A Gun to Play With

by J F Straker

  ‘Between here and Newhaven. But that’s not the point. Don’t you see, Crossetta, that this description fits the fair-haired guy we saw outside Watson’s house last night?’

  ‘Oh, does it?’ She looked again at the paper. ‘Yes, I suppose it does. But you’re not seriously suggesting that it is him, are you? There must be hundreds of men who fit that description. Why pick on this one?’

  ‘Why not? Damn it, we saw him arguing with Watson, didn’t we? And when you went back later, weren’t they still arguing? So they certainly weren’t on friendly terms that evening. And then Watson took him off in the car — going east. But they didn’t go to Cardiff Street, you say. Okay, then — where did they go?’

  ‘How should I know? Watson may have offered to run him home.’

  ‘Too true.’ Toby sounded triumphant. He took the paper from her. ‘And it says here that this guy came from near Eastbourne — and Peacehaven is on the coast road to Eastbourne.’

  ‘But people don’t go around shooting everyone they have an argument with. That’s silly, Toby.’

  ‘Not ordinary people, no. But Watson isn’t ordinary, he’s a crook. And he and his pals are accustomed to using a gun. I should know that, shouldn’t I? Besides, it says the man was killed about eleven o’clock last night. What time did he and Watson leave the house?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. Somewhere around ten, I suppose.’

  ‘You see? It fits perfectly.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps it does.’ She sounded impatient. ‘And if this man is the one we saw with Watson, then you’d have some reason to suspect that Watson killed him. But I say he isn’t. You’re just jumping to conclusions.’

  Two of the guests came out of the lounge, switching off the lights as they did so. Impatiently Toby endured their chatter, discussing the weather and the film he and Crossetta had seen that evening, and assuring them that he was feeling a ‘lot better, thank you.’

  As soon as the couple had disappeared upstairs he dragged the girl into the empty room.

  ‘If I’m jumping to conclusions at least they’re sound conclusions,’ he said earnestly. ‘You can argue till you’re beat, but I’m darned sure Watson killed that guy.’

  She shrugged her shoulders lightly.

  ‘In that case I’ll save my breath. What do you propose to do about it? Tell the police?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And Cardiff Street? Will you tell them about that too?’

  ‘Yes. There’s no alternative. I’ve been telling you all day that that’s what I must do, only you wouldn’t believe me. But you can see now that this clinches it.’

  ‘I can see nothing of the sort,’ she said evenly. ‘But I hope you realise what it will involve.’

  ‘I’ll say I do! The Superintendent will play hell with me. But it’s my own fault for being such a darned fool in the first place. If they clap me into jail I shall have only myself to blame.’

  ‘True. But what about me? Who am I to blame?’

  ‘Me, I guess.’ He was all contrition. ‘And that worries me more than somewhat. I was a heel to let you get involved in this business, Crossetta. I should have kept you out of it.’

  Rather to his surprise (had she not begged him to take her into partnership?) she did not dispute this. ‘It worries me too,’ she said. ‘I’d rather kill myself than go to prison. And I mean that.’

  She spoke with such heat that Toby was shocked. Once more he regretted her dislike of physical contact. It would have been so much easier to discuss this with an arm about her waist.

  ‘You shouldn’t talk that way,’ he said. ‘It’s all wrong. Besides, there’s no danger of your going to prison. In fact, I don’t see why I shouldn’t try to keep you out of it altogether.’ He paused, considering this. ‘Yes, that’s quite an idea. It might be a little tricky, but it’s worth trying. And even if it doesn’t succeed I can say you only came along with me for the ride, that you had no idea what I was up to. I could even say that it was you who insisted, when you found out what was going on, that I should tell the police. Okay?’

  ‘Thank you, Toby.’ Her voice was warmer, more friendly. ‘You must think me an awful coward. But it’s funny — I simply adore excitement and adventure, and I don’t mind how much danger is attached to it — yet I’d be absolutely petrified if the police wanted to question me.’

  He laughed. ‘Not you. You’d have them tamed and eating out of your hand in next to no time.’

  Her smile was uncertain, and faded quickly. ‘I hope it never comes to that,’ she said. ‘You — I suppose there’s nothing I can say or do to make you change your mind?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing. In fact, I couldn’t if I wanted to. I’ve already committed myself. I’m to be at Lewes police station at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. I fixed that long before I knew about this guy being murdered. So you see —’

  ‘Yes, I see.’ She spoke quietly, with little inflection in her voice. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I figured it would merely increase the existing friction. And I didn’t want that. You must know by now, Crossetta, how much —’ He saw her eyes narrow, and checked himself. ‘Well, I guess it’s too late for a drink now. The pubs will be closing in a few minutes. I’ll put the car away, and then I’d best sit myself down and try to figure out how to break the ugly news to the Superintendent tomorrow.’ He shivered. ‘Ugh! Am I dreading it!’

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ He was touched and pleased at the tentative offer.

  ‘Only if you want to. Not otherwise. I’ve brought enough trouble on you without dragging you out on a jaunt like this.’

  ‘I was thinking of your head,’ she said. Will you feel fit enough to drive?’

  ‘Good Lord, yes! It’s still sore; but I guess I’d have had a headache anyway with this little lot on my mind. I’ll be okay in the morning. Don’t you worry about that.’

  ‘Well, I’ll see. I may come — it’ll depend on how I feel tomorrow morning. And if you like I’ll put the car away for you now. It’s late. If you want to rehearse your speech for the police you’d better get started.’

  Toby thanked her. As she reached the door he said, ‘Switch off the light, will you? My one-cylinder brain ticks over more smoothly in the dark.’

  But it was not ticking over smoothly that evening, he found. He settled himself in an armchair by the window, determined to bring order to the thoughts that jostled each other in his mind. But he still had a headache, and although he knew what he had to say he could not find the right words in which to say it. Maybe they’ll come to me later, he thought; although even if they do I may never get a chance to use them. I guess the Superintendent will have his own ideas on how to run the interview.

  His thoughts drifted from Herrod to the girl. Her fear of the police surprised and faintly troubled him. Most Brits, he had found, admired their police, looked on them as friends. Not the crooks, maybe. But then Crossetta wasn’t a crook.

  Was her fear psychological, perhaps?

  He shifted restlessly. Hell! he thought, why should I worry what’s behind it? She’s pretty and gay and attractive, and that’s good enough for me. I don’t aim to marry the girl, do I?

  That was what he told himself. But because he was Toby, and because each beautiful girl he fell for became in turn the most beautiful girl in the world (with most of the other superlatives thrown in for good measure), his answer did not entirely satisfy him.

  He was still in the armchair, thinking about her, when Crossetta returned. She did not switch on the light, but came over to the window and stood beside him. When he made to get up she pushed him back.

  ‘How’s it going?’ she asked. ‘Rehearsal over?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s a wash-out. I seem unable to get started.’ He thought she sounded breathless, and there had been a tenseness in her voice that he had not heard before. ‘What’s the matter? You sound as though you’ve been running. Some wolf been chasing you?’

  ‘No.’ He h
ad spoken lightly on purpose, but she did not respond to his banter. ‘Are you going to sit up all night? Personally, I’m for bed.’

  ‘Good idea. I can continue the unequal struggle there.’

  He heaved himself out of the armchair. She was very close to him, and the street lamp across the road threw just enough light through the uncurtained windows to show him the pale beauty of her face. He hesitated, and then turned abruptly away.

  One of these days, he told himself, I’m going to lose my self-control and take her in my arms and kiss her. I guess I’ll get my face slapped, but it ought to be worth it.

  Then he stiffened, romance and the girl temporarily forgotten. A man stood under the street lamp — and he was staring fixedly at the hotel.

  ‘Good Lord!’ Toby said. He heard Crossetta give a faint gasp as her eyes followed his pointing finger, but she said nothing. ‘Know who that is? No — no, you wouldn’t, of course. Well, I’ll tell you. It’s Mr Nathaniel Wilkes, the brother of the girl who was murdered.’ Still she did not speak. After a few moments of puzzled thought he went on, ‘But what the heck is Wilkes doing here? He can’t know anyone in the place except myself. And what would he want with me?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The tension was back in her voice, and she withdrew farther into the room, so that her face was no longer visible. ‘Toby, you — you remember you said I was breathless when I came in. As though I’d been running. Well, I had.’

  ‘Why?’ And then, understanding, ‘You mean to tell me the fellow was chasing you?’

  ‘Not exactly. But he was there in the car park, and as I was leaving he went over to the Riley and had a look at it. Then he came after me and asked me whom it belonged to. He was quite polite, but — well, he’s rather frightening to look at, isn’t he? I thought he might be one of Watson’s men. And I didn’t want to land you in any more trouble, so I just said that it belonged to a friend of mine, and walked off.’

  ‘And he followed you?’

  ‘He must have done. I didn’t actually see him, but I kept hearing footsteps behind me. They never seemed to get any nearer, but they were always there. And after a bit they got on my nerves and I — well, I panicked. I just ran.’

  Although puzzled and worried by Wilkes’s apparent interest in him, Toby could not repress a slight feeling of relief that Crossetta had nerves, and could panic like any other girl. Despite her beauty and her gaiety, she had hitherto seemed to him somewhat inhuman in her disregard for personal safety.

  ‘I ought not to have let you go alone,’ he said, all contrition. ‘Even in daylight Wilkes isn’t exactly a joyous sight. I’m not surprised that you panicked. Shall I go out and tell him to beat it? Mind you, I don’t suppose he meant to scare you. It’s me he’s after; he knows the Riley, he saw it when I met him and the Inspector at the barn that afternoon. But what can he want? And why does he just stand there? Why doesn’t he come in?’

  ‘He’s gone,’ the girl said.

  It was true. The street was empty.

  They went upstairs silently. Once in his room Toby threw himself on the bed, and lay staring gloomily at the ceiling. Life was already sufficiently complicated without Wilkes complicating it further. He didn’t want to puzzle over Wilkes’s odd behaviour, he wanted to give his whole attention to the problem of what he should say to the Superintendent on the morrow. Yet Wilkes ...

  What the heck was the man playing at?

  A little later he sat up with a jerk. A tiny seed of fear had germinated in his heart. He began to sweat.

  Did Wilkes believe that he, Toby Vanne, had murdered his sister?

  *

  He slept little that night. When he came down to breakfast Crossetta, who seemed to have recovered her good spirits, took him to task.

  ‘You look awful,’ she told him. ‘You’ll have to pull yourself together, my lad; if the police see you looking like that they’ll probably decide you’ve committed a murder yourself.’ Toby winced, recalling the unhappy thought that had come to him the previous night. If Wilkes believed that, might not the police believe it also? ‘And eat a good breakfast. It may be your last decent meal before you start tucking in to prison fare.’

  If she were trying to jolly him into a brighter mood the effort failed. Toby saw no humour in her remarks.

  ‘Are you coming with me?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I couldn’t face it. But I’ll come part of the way. You can drop me off in Brighton. If I am to be put on trial for whatever crime it is that you and I are supposed to have committed I intend to look my best in court. I’m going to buy myself a new frock. And a new hat. There’s no point now in being thrifty. One can’t spend money in jail, can one?’

  ‘You’re not going to jail,’ he said. ‘You know that. It’s just an excuse to go shopping. However, if it makes you feel better — well, good luck to you.’

  Suddenly she was serious.

  ‘It’s you who’ll need the good luck, I imagine. Oh, I do so wish you’d change your mind and not go. It’s still not too late.’

  ‘I guess it is.’

  Crossetta sighed. ‘Well, I hope they aren’t too hard on you. Will you tell them about last night? About Wilkes being here?’

  ‘I haven’t made up my mind.’ If he did he certainly would not give his own interpretation of Wilkes’s interest in him. There was no sense in putting ideas like that into their heads. ‘I’ll decide when the time comes.’

  They left after breakfast, and he dropped her off at Hannington’s. It was with a sense of loss that he saw her disappear into the shop; he had hoped that once she was in the car she would decide to accompany him to Lewes. He could have done with some moral support.

  The Riley was running well. It romped up the hill to Falmer, seemingly more anxious to reach its destination than was its owner. Near the top a slow-moving van baulked him, and he swung out to overtake. The move nearly proved fatal. Accelerating fiercely, he flung the wheel sharply over, scraping the front of the van and avoiding by inches a fast oncoming car.

  A stream of abuse came faintly to his ears.

  Darned fool! he reproved himself. You may be heading for an unpleasant interview, but that’s no reason for attempting suicide en route. Take it easy.

  On the far side of Falmer the road runs downhill in a long straight stretch, with a right-hand bend at the bottom. Toby took it gently, recovering from the shock of his narrow escape. He had always prided himself on his driving. It was a blow to his self-esteem to discover that under stress he could commit the sins he had so often deplored in others.

  He was halfway down the hill when he realised that something was wrong. The steering-wheel felt odd; there was, as it were, no weight to it. The car was moving out towards the crown of the road, and even as he spun the wheel he knew that it was useless, that the car was out of control.

  The steering had gone.

  What happened next happened quickly. Perhaps the brakes were imperfectly adjusted, or the front wheels hit a bump in the road; but as he trod hard on the brake pedal the Riley swung in towards the kerb. There was a bump as it mounted the footpath and topped the grass bank, a sickening lurch as its front wheels dropped almost instantly into the ditch on the other side; and then, with a jarring crash that shook most of the breath from his body, the car hit a tree and was precariously at rest.

  Dazed, Toby sat for a few moments in the driving-seat. The Riley was tilted at an acute angle, and he clung tightly to the steering-wheel. Then he slid down the seat, clambered awkwardly over the jammed door, and stumbled into the ditch.

  Leaning against the bank, he put a hand to his forehead, and was surprised to find that no blood was flowing. Slowly he moved arms and legs and twisted his body, anticipating the excruciating pain that would announce a fracture. But there was no pain.

  Good Lord! he thought. I’m not even scratched!

  He became aware of cars stopping on the road, doors slamming, of people hastening to his aid and of their excited, anxious voices. He turned his back
on them, self-conscious in his lucky escape. They would expect a little blood at least.

  Faces peered down at him. Eager, fearful, curious faces.

  ‘Is he badly hurt?’

  ‘What happened? Did you see?’

  ‘He looks all right. But you can’t tell, of course.’

  ‘He’s very pale. Must have hit his head against something — there’s a nasty bruise on his forehead.’

  ‘I hope they won’t try to move him until they’ve made certain there are no bones broken.’

  ‘What happened? Did you see?’

  ‘Is he badly hurt?’

  They were the voices of a crowd, impersonal, disembodied. Reluctantly Toby turned to face them. Above him stooped a man with a straggling red beard and kindly grey eyes.

  ‘Are you all right, old chap?’ asked the man.

  ‘I think so,’ Toby said. ‘If you could give me a hand out of the ditch ...’

  Hands under his armpits, tugging gently, a little fearfully, afraid of aggravating a hidden injury. Then he was standing among them, smiling ruefully, self-consciously aware of their inquisitive eyes.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m okay now.’

  ‘He ought to sit down,’ came a woman’s voice from the back of the little bunch of people. ‘Delayed shock, you know.’

  ‘The steering went,’ Toby said, feeling he owed them an explanation.

  A man was down in the ditch, examining the Riley. ‘Looks as though the chassis is twisted,’ he announced cheerfully. ‘And the radiator’s had it. Leaking like a sieve.’

  The bearded man took control. ‘Where were you making for?’ he asked. ‘I could run you back to Brighton if you like. You’ll want someone to collect the car, won’t you?’

  Toby nodded. Inwardly he was fighting a moral battle. Here was a chance to escape the ordeal that awaited him in Lewes. No one could blame him if he returned to Brighton now and, after making arrangements for the collection and repair of the Riley, stayed there. After such an ordeal he could hardly be expected deliberately to seek another. But then there was always tomorrow. And, if necessary, the day after tomorrow. And the excuse could not be made to last indefinitely.