by Clara Benson
‘I thought he was with you in the study,’ said Priss.
Aubrey Nash sensed immediately that something was up.
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘I believe we may need some—er—assistance with something shortly,’ replied Henry. ‘I don’t suppose you and Bradley would care to oblige?’
‘Certainly,’ said Aubrey, and Gabe nodded in agreement. They both rose and followed the other two men out of the room. Henry wasted no time in explaining the situation to them, and they both whistled in astonishment.
‘Well, if that doesn’t beat all,’ said Gabe.
Lord Strathmerrick and Angela joined them just then.
‘Where is he?’ said the Earl.
‘Nobody knows,’ said Sandy Buchanan.
‘We must split up and look for him,’ said Jameson. ‘He can’t have gone far. Mr. Nash, you and Bradley start with the upstairs rooms if you please; meanwhile, Buchanan, Lord Strathmerrick and I will search downstairs. And please be careful—he may be very dangerous.’
‘Phoo,’ said Gabe Bradley. ‘Why, I’m twice his size. We’ll get him all right.’
‘Don’t forget he’s already killed once,’ said Buchanan. ‘We don’t want him to do anything desperate.’
They all went off, leaving Angela standing alone in the passage. She supposed they would catch him soon enough; in the meantime she decided to look for Eleanor Buchanan and try to offer her some comfort. At that moment, Freddy slipped out of the drawing-room.
‘Have they gone?’ he said. ‘What was all that about? Come on, out with it.’
Angela told him everything as briefly as she could. His surprise was soon replaced by rapturous glee.
‘I knew it!’ he said. ‘I always knew he was an absolute and unmitigated stinker, and I was right. This almost makes up for all those beatings he gave me. I say,’ he said suddenly, ‘do they still have the stocks these days? I should queue all night for the chance to land him one in the kisser with a nice, ripe tomato.’
‘I confess the intensity of your resentment disturbs me somewhat,’ said Angela.
‘You weren’t there,’ he said. ‘He threw a shadow over the best years of my promising young life. Have they gone to get him, then?’
‘Yes,’ said Angela. ‘They’re searching the castle now.’
‘Well, they needn’t bother, because he’s outside. I saw him just now when I was looking out of the window.’
‘Oh! Then we must tell Mr. Jameson quickly,’ said Angela.
‘Which way did they go?’ said Freddy as they hurried off. ‘We shall have to be quick, or he will get clean away.’
‘But they haven’t cleared a path to the village yet.’
‘He wasn’t going in that direction; he was going the other way, towards the East meadow.’
‘Then we shall lose him,’ said Angela in consternation. ‘If he’s determined enough, he will get across the fields and round that way. Now, where on earth has Henry got to?’
Freddy caught hold of her arm and she stopped.
‘There’s no time,’ he said. ‘Get your boots and your gun. We’ll go after him ourselves. I’ll meet you by the door in two minutes.’
‘But I haven’t got—’ said Angela to his retreating back, then paused, remembering that she did in fact have a gun. It was not her own, but she supposed it would have to do.
After precisely one minute and forty-seven seconds they were tramping as fast as they could in the direction of the East meadow. It was easy enough to follow Claude’s footprints, for the snow was no longer falling, although the sky was grey and heavy. For some distance they ploughed on in silence, then Freddy suddenly laughed and said:
‘Haven’t we done this before?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Angela.
‘When we went to Dungeness. Don’t you remember? We were chasing a murderer then, too.’
‘So we were,’ said Angela. ‘The circumstances were rather different last time, though.’
‘Yes,’ said Freddy. ‘Last time I wasn’t spurred on by the desire to punch the criminal in the face.’
‘You really don’t like him, do you?’ said Angela.
‘Not much,’ said Freddy, ‘but not only on my own account; on Eleanor Buchanan’s too. Blackmailing a woman is a filthy thing to do. He deserves everything he gets.’
Angela smiled at him.
‘You’re rather a dear underneath it all, aren’t you?’ she said.
‘Yes, but if you tell anyone I shall never speak to you again,’ he said. ‘Look—there he is.’
They had now come out from under the shelter of some trees and could see the way before them quite clearly. Some way ahead of them, at the brow of a gentle incline, they could see the figure of a man climbing over a stile. At the same time as they spotted him, he saw them and stopped dead. He recovered himself quickly, leapt off the stile and disappeared over the hill and into the meadow.
