. Freddy stepped back hurriedly, but in his haste slipped on a patch of mud and fell over. He struggled to his feet and prepared to flee. With the queer sort of sixth sense which often prevails in such cases, the people in the vicinity had begun to anticipate an entertainment, and a small crowd was now gathering. This drew the attention of two constables, who pushed their way through with a view to forestalling any disturbance.
‘What’s all this, then?’ said one of them, regarding Freddy as he attempted ineffectually to brush the dirt off his coat.
‘Trouble,’ said the sharp-looking fellow briefly.
‘Well, then, you two had better come along with us,’ said the policeman.
‘Oh, but I can’t,’ said Freddy in some dismay. ‘I must get to that tent over there. It’s dreadfully important.’
‘What’s so important?’ said the policeman.
Freddy lowered his voice, aware that many ears were listening.
‘I’m with Intelligence,’ he said. ‘There’s a plot to shoot Rowbotham, and I have to stop them.’
The two policemen eyed him—dishevelled, covered in mud, and still sporting the black eye he had received on Tuesday during the fight between Trevett and St. John—and quickly drew their own conclusions as to the extent of his grasp upon reality. Freddy saw that he was unlikely to win this argument, and decided not to waste time in pleading his case. He turned and made a dash for it, treading once again on the foot of the man he had bereft of his pie as he scrambled through the crowd towards the front. The two policemen followed, but by taking a turn to the left and doubling back on himself he succeeded in shaking them off. He hoped they would give up the search, but he could not spare the time to worry about them, for on the stage Rowbotham was showing signs of coming to the end of his speech. Freddy was about to head towards the steps at the side of the stage, when he heard a voice calling his name and he turned to see St. John and Mildred Starkweather coming towards him.
‘Hallo, old chap,’ said St. John. ‘Pretty-looking shiner you’ve got there. Not as good as mine, of course.’ Indeed, St. John’s face was a riot of colour, although he seemed cheerful enough. ‘Mildred put some stuff on my bru
ises and they’re clearing up nicely.’
Freddy reached a decision.
‘Never mind that,’ he said. ‘I need your help. It’s urgent.’
‘What’s up?’ said St. John in surprise.
Freddy explained as briefly as possible, to exclamations of astonishment.
‘Look here, you’re joking, aren’t you?’ said St. John at last.
‘I’m deadly serious. Peacock’s in there with a gun, and if we don’t hurry it’ll be too late.’
Freddy’s face was so grim that they had no choice but to believe him.
‘But what are you going to do?’ said St. John.
‘I’m going to try and stop them, but I need you to get Rowbotham out of the way. Go onto the stage and get him as far away as you can. I was going to do it myself, but he doesn’t know me, and he’ll be more likely to do as you say. I’m expecting reinforcements at any minute, but if we don’t do something soon it might be too late.’
‘You’ll do it, won’t you?’ said Mildred to St. John.
St. John looked at Mildred, then set his jaw.
‘Of course I will. Rowbotham’s a good chap. You can rely on me, Freddy.’
‘Splendid,’ said Freddy. ‘Just remember, whatever you do, don’t let him go into the tent.’
‘You wait here,’ said St. John to Mildred. ‘I won’t have you getting hurt.’
She nodded, wide-eyed, and watched as St. John and Freddy departed. Four policemen were standing near the tent, watching Rowbotham and scanning the crowd, looking out for trouble. At the door of the tent stood a stony-faced man whom Freddy recognized immediately as the one who had come in the car with them. His heart beat fast. The plan was going ahead, then. It looked as though Miss Flowers had been right when she said that Theresa Schuster was likely to have been arrested, for evidently she had not been able to get to her co-conspirators and warn them of the danger. But where were the Intelligence men? Where was Special Branch? They must surely arrive at any moment. Until then, Freddy would have to shift for himself or disaster might occur.
