by Carola Dunn
“Lor, sir, that’s Miss Daisy to the life!”
To the discriminating ear of a lover it didn’t sound in the least like Daisy, but Alec supposed it would do for a bunch of Cockney criminals. “Throw in a bit of a stutter,” he suggested. “Teeth chattering.”
“P-please let me in. I’m f-f-freezing.”
“Not bad. You can perform if we decide to go that way. Any other ideas?”
They discussed other possibilities but came back in the end to the pseudo-Daisy. The men must be eager to recapture her so her voice would bring at least one to the door.
“I’ll give you a choice of back-up,” said Alec. “Petrie, who’s the keenest, or Bincombe, who’s the best with his fists, I’d guess.”
“Petrie. Deprive him of the chance to get to his girl and he might go off half-cocked and take it anyway.”
“All right. For the rest of us, I’ll have to talk to him first about whether there’s a back door, and the positions of windows. We shan’t be able to see so I hope he remembers.”
“Looks like the rain’s lightening up a bit, sir,” Truscott reported. “Nearly there.”
Before Alec had time to consider the effect on their plan of the end of the downpour, the Austin pulled in behind the Lagonda. Truscott doused the lights. Alec had caught a glimpse of tree-trunks, unobscured by curtains of water. The rain had decreased to the point of no longer penetrating the foliage above.
He stepped out of the car. A chilly douche promptly hit his hatless head and trickled down his neck. He swore silently.
An electric torch snapped on. By its light, the six men gathered in a huddle, and Alec questioned Petrie about the cottage and its immediate environs.
“There’s a back door. We once watched the witch coming out of it to feed her chickens. No windows in the end walls downstairs, only upstairs, I’m pretty sure. Well, almost sure. I haven’t been near the place since I was a boy, remember. The other windows are small enough to make it dashed difficult for a man to climb through. I think.”
On that shaky basis, Alec ordered the disposition of his troops.
“All right, Petrie, how do we get there?”
“The beginning of the ride is back here. It’s so overgrown I nearly missed it.”
They followed him back along the lane a dozen yards. In the torch’s narrow beam, the mass of bushes and small trees seemed to Alec unbroken, impenetrable, but Petrie soon found a path.
He extinguished the torch. “It’s light enough to find the way without,” he said, and plunged between two thickets.
Alec realized the clouds had parted and the first faint light of midsummer’s early dawn was painting the world in tones of grey and charcoal. A crow’s sleepy caw came from the tall trees edging the ride, and nearby a small bird twittered.
“Wait! That’s torn it. I was relying on darkness for surprise,” he explained as Petrie returned, “as well as heavy rain to cover any sounds.” He held out his hands palms up. The only falling water was dripping from the surrounding leaves.
“We’ll just have to storm the place,” Petrie said impatiently, already turning back to the path.
“That’s the most risky for Miss Arbuckle. You go ahead, but don’t rush in. Pearson and I will study the lay-out and see if we can’t come up with a better scheme. All right, fellows, let’s go.”
Close behind Petrie, Alec stayed ready to grab him if he seemed about to run amok. He found himself dodging scarce seen branches which whipped back into his face, jerking his trouser turn-ups from the determined grasp of brambles, squidging through ankle-deep mud. His admiration for Daisy, who had traversed this jungle in pitch darkness in a thunderstorm—and in a skirt—grew by leaps and bounds.
Petrie stopped so suddenly Alec nearly ran into his back. “I think the cottage is under that sycamore,” he whispered, pointing at a tree towering over the brush choking the ride. “Yes, there’s the chimney, see?”
“Good man.” Alec turned his head. “Pearson, come and have a look.”
They squeezed past Petrie and picked their way forward. The only sound they made was the squelch of the mud beneath their feet, hidden by a rising ground mist, but all around the birds were singing now. Greys paled and hazy colours emerged. The air smelled richly of green, growing things.
The path curved around a gorse bush speckled with yellow blossoms. Alec stopped dead as one end of a thatched roof came in sight.
Motioning Pearson to keep still, he inched ahead. A blotchy wall, a broken window … .
He halted, heart in mouth, but nothing stirred.
Another step.
The door stood open, a black hole like a missing tooth in a decaying face. “Too late,” said Alec with a sigh. “They’ve cut and run.”
Warned by the maid who answered her bell that “her ladyship’s in a proper taking,” Daisy toyed with the notion of breakfast in bed.
She dismissed it as cowardly. Geraldine was her cousin’s wife, and the whole show had been her idea. It was up to her to smooth ruffled feathers.
Besides, she had to find out what had happened last night. Worry had stopped her going back to sleep, though it was still quite early. She had a sinking feeling that if Gloria had been rescued, she would have heard about it by now; but the others might hesitate to disturb her after yesterday’s ordeal.
Actually, she felt perfectly well. The stiffness was not much worse than after the first day’s bicycling. Some of the scratches smarted a bit, in spite of Lucy’s free hand with the boracic. The ones on her face she smothered with a good coating of face-powder before she went down.
In the dining room she found Edgar and Geraldine finishing their breakfasts, and Lucy and Madge in the middle of theirs. The men must still be asleep after the activities of the night.
Lowecroft came in with fresh tea as Lucy shook her head at Daisy, her mouth—already vividly lip-sticked despite the early hour—turned down. No Gloria.
“Lord Dalrymple has caught a lobster,” Madge said brightly.
A vision of Edgar in oilskins hauling in lobster-pots crossed Daisy’s mind even as she asked, “Moth or butterfly?”
“A moth, Stauropus fagi.” Edgar beamed at her apparent interest.
“A particularly spectacular one?” Daisy queried, crossing to the sideboard and loading a plate with everything in sight.
“The adult form is not spectacular,” her cousin admitted regretfully. “In fact, it may be mistaken for a bundle of dead leaves. However, I obtained some eggs which I believe it had just laid, and which I hope to hatch. The larva is quite ostentatious. It may be said to resemble a lobster in some respects. Its head, for instance, looks somewhat like a lobster claw.”
The diversionary tactic worked only until the butler left the room. Then Geraldine ruthlessly interrupted.
“Yes, dear, I am sure the caterpillar will be a fascinating sight. Daisy, what is this my maid has been telling me? While delighted to welcome your friends, we cannot approve of the sort of high jinks, to use a vulgar phrase, you young people indulged in last night.”
“No, indeed,” Edgar seconded her with a stern frown, changing instantly from the dotty lepidopterist to the censorious schoolmaster. “Such frolics may suit modern notions, but we choose to preserve the old-fashioned proprieties at Fairacres.”
“Frolics!” Daisy easily suppressed her guilt at having taken advantage of her cousins as she recalled the exhausting, uncomfortable, and at times frightening events of the past twentyfour hours. “Of course, you couldn’t guess, but everything we’ve done has had an extremely serious purpose.”
“What?” Geraldine asked bluntly, but Edgar looked thoughtful, perhaps remembering the condition in which he had found Phillip.
“I can’t tell you the details.”
“Indeed!”
In the face of Geraldine’s justifiable scepticism, Daisy decided the moment had come to blow the gaff, at least in part. Sooner or later they would find out that Alec was a police detective, so she might as wel
l make use of him.
She cast a deliberately exaggerated glance at the door, then leaned forward and said in a low, mysterious voice, “You mustn’t tell anyone, but we’re helping the police. Mr. Fletcher is from Scotland Yard, a Detective Chief Inspector incognito, and we came here to act as camouflage for him when he arrived. Last night he asked the chaps to do something more for him, I don’t know quite what. I do know it’s absolutely vital to keep his profession secret.”
“Gosh, yes,” said Madge solemnly.
Lucy, the abominable Painted Lady, prudently opened her mouth only to insert a forkful of kedgeree.
“So, please,” Daisy continued, “if you don’t believe me, ask to see his warrant card, but do it discreetly. I’m truly sorry we’ve upset you. We felt it was our duty to do what we could to uphold law and order.”
Geraldine’s face was a study in doubt.
“My dear,” said Edgar, “perhaps I should have mentioned to you that when I came across young Petrie the other morning, he had clearly not been injured in a motor accident. As a matter of fact, his wrists and ankles were bound.”
“Really, Edgar, you might have told me!”
“I do beg your pardon, dear. I didn’t want to alarm you, but I must also confess my mind was distracted by wondering whether it was remiss of me not to have secured the blood vein.”
The four ladies gaped at him. “Phillip wasn’t badly injured,” Daisy said uncertainly.
“Do you mean to say, Edgar, that there was another victim of whatever nefarious business is afoot, and that you let him expire from loss of blood?”
“No, no, good heavens no! The Blood Vein moth, Calothysanis amata. Mr. Petrie had an excellent specimen of the larva crawling up his neck when I found him.”
Madge and Daisy burst out laughing, and Lucy smiled.
Geraldine shook her head in despair. “I should have guessed. Well, I cannot pretend I find it anything but distasteful to be involved in a police matter, however peripherally, but I suppose it is our duty to aid the authorities.”
“I’m sorry,” said Daisy. She was saved from further grovelling as the butler came in.
“Mr. Arbuckle is here, my lady.”
“Good gracious, what ails the man to call at this time in the morning!”
“He asked for Mr. Fletcher, my lady,” Lowecroft informed her with a hint of sympathy.
In response to Geraldine’s glance of exasperated enquiry, Daisy nodded.
“Show Mr. Arbuckle in, please, Lowecroft,” said Geraldine, sighing, “and you had better inform Mr. Fletcher of his arrival. Well, Daisy, we shall take ourselves off. I only hope you know what you are about!”
“So do I,” said Daisy.
16
“Quick,” said Daisy, as the butler followed her cousins from the room, “what happened last night? I take it Tommy told you, Madge?”
“The birds had flown. They went upstairs and saw the hole in the roof, which I gather you made? Tommy was frightfully impressed.”
“A fat lot of good it did in the end. We’re back where we started, with no idea where Gloria is.”
“Oh no, darling,” said Lucy, “your disappearance persuaded Mr. Arbuckle to confide in your pet copper, and we have a suspect.”
Madge nodded. “Phillip told Tommy Mr. Fletcher suspects Mr. Arbuckle’s chauffeur.”
“Chauffeur?” Daisy asked eagerly. “You mean Crawford, his engineer? I thought there was something fishy about him, but I’ve never met him. I have no sense of his character.”
“Phillip doesn’t like him, I gather,” Lucy informed her.
“Phillip’s no judge of character. But he takes people at face value, and tends to like them, all things being equal, so if he dislikes Crawford there must be a reason. And if Alec thinks there’s good reason to suspect him, we must follow him, in case he contacts … .” She stopped as Lowecroft showed Arbuckle in.
The American’s face brightened as he caught sight of Daisy. Only greetings and offers of breakfast could be voiced until the butler left again, but the moment the door shut, Daisy jumped up and demanded, “Where is Crawford?”
“My dear Miss Dalrymple!” Arbuckle took her hands in his. “I’m mighty happy to see you safe. I was …”
“Thanks, but never mind that. Is it true Alec—Mr. Fletcher—suspects your Mr. Crawford? Someone must follow him!”
“Jeez, of course. He’s supposed to go to Oxford today, to Morris’s factory. Cowley, that is. I guess it’s a little town near Oxford.”
“Had he left the hotel when you did?”
“No, he hadn’t come down yet. He’s nearly finished up over at Morris’s, figures a few more hours is all he needs to give me a recommendation.”
“We’ll go,” announced Madge, “Tommy and I. There’s not much I can do to help, but I can sit in the car and keep an eye out for Crawford while Tommy drives. I’ll go and get him up, poor dear. They didn’t get in till after three.”
She dashed out. Lucy poured a cup of coffee for Arbuckle, and Daisy asked him what Alec had concluded about Crawford. He explained, reiterating—though without much conviction, Daisy thought—his belief in his employee’s innocence.
Arbuckle was eager to hear why Daisy had gone missing yesterday evening. She did not want to tell him about seeing Gloria until Alec was there to describe the abortive midnight raid on the witch’s cottage. He came in sooner than she expected, remarkably alert after so little sleep, if a bit bristly about the chin.
She had never seen him in flannels and a tweed jacket before, since he had always been on duty and thus formally dressed when they met in the country. He looked simply spiffing—or would when he’d had time to shave. Mother would never be able to guess he was a policeman if she wasn’t told.
With an apologetic glance at her and Lucy, he stroked his chin. “Your pardon, ladies. I didn’t want to keep Mr. Arbuckle waiting. You’ve heard about last night, sir?”
“No, sir, I have not,” Arbuckle said anxiously. “I was just asking.”
Daisy and Alec between them were breaking the news of her capture and escape and Gloria’s new disappearance when Madge and Tommy arrived.
“I gather we’re off”—Tommy yawned enormously—“Sorry … to Oxford?”
Alec looked at Daisy, his dark, thick eyebrows raised, obviously jumping to the instant conclusion that this was her doing.
“To follow Crawford,” she explained.
“Good thought!”
“Cowley, not Oxford. Mr. Arbuckle, what car does he drive?” Daisy asked, delighted by Alec’s approval.
“He has a maroon A.C. Six.”
“Right-oh.” Taking off his glasses, Tommy blinked at the lenses, then took out his handkerchief to polish them. “We’ll try to pick him up in Great Malvern. If the A.C. isn’t parked at the hotel, we’ll just tootle off towards Oxford, hoping to spot it on the way. And failing that, we’ll look around for it in Cowley.”
“The Morris motor-car works,” said Arbuckle, “that’s where he’s supposed to be.”
“Do you happen to know which route he generally takes?” Tommy asked. Arbuckle shook his head. “Never mind. If we miss him, we’ll do Cheltenham and the A40. It’s fastest.”
“If you’re stopped for exceeding the speed limit, I’ll pay the fine,” Arbuckle assured him.
“Telephone from Cowley,” Alec put in, “whether you find him or not.”
“Right-oh. Thanks, darling,” he said to Madge as she presented him with a large roll, hastily buttered and stuffed with bacon. “We’ll buzz off, then. Toodle-oo.”
As they left, Daisy followed her example and went to the sideboard to fill a plate for Alec. On the way, she said to him, “The men will be bound to contact Crawford after last night, don’t you think? And he’ll want to see where they’ve taken Gloria.”
“It seems likely, always assuming he’s our man—and we have no better prospects. Mr. Arbuckle, where else has your business taken Crawford?”
“Since w
e came to Malvern, to Austin’s at Longbridge, Sunbeam in Wolverhampton, and a whole bunch of factories in Coventry: Swift, Lea & Francis, Hotchkiss, Humber, Daimler, and Hillman, I think. I guess that’s the centre of your auto business, like Detroit.”
Alec groaned. “So he might have found a place anywhere in the central Midlands, or on the way there, as an alternative hiding place.”
“He wouldn’t want them to be too far away,” Daisy argued, setting a heaped plate before Alec, “or he would have chosen somewhere farther away for the first hidey-hole. He must need to be within reasonably easy reach of both them and Mr. Arbuckle. And he can’t move his own base from Malvern without arousing suspicion.”
“Not that it helps how close they are,” Lucy pointed out. “Wherever it is, we’ll never find it unless he leads us to it. So your brain-wave about following him was a work of absolute genius, darling.”
Daisy tried to look modest.
Alec grinned at her, swallowed a mouthful of scrambled egg, then turned to Arbuckle to ask what he had told Crawford about the kidnapping.
“Mighty little, as little as I could get away with, just because I figured the less anyone knew the better. I couldn’t keep the kidnapping secret, what with Gloria vanishing without notice and me having the willies, and him getting dumped. Like I told Petrie, he was real mad at being left to walk home. He acted mad enough to fool me, at any rate. He asked was I going to contact the police and I told him no sirree.”
“Do you recall his response?”
“He approved.”
“Did he!” Alec exclaimed.
“No big deal,” Arbuckle insisted. “He thought I was right for Gloria’s sake, and he advised me not to mention it to anyone at all because things have a way of getting out.”
“True enough. Did you follow his advice? You didn’t tell him Petrie had turned up again, or about his friends searching for your daughter?”
“Not a word.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“Lessee.” Arbuckle pondered, then said in dismay, “Rats, yes, I almost forgot. He offered to deliver the ransom for me. If you’re right, Mr. Fletcher, that would be handing it to him on a plate!”