‘Damn,’ said Freddy. ‘He’s on to us. We’d better hurry up.’
They scrambled up the slope as quickly as they could, and arrived at the top breathless and with snow clinging to their clothes. The landscape ahead of them was deserted: there was no sign of Claude, but a trail of footprints led across the meadow in the direction of the old barn in which St. John Bagshawe had taken shelter two days earlier.
‘He’s hiding in the barn,’ said Angela. They climbed over the stile and set off.
‘He must be cursing this snow,’ said Freddy. ‘Footprints are most inconvenient when one is trying to escape the law, don’t you think?’
‘I’m rather cursing the snow myself,’ said Angela. ‘My legs are still aching from yesterday.’
‘The exercise will do you good after all the food you ate last night,’ said Freddy.
‘What do you mean, after all the food I ate?’ said Angela indignantly. ‘I don’t suppose I ate any more than you. And nobody could possibly have eaten as much as St. John.’
‘That reminds me, we must have a word with him later about his alibi,’ said Freddy. ‘Now, quiet.’
They were now approaching the barn, but it was soon evident that Claude was not hiding inside it, for the footprints led around to the back of the building and over the fence into the wood beyond.
‘There’s no way out through that wood,’ whispered Angela. ‘At least, not through the other side—the ground falls away too steeply. If he wants to escape he will have to come out this way or somewhere round there to the left. Perhaps we can cut him off.’
‘Don’t forget he has a gun,’ said Freddy.
‘I don’t know that he does,’ said Angela. She showed him the revolver that she had found in her room. ‘I think this is his.’
‘What? Isn’t it yours?’
‘No. Henry confiscated mine. I found this one planted in my handbag last night.’
‘What? And you didn’t say anything? Whyever not?’
‘I meant to, but I got distracted. Anyway, never mind that for now. How can we flush Claude out?’
‘Why, I suppose we’ll just have to go in there and tramp about until we find him,’ said Freddy.
‘Is that the best you can think of?’
‘Do you have a better idea?’
‘No,’ admitted Angela.
‘Let me see the gun again. I say, may I carry it?’
‘Do you know how to use it?’ said Angela, handing it to him.
He took the revolver and cocked it experimentally. There was a loud report, followed by a chorus of squawks and a great commotion of branches as a cloud of startled crows rose into the sky.
‘No,’ said Freddy weakly.
Angela waited a few seconds until her heartbeat had slowed, then carefully took the gun from his unresisting hand and put it back in her pocket.
‘Perhaps next time,’ she said.
But the crows were not the only thing to have been frightened out of the woods. There was a loud rustle and they turned to see a figure hurtle out from among the tree
s to their left and begin to plough across the meadow. In a flash Freddy was after him. The snow made the going difficult, but Freddy was young and energetic, and evidently fitter than Claude, for he soon began to catch up with him. Claude glanced behind him and realized that it was useless to try and escape. He turned suddenly and made back towards Freddy. The two men stopped a short distance from each other, regarding each other warily in silence, as Angela came up behind them.
‘What do you want?’ said Claude at last.
‘What I want is to give you a jolly good kicking,’ said Freddy. ‘But I won’t, as long as you come back to the castle quietly.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Claude. ‘Why on earth should I do what you say, you miserable pipsqueak? You really haven’t come on all that much, have you, Freddy? Still the offensive little beast you always were.’ He pronounced Freddy’s name with exquisite disdain. ‘Tell me,’ he went on, ‘do you still go crying to your mama when anybody is unkind to you? Such a shame she didn’t believe you, isn’t it? But then, who would ever take your word over mine? I dare say—’
His next words were lost as Freddy lowered his head and charged him full in the chest with a roar. Claude said ‘Oof!’ and then both of them were down, flailing at each other inexpertly in the snow. Freddy, who was on top, looked to be gaining the upper hand, but then Claude grabbed him by the neck and he began to go purple in the face. He eventually managed to prise Claude’s fingers off and rolled away. The two of them stood up and faced each other breathlessly. They began to circle slowly. Claude was the first to get in a blow, and Angela winced as Freddy staggered back. But he was angry now, and determined to beat the man who had kept him in fear for so long all those years ago. He returned the blow with interest, and quickly followed it up with several jabs to Claude’s body, then another punch to his face. Claude grunted in pain as the blow landed in his eye, and threw a couple of punches in return, which hit their mark. The two of them moved closer and grappled frantically in a furious embrace. It was an unequal struggle, for Claude was more solidly built than Freddy, who was unable to land any more blows while they were so close together. Suddenly Claude lunged at Freddy, and for one absurd moment it looked as though he were about to kiss him, but then there was a howl of pain and Claude pulled away and Freddy was suddenly clutching his left ear, which was bleeding profusely all over his hand. Claude spat something into the snow and Freddy was left staring in horror. Claude had bitten off part of his ear-lobe.
‘Why, you—’
Words were insufficient to express Freddy’s outrage. He gave a blood-curdling yell and launched himself at his enemy. Down went Claude, and he gave a strangled cry and tried to protect his head as Freddy in his fury rained blow after blow on every square inch of his opponent’s face and body that he could reach. Freddy in a boiling rage was quite an impressive sight, and Angela, just then remembering the gun, wondered whether perhaps she ought not to intervene and save Claude from being beaten to a pulp. Before she could act on her thought, she heard a shout and turned to see Gabe Bradley running towards them, with Henry Jameson following close behind. The two men pulled Freddy off the whimpering Claude with some difficulty, and then it was all over. Claude, bloodied and subdued, was borne away by the newcomers, and Angela was left to calm Freddy down and minister to his wounds with her handkerchief.
‘We’d better go back and see to that ear of yours,’ she said, once he showed signs of being in a state to listen and respond coherently.
‘Did he get all of it?’ said Freddy fearfully. ‘Am I horribly disfigured?’
‘Of course not,’ said Angela. ‘He just took a little piece, that’s all. Think of it as a battle scar—a testament to your bravery.’
‘Was I brave?’
‘Oh, terribly.’
‘You might have stopped it sooner, you know.’ he said. ‘You were the one with the gun.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Angela. ‘I—er—forgot about it in all the excitement. Besides, I thought you would relish the opportunity to put one over on your old enemy without anybody else’s interference.’
Freddy glared at her accusingly.
‘I believe you enjoyed it,’ he said. ‘Admit it—you did, didn’t you?’
Angela put on her best disapproving expression.
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘I am a respectable woman. I am shocked that anything of the sort should happen here at Fives. Fighting ought to be kept for the East End.’
Freddy did not reply, but the old complacent look was beginning to steal back across what could be seen of his face.
‘I did give him rather a drubbing, didn’t I?’ he said.
‘You certainly did,’ said Angela. She took his arm and they set off back to the castle, Freddy limping slightly.
‘I dare say I look awful,’ he said.
‘Pretty awful,’ she replied. ‘But just think of all the attention you’ll get from the ladies when they find out what a hero you’ve been.’
This thought appealed to Freddy, and he indulged it in silence for several minutes as they crunched onwards through the snow.
‘You did enjoy it a little, didn’t you?’ he said, after they had gone some way.
‘Perhaps just a little,’ admitted Angela.
He let out a laugh, which swiftly turned into a groan, and they entered the castle as darkness began to fall.
TWENTY-EIGHT
All his years of experience as a broker of civilized political agreements had not prepared the Earl of Strathmerrick in any way for the situation in which he now found himself. Until that morning he had been a man upon whom life and fate smiled benignly: he was a respected member of the House of Lords, and one to whom everybody turned in times of need. He was spoken of as the real power behind the Government despite the fact that he made little contribution himself to policy. His wealth was immense, and his family life unexceptionable—his second daughter’s occasional escapades aside. Now, however, he found his painstakingly-constructed fortress tumbling about his ears. Not only had his prospective son-in-law turned out to be a traitor and a murderer (to the great detriment of the Earl’s domestic happiness and that of his family), but that same prospective son-in-law, in view of his position as a Member of Parliament, now looked set to bring down the entire Government (to the great detriment of the country as a whole). Faced with such a monstrous onslaught of misfortune, Lord Strathmerrick was quite at a loss to know what to do next. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked round the table at the faces of his English and American colleagues, some serious, some thoughtful. He cleared his throat and addressed Henry Jameson.
‘So you say there’s no doubt about it?’ he said, somewhat inadequately.
Henry glanced down at the sheaf of papