Beware of Johnny Washington

by Francis Durbridge

  One push of that starter button and the car and passengers would have been blown to fragments.

  CHAPTER XXV

  ‘RELEASE AT DAWN’

  JOHNNY carefully disconnected the bomb and placed it on the rear seat of the car. So that was why Max Fulton had brought back the car to Verity’s flat. He had guessed that Johnny would take her home after her trying ordeal, and naturally he would use his car to return to Caldicott Manor. It was rather an obvious trick, but it might easily have worked when one was tired and off guard. Fulton would have taken that into account; he didn’t miss much.

  Johnny was so immersed in disconnecting the bomb that he did not notice the front door open. Verity was calling down to him.

  ‘Johnny—what’s wrong?’

  He straightened himself and pulled down the bonnet of the car.

  ‘Oh, just a little trouble getting her started,’ he replied casually.

  ‘Has it been tampered with at all?’ she inquired anxiously.

  ‘No, no, I guess it’ll be all right.’

  To add credibility to this he extricated the starting handle from under the seat and inserted it under the bonnet. As he did so, he consoled himself that if there were any more booby traps in the car, at least he wouldn’t be caught inside. He found himself standing over a foot away from the end of the handle as he lifted it somewhat tentatively. But it was all right. The engine sprang into life immediately.

  He withdrew the handle and waved to Verity.

  ‘Go to bed, honey,’ he called. ‘See you soon.’

  He climbed into the car, waved to her once more, and engaged first gear.

  He sped along the deserted roads, passing only a very occasional all-night tram, and was soon into the outer suburbs. It took him thirty-five minutes to get home. He locked the car in the garage and went upstairs, where he set his alarm clock for four-thirty, calculating he would get a good three hours’ sleep. But it seemed not more than three minutes later that the persistent buzzing of the alarm woke him. Johnny tiptoed downstairs carrying his shoes and went into the kitchen where he set his favourite coffee-pot on the stove. It was still quite dark outside.

  Johnny noted that a tray was already set for his morning coffee, and he went to the cupboard and fetched three more cups.

  At ten minutes to five, there was a smart rap on the side-door, and he went to open it. Three men were standing there. He noted approvingly that they were all in plain clothes.

  ‘Morning, sir,’ said a gruff voice. ‘I’m Sergeant Huish—we had orders from the Yard to report here.’

  ‘Come in, Sergeant,’ said Johnny. ‘There’s just time for a cup of coffee before we start.’

  ‘Very nice of you, sir. A hot drink would be a help if we’ve got to wait around. It’s nippy this morning.’

  ‘I hope there won’t be much waiting,’ said Johnny, leading them into the kitchen and pouring out the cups of coffee.

  ‘We didn’t get any instructions from the Yard, except that we were to come armed,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘I’m glad they suggested that,’ nodded Johnny. ‘This guy we’re after is a pretty desperate type. He’s sure to be armed and he’ll use his gun if he gets half a chance.’

  The sergeant looked thoughtful.

  ‘In that case, sir, we don’t want to take any more risks than we can help. The thing is to catch him by surprise.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m hoping to do,’ nodded Johnny, stirring his coffee. ‘I’m pretty certain he won’t be expecting us, and he is almost certain to be on his own.’

  ‘I see, sir. Shall we take the car?’

  Johnny considered this for a moment, then decided against it.

  ‘Too risky,’ he murmured. ‘He might hear the car in the distance, even if we didn’t drive right up, and I don’t want this bird scared off if we can possibly avoid it.’

  The sergeant stroked his moustache with his forefinger.

  ‘Are you sure he won’t hear us walkin’ along the road, sir?’ he speculated.

  Johnny’s gaze travelled down to the large size boots worn by his visitors.

  ‘We’ll have to hope for the best, that’s all,’ he sighed. ‘But we’ve got to be careful. Everything’s dead quiet at this time of morning.’

  ‘You haven’t told us yet where we are going, sir,’ the sergeant reminded him.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Johnny. ‘We’re going just down the road—to the Kingfisher.’

  ‘You mean the place where the Yard man was murdered?’ queried the sergeant.

  ‘That’s the place,’ nodded Johnny.

  ‘We’ve had that pub under observation on and off for quite a while,’ said the sergeant thoughtfully. ‘I hadn’t heard there was likely to be trouble there today—and at this time of morning, too.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about it myself,’ said Johnny candidly. ‘But I’ve a hunch you won’t have had a wasted journey.’

  The sergeant drank what remained of his coffee and set down his cup on the kitchen table.

  ‘Well, sir, we’re ready when you are,’ he said.

  ‘Right,’ murmured Johnny, feeling in his coat pocket for his automatic. He went into the hall and slipped on a light overcoat, for the morning was chilly.

  A watery moon was gliding through masses of cloud as they came out into the drive and moved off towards the front gates.

  ‘Keep in the shadows as far as possible,’ instructed Johnny, and they split up into two pairs. Johnny and the sergeant walking ahead at an even pace with no outward sign of hurry.

  ‘How are we going to get in the place at this time of morning? And have you got a warrant?’ the sergeant wanted to know.

  ‘We’re not going inside the pub itself—at least, not as far as I know,’ Johnny told him. ‘So I guess we can ignore any little technicalities if we corner our bird.’

  ‘D’you know who he is?’

  ‘I can make a pretty good guess, but maybe we’d better wait and see if I’m right.’

  On the eastern horizon there was a faint pink smudge, heralding the dawn. Just as the Kingfisher loomed up before them, the sergeant caught Johnny’s arm.

  ‘There’s a car drawn up there,’ he said, indicating a car standing on the far side of the inn. Cautiously, they approached it from the other side of the road, with their two colleagues a few yards in the rear. There was no sound to be heard except the snort of a distant horse in a meadow and the sleepy chirrup of a blackbird in the hedgerow. The sergeant made signs to his men, and when he and Johnny were just past the car, they approached it simultaneously from all sides. The figure of a solitary occupant was almost immediately visible.

  He was sitting in the driving seat with the window down, and seemed to be listening intently. When he saw the figures approaching out of the dusk, he suddenly switched on a powerful torch.

  ‘Good lord, Johnny! What the devil are you doing here at this time of morning?’ came the familiar voice of Inspector Dovey.

  ‘You practically took the words right out of my mouth,’ replied Johnny quietly. Discovering Dovey like this was a complete surprise to him. There was a grim set to the inspector’s usually pleasant features, as if he were equally suspicious. He was just about to make a further remark when a sound overhead suddenly attracted their attention. All five men looked up instinctively.

  ‘The first of the pigeons!’ said Johhny softly.

  ‘Pigeons!’ echoed Dovey.

  ‘Come on,’ said Johnny, ‘you’d better join us, Dovey—and there’s no time to be lost. And for God’s sake don’t slam that car door.’

  Dovey got out of the car as noiselessly as possible. Johnny led the way towards the pigeon cotes, which were in a corner of the bowling green that adjoined the small car park at the back of the inn. They bent almost double and moved carefully under the cover of the hedge, for it was much lighter now. When they were about ten yards away, there was another violent flutter of wings as a pigeon shot upwards, circled two or three times, then headed u
nhesitantly in a north-easterly direction. A chilly dawn breeze stirred the leaves of the privet hedge. One of the men trod upon a twig which snapped loudly, and they all paused for some seconds before moving forward again. They were approaching the cotes from the blind side, and Johnny was trying to get right up to them without being discovered.

  As he came within arm’s reach, there was a sound of fluttering wings, and, after making a swift signal to his followers, Johnny poked his head round the corner of the cotes.

  The man he saw standing there was attaching a small cylinder to the leg of a flustered pigeon, and was much too preoccupied to pay attention to anything else. As the bird shot into the air almost vertically, Johnny edged round the corner of the cote and said quietly:

  ‘Those are a fine lot of birds you’ve got there, Kennard.’

  Kennard dropped the cylinder he had just taken from his pocket and made a sudden movement towards his hip.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ snapped Johnny quickly, displaying his Colt automatic for the first time. Kennard dropped his hand with a helpless shrug.

  ‘My God! It’s Kennard!’ exclaimed Dovey, coming into view at that moment. Kennard looked at the little group of men that had fanned out to cut off his retreat, but still he did not speak. Johnny strolled over and picked up the cylinder that had fallen to the ground. It had a screw-top that unfastened quite easily. Johnny tilted some highly polished rubies into his palm.

  ‘Where’s the rest of the stuff?’ he asked.

  Kennard motioned with his head towards the inside of the pigeon cotes.

  ‘Get it!’ ordered Johnny.

  Kennard looked round the little group once more, hesitated a moment, then turned to obey. Johnny beckoned to the sergeant and Dovey to move in a little, and changed his position so that he could keep Kennard under observation. However, he had reckoned without the fact that although it was rapidly getting lighter, the inside of the cote was still very obscure from the point of view of anyone standing outside.

  ‘I want all the stuff, mind,’ he called, and he could hear Kennard moving around, presumably collecting it together.

  ‘This is going to cause a damned scandal,’ whispered Dovey to Johnny, as they waited for Kennard to re-emerge. ‘A Yard man as the head of a gang of crooks—it’s never been heard of before.’

  ‘Max Fulton never lets little things like that worry him,’ said Johnny grimly.

  ‘How the devil has he managed to get away with it?’ demanded the bewildered Dovey.

  ‘I guess he won’t get away with it much longer,’ shrugged Johnny.

  ‘But I can’t think how he got inside the Yard to start with. It took me years …’ Dovey was almost talking to himself now, as Johnny moved a pace nearer the doorway.

  A few seconds later they exchanged a glance and without speaking a word made for the door of the pigeon cote. Dovey snapped on his torch and flashed it round the gloomy interior, where half a dozen startled birds blinked at them and rustled their wings. The small attaché case and a number of cylinders lay on the floor just inside, but there was no sign of Inspector Kennard. The beam of the torch swept quickly round the wooden structure, which was surprisingly spacious, and finally settled on some decayed brickwork in a distant corner.

  Johnny hastened over to it at once.

  ‘It’s an old well,’ he whispered. As Dovey came up with the torch, they noticed that a rope ladder was fastened to a hook just below the rim of the brickwork.

  ‘So that’s how he comes and goes,’ said Johnny, preparing to descend the ladder. ‘It must lead to some underground passage—this district seems to be honeycombed with ’em.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Dovey. ‘He’s sure to be armed.’

  ‘Of course he’s armed—but he’s mainly interested in making his getaway; not stopping to fight it out,’ said Johnny, swinging a leg over and placing his foot on the top rung of the ladder.

  ‘Where will the passage lead?’ asked Dovey.

  Johnny paused.

  ‘It may come out in the pub somewhere—or it may link up with White Lodge. Better send a couple of men to each place as quickly as possible. Those going to White Lodge had better use your car.’

  Dovey turned and rapped out the orders without wasting any time, but Johnny was almost down to the foot of the rope ladder when he was ready to follow. Dovey realized that the ladder would probably not take the weight of two at the same time, so he waited until Johnny had reached the bottom of the well before he stepped on to the top rung.

  ‘All right, Dovey,’ called Johnny. ‘Make it snappy!’

  Dovey came clambering down two rungs at a time. It was only about a twelve-foot ladder, which ended about two feet above the well bottom. ‘Any sign of him?’ asked Dovey, as he stepped off the ladder, breathing rather quickly.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Johnny. ‘Keep that torch down and hold it away from you.’

  The tunnel they were in led in one direction only—towards the inn. It was narrower and lower than the one between the inn and White Lodge, and at times Dovey stooped considerably as he led the way, all too slowly for Johnny’s liking. But Dovey was still obviously expecting an ambush of some sort, and had decided to take as few risks as possible. He knew from his Yard experience that Kennard could be a very awkward customer in a tight corner. He recalled taking part with him in a Soho raid when Kennard had dealt with a couple of young Greeks in a manner which Dovey had considered a trifle unnecessarily tough.

  But there was still no sign of Max Fulton alias Inspector Kennard. When they had progressed about forty yards, there was a sudden bend in the tunnel, and as they came up to it Dovey hesitated once again.

  ‘Any idea where we are?’ he whispered to Johnny, who was almost treading on his heels.

  ‘Haven’t a clue,’ replied Johnny, somewhat impatient at the delay. ‘Wait a minute, though. Shine the torch along to the right … further …’

  They edged round the corner, following the beam of light. A second later they saw the foot of a flight of stairs which Johnny recognized as those leading up to the inn and emerging behind the club-room wall. He remembered that when he had climbed those steps with Verity he had noticed that the tunnel continued beyond them, but they had not had the opportunity to explore further.

  ‘What now?’ asked Dovey.

  Johnny sized up the situation rapidly. If Kennard had gone up the stairs and out by way of the club room, the men up there would most likely have picked him up. He would probably foresee this and prefer to take a long chance of getting through to White Lodge before his retreat could be cut off there.

  ‘This way,’ said Johnny, ignoring the stairs and moving off quickly along the tunnel towards White Lodge. ‘Put your torch out; I’ll use mine.’ He produced his pencil torch which gave less light, but quite sufficient for their purpose, and they hurried along the tunnel that led to the shaft beneath White Lodge. Johnny led the way down the incline at a brisk pace, which did not slacken very much until he judged they were within twenty yards of their objective.

  A distant sound like a persistent hammering made Johnny stop for a moment.

  He turned to Dovey and said quietly:

  ‘Sounds to me as if the door of the lift has jammed.’

  Even as he spoke, the hammering noise stopped and they heard Kennard’s rasping command:

  ‘Get back or I shall shoot!’

  Johnny switched off the torch at once.

  ‘My God! We’ve got him,’ breathed Dovey, clicking the safety catch of his revolver. Johnny’s fingers caressed his Colt automatic, and every nerve tensed.

  ‘Flat against the wall,’ he whispered to Dovey. But even as they took up position, a blinding beam of light from a powerful torch dazzled them.

  ‘Back—back to the end of the tunnel!’ snapped Kennard.

  ‘Take it easy, Kennard,’ said Johnny. ‘There are men waiting there, even if you got past us. You’ll never get away.’

  ‘Shut up, damn you!’

  A loud report
echoed through the tunnel and a bullet whistled past Johnny’s head. He realized that Kennard was not particular whether they retreated or were disposed of by some other alternative—in fact, he would probably prefer them dead so that there would be less chance of their hampering his escape from the country. He was snapping the torch on and off, and during the split second of its dazzling light was firing at anything he saw. Dovey had taken cover against the opposite wall of the tunnel a little farther back, and the next time the light flicked on Johnny aimed just above it and fired twice in return, but the light came on again a few seconds later and was followed by more shots.

  The next time the light jerked on, Johnny and Dovey fired simultaneously and also saw the flash of Kennard’s revolver. The explosions reverberated through the tunnel and the echoes had not died before they were submerged by an ominous rumble from above their heads.

  ‘Get back!’ cried Dovey, grabbing Johnny’s arm. ‘The roof … the roof’s caving in …’

  What caused the collapse of the roof they never discovered. It might have been the displacement of a stone by one of the bullets that started the landslide; a landslide that seemed to grow in proportion every second. Johnny and Dovey took to their heels and ran blindly back the way they had come. Twice they slipped on the slimy flagstones; recovered and stumbled on. The roar of falling stones echoed behind them as they reached the steps of the stairs that led into the club-room, and it was only when they reached the top that they paused for breath.

  ‘Looks as if the whole tunnel has caved in,’ gasped Dovey.

  ‘There’s one thing about it,’ panted Johnny. ‘He’ll never get out this way. Come on, Dovey, let’s get down to White Lodge as quickly as we can make it.’

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THE END OF GREY MOOSE?

  JOHNNY selected a particularly attractive mayfly, attached it to his line and skimmed it expertly across the still waters of the pond. Verity tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position on her camp stool without much success and rubbed a tingling gnat-bite on her ankle. She glanced at her wrist-watch for the twelfth time.