A Gun to Play With

by J F Straker

  ‘Sure.’ But he did not return the smile. Noting the look on her face, he said sharply, ‘You’re not figuring on making Watson’s acquaintance, are you? Socially, I mean. Because if you are —’

  ‘Of course not.’ She stretched delicately. ‘Though you must admit it would have advantages. Fun, too.’

  ‘That depends on what you call fun. I’d say it sounds more like suicide.’

  She laughed. ‘For you, perhaps. I don’t think there’d be much danger in it for me. Now tell me about the inquest.’

  The dining-room was empty but for themselves and the maid, who was hovering at the far end of the room waiting for Toby to finish. He pushed away the sweet and stood up.

  ‘Not here. In the car. I’m taking you for a drive.’

  ‘Thank you. Are we going anywhere in particular?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  He drove along the front to Shoreham and then went north, turning right at Upper Beeding and right again on to the Edburton road. He told her about the inquest, and when he had finished she was silent for a while. Then she said, ‘What would happen if the police never found Landor?’

  ‘Nothing, I guess. What could happen? Presumably there can’t be a trial without a prisoner.’ Recalling the inquest had reawakened his conscience, and he said, ‘They must find him. Soon, too. If they don’t it means I’ll have to tell them about Cardiff Street. I funked it today, but I can’t go on funking it.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll strike lucky this afternoon. Or this evening.’

  ‘I sure hope so. The thought of what that Superintendent will have to say when I tell him gives me the shivers. Yet I can’t let a murderer escape just to avoid an unpleasant interview with the police.’

  ‘There’ll be more in it than an unpleasant interview,’ she reminded him.

  He slowed down as the barn came into sight. ‘Take a good look at it,’ he said, pointing it out. ‘That’s our objective.’

  ‘What — now?’

  ‘Yes. But not in the car. On foot.’

  They parked the car in Fulking, and he told her how he had followed the Sunbeam that morning. Crossetta was delighted. ‘But wouldn’t it be wiser to explore it after dark?’ she objected. ‘It’s so open. If there’s anyone there they’d be bound to see us coming.’

  ‘I know. But if we were caught there after dark we’d be caught with our pants down — if you’ll pardon the expression. What reason could we give for being there? They’d know for sure we were snooping. If there’s something fishy going on and they thought we’d got wise to it they’d have us in their pockets. They could do as they liked with us. But not in broad daylight, with men working in the fields and within earshot. Besides, they won’t necessarily be suspicious — I hope! If we walk from here across the fields to the foot of the Downs, make our way along to the farmhouse and approach the barn from that direction, there’d be no reason to suppose we are other than ordinary hikers.’

  ‘If they recognized you there would be. And your red hair is visible from quite a distance, Toby.’

  ‘Uh-huh. But only Watson knows me by sight, and he’s unlikely to be there. All the same, it might be wiser if I went alone. You could keep an eye on events from the road, and warn the police if anything goes wrong.’

  She was out of the car before he had finished speaking.

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ she said firmly. ‘Not again. I’m not much of a pedestrian, but I’m coming with you. This might turn out to be fun.’

  It was farther than they thought. The ground was hard and the sun warm, and by the time they had reached the farmhouse Toby was perspiring freely. Even Crossetta, in her thin summer frock, looked hot and tired. But when he suggested a rest she would not have it.

  ‘I’d rather go on,’ she said. ‘We can rest later.’

  They saw no one at the farmhouse, although there was evidence that it was inhabited. Washing hung on the line to dry; a bicycle stood propped against a wall. But no livestock, no squawking chickens. No dog ran out to bark at them.

  A queer sort of farm, Toby thought. He began to feel uneasy. He had spoken optimistically of the workers in the fields who would be their safeguard, but now there was none in sight. If trouble lay ahead they would have to cope with it unaided.

  As they plodded down the dusty, uneven track to the barn they saw that it was built solidly of brick, with a wooden loft above. Two enormous wooden doors, heavily studded with iron, filled the southern end of the building. A ladder left in position led to an opening in the loft.

  ‘Try to talk and act naturally,’ Toby said, aware that he was doing neither. ‘Someone may be watching us.’

  Crossetta laughed. It was a laugh full of infectious gaiety, and he grinned at her, heartened by it. ‘You’re a marvel,’ he said. ‘Remind me some time to tell you how much I like you. But what’s funny?’

  ‘You,’ she said. ‘I’ve never heard a more conspiratorial whisper.’

  She began to chatter cheerfully. As they neared the barn she said, in a loud, plaintive voice, ‘I must sit down for a few minutes, Toby. I’m hot and thirsty, and my feet ache. There wouldn’t be any water to drink here, would there?’

  She spoke so naturally that at first he did not realise she was putting on an act, and looked at her in commiseration. Then, noting the sparkle in her eyes, he said, ‘I shouldn’t think so. But I’ll have a look.’

  He walked slowly round the building. The only entrance was by the large wooden doors, and these were securely locked. When he came back to Crossetta she had taken off her shoes and was massaging her feet.

  ‘I can’t get in,’ he told her.

  ‘What about the loft? There might be a tank up there. I don’t suppose the water would be fit to drink, but at least I could bathe my face.’ She laughed. ‘And my feet.’

  He climbed the ladder gingerly. The opening loomed dark above him, and it occurred to him that it was in just such a spot that Landor might be hiding. And Landor would be invisible in the gloom — whereas he, Toby, would be silhouetted against the light, a sitting target.

  He stopped. The strength ebbed from his legs; the clamminess of his hands was not entirely due to the sun. He leaned forward, resting his body against the ladder.

  Hell! he thought, surprised. I’m scared.

  Crossetta was watching him. ‘What’s the matter?’ she called. ‘Giddy?’

  Fear was nothing to be ashamed of; he had experienced it before, and would, no doubt, experience it again. It was in the giving way to fear that a man became a coward. And no one had ever called him that.

  Had Crossetta ever known fear, he wondered. Or did she lack the necessary imagination?

  ‘No, cramp,’ he lied. ‘In my leg. I’ll be okay in a moment.’

  It did not make it easier to realise that, if Landor were up there and had not known that someone was on the ladder, he would certainly know it now. But he forced himself to go on. Slowly, each movement of arm or leg a mental and physical torment achieved only by tremendous effort, he climbed nearer to the dark void above. It was not the man who frightened him — at that moment he would have welcomed the physical relief of a scrap — it was the terrible finality of the gun that seemed to paralyse his limbs. There was no defence, just as there would be no warning. There would be a sharp instant of pain — and then, perhaps, oblivion.

  But he went on. He remembered the bullet that had missed him so nearly at No. 17, and the excitement that had filled him later. He had thought then that he could face anything.

  Well, he was facing it now. There could never be a worse moment than this.

  His chin was level with the floorboards, and he paused again, prepared to duck at the least sound, letting his eyes become accustomed to the gloom. Now he could see the rafters, and presently the far end of the loft. It was not so dark as he had anticipated; there were narrow slits of light in the roof. Gaining courage, he mounted higher and stepped off the ladder. A few loose bricks littered the floor, and he picked one up. It would prov
ide no protection against a bullet, but the feel of it in his hands was good.

  The loft was empty. He leant against a rafter, letting the relief flood over him, regaining normality, furious with himself at having panicked to no purpose. Then he dropped the brick and hurried down the ladder.

  ‘Well?’ asked Crossetta.

  ‘Nothing.’ His voice was a croak. He swallowed and tried again. ‘Nothing. It’s empty. There’s no one there.’

  ‘I heard a crash. What was that?’

  ‘Only me dropping a brick.’ It sounded funny, and he laughed and felt better. ‘I’d picked it up, just in case Landor might be waiting for me.’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked at him pensively. Toby wondered if traces of the fear that had possessed him still lingered on his face. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘What can we do? If there is anything to see it’s behind those damned doors.’

  The girl scrambled to her feet and confronted him, hands planted firmly on her slender hips.

  ‘If you’ve made me walk all those miles for nothing I’m going to be angry,’ she said unreasonably. ‘There must be some way of finding out what goes on here. Why not try the doors again? And I’ll go up to the loft. Maybe there’s a crack or two in the floorboards that I can squint through.’

  But the doors were as solid and opaque as they could be. Toby lay on the ground and tried to peer through the narrow gap at the bottom. Satisfied that he could do no more, he stood up, brushed his trousers, and was about to join Crossetta in the loft when a voice behind him said angrily, ‘And what might you be a-doing of, mister? This here’s private property.’

  Toby wheeled sharply. The man was no taller or broader than himself, but he looked tough. A dark stubble adorned his chin; he wore an old khaki shirt, open at the neck, and his corduroy trousers were tied with string below the knee. Yet he did not look like a labourer. Neither his face nor the V of his neck was red or weather-beaten.

  ‘Nothing in particular,’ Toby said. ‘We were out walking, and decided to have a look at the barn. No harm in that, is there?’

  His tone was not conciliatory. Nor did he feel conciliatory. If the fellow wanted trouble that was okay by him.

  ‘Yank, eh? Where’s t’other on you?’ the man demanded.

  ‘In the loft. She’ll be down in a minute.’

  He spoke loudly, hoping the girl would hear him. He did not dare to look up. If the newcomer were one of Watson’s friends there might be trouble brewing. Real trouble. And the man stood too close to risk taking his eyes off him.

  ‘So it’s a she, is it?’ growled the other. ‘Well, I’ll ruddy soon get her out of that.’

  He made a move towards the ladder, but Toby was quick to bar his way. ‘No need to get excited,’ he said. ‘She won’t do your damned barn any harm. If it is yours.’

  The man thrust his unshaven face still closer. His breath was sour, and involuntarily Toby leant away.

  ‘Listen, mister. This here barn’s private, like I said. You’re trespassing, see? And the guv’nor don’t like Nosey Parkers any more than wot I do. So hop it, will yer? Nor you don’t have to wait for your bint neither; I’ll deal with her.’ He flung out an arm to brush Toby aside. ‘Go on, get cracking.’

  Toby hit him. It was a foolish and unwarranted act of aggression, right out of line with his normal easygoing conduct. But those few nerve-racking moments on the ladder had left him with a burning desire to assert himself forcefully, if possible —and the surly newcomer’s out-thrust chin proved irresistible.

  It was not a well-aimed blow. It caught the man high on the head, so that he reeled back. But he was not hurt. Fists clenched, his face suffused with wrath at the indignity he had suffered, he steadied himself and bore in to the attack. A rock-like fist landed on Toby’s chest, making him gasp; a swinging right crashed into his ear, so that he stumbled sideways in a daze; and then, as he instinctively put out an arm to ward off the next dose of dynamite, something cracked against his forehead and he lost consciousness.

  He opened his eyes to find the ground hard beneath his back and Crossetta bending over him. His head ached abominably. He put up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, and discovered that someone had bound a handkerchief round his forehead.

  ‘How do you feel, Toby?’ asked Crossetta.

  ‘Lousy.’ He tried to sit up. She put an arm behind his back to steady him, and then took it away. ‘Phew! That devil sure packed a solid punch. My nut feels like it had been hit with a brick.’

  ‘So it was,’ came the man’s voice from behind him.

  Startled, Toby tried to turn his head, but abandoned the effort in a fresh spasm of pain.

  The man came to stand beside him.

  ‘Your girlfriend done it,’ he said, grinning as he jerked a thumb at Crossetta. ‘Heaved half a brick at you, she did. That’s wot laid you out; it weren’t me. Though I’d have done it meself, mind you, if she’d left me to it. Easy, you was. Dead easy.’

  Toby swivelled his eyes to gaze in perplexity at the girl. She nodded guiltily.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, Toby. I didn’t mean to hit you, you know that. But you were getting the worst of it, and I couldn’t bear the thought of your being hurt. I had to do something. So I picked up one of the bricks on the floor and threw it at him.’

  ‘And hit you,’ said the man. ‘Funny, ain’t it?’

  ‘Sure. Very funny.’

  It wasn’t easy to be coldly dignified in his present position, and slowly and cautiously he scrambled to his feet. That also, he knew, was a clumsy and undignified procedure.

  As he straightened his back Crossetta started to giggle.

  ‘I guess I must be lacking in humour,’ he said. ‘I seem to be the only one around here unable to raise a laugh.’

  Crossetta laid a placating hand on his arm.

  ‘Oh, Toby, don’t be angry,’ she pleaded.

  ‘It was wicked of me to laugh after what I did to you. And of course it isn’t funny

  really. It was just that — well, I —’

  She dissolved into helpless laughter.

  The man was as startled as Toby. He stared at her open-mouthed. Then he slowly shook his head.

  ‘It weren’t all that funny,’ he said doubtfully.

  Toby suddenly warmed to him. He ignored the laughing girl. ‘I’m sorry I hit you,’ he said. ‘It was a crazy way to act.’

  The man grinned.

  ‘I bet you’re sorry all right. You won’t half have a sore head termorrer. But don’t mind me, mister. I enjoyed it.’

  ‘You certainly pack a wallop,’ Toby told him. ‘I’m not sure which hurt most, you or the brick.’

  ‘You want to be more careful who you pick on next time,’ the man said, obviously pleased at this compliment to his fists. ‘I could see you’d been in the ring, but you was shaping like a novice. You hadn’t a chance. I used to be middle-weight champion of the Navy — and I keeps in training. I don’t think as how I’ve slowed up much.’

  Toby said he didn’t think so either. ‘It was decent of you to stick around after,’ he added.

  ‘I thought I’d got a corpse on me hands. You was out cold.’

  Crossetta had stopped giggling and was making up her face. His exchange of pleasantries with the man had put Toby in a better humour; he decided to forgive. He realised that her laughter might have been due to hysterics, caused first by the fear that she had killed him and then by the relief that she had not.

  He smiled at her. ‘I guess it had a funny side, at that,’ he said. ‘But it’s a joke that shouldn’t be repeated too often. My head wouldn’t stand it.’

  She smiled back at him.

  ‘That’s nice of you, Toby. I behaved like a pig, and I really am sorry. Your head must be terribly sore. Don’t you think you ought to go back to the hotel and lie down for a while?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll get the car.’

  ‘No, I’ll get it. You wait here. I won’t be long.’

  He did not argue; his
head hurt too much. He leaned against the side of the barn and chatted desultorily with the man. Presently he asked, ‘Why were you so annoyed at finding us here? We weren’t doing any harm.’

  The other frowned.

  ‘Maybe not. But my guv’nor don’t like trespassers, same as I said. I’m paid to keep ‘em away, see? Maybe you’re okay, and maybe you’re not. But I’m taking no chances.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Toby agreed.

  ‘No hard feelings?’ the man asked anxiously. He seemed to have taken a fancy to his late opponent.

  Toby assured him that there was none. Now that they were on such an amicable footing he would have liked to ask further questions (who, for instance, was the ‘guv’nor’ — Watson?), but he knew that to do so would arouse the man’s suspicions. He had had enough trouble for one day. But he did manage to lead the conversation on to crime in general, and from thence to the recent murders at Forest Row and Lewes. He even mentioned Landor by name, watching his companion closely; but the man gave no sign that the name had any particular significance for him. Toby wondered how much he knew of his ‘guv’nor’s’ activities. Very little, probably though he might suspect more.

  He was glad to see the car. Crossetta had been right, bed was the place for him. He was even more certain of it when, having said goodbye to the man, they jolted down the track. His head felt as though it might come apart at any moment.

  ‘Take it easy,’ he groaned when, out on the road, Crossetta began to accelerate. ‘If you brake suddenly I’ll probably pass out on you.’

  But he felt better as the journey proceeded. The girl handled the car smoothly; the cool breeze soothed him. ‘What’s under the handkerchief?’ he asked, probing gently with his fingers. ‘I can feel an outsize in eggs, but there doesn’t seem to be any gore.’

  ‘Not much,’ she agreed. ‘It only grazed the skin. It didn’t hit you squarely, thank goodness.’

  ‘Squarely enough. Remind me to teach you how to aim properly before you come to my rescue again. I’m not likely to survive many more such rescues.’

  He spoke jokingly, but Crossetta appeared to resent the remark. There were furrows in her pretty forehead, and for the rest of the journey she had little to say. Toby decided it had been a tactless remark, but could not rouse himself to jolly her out of her ill-humour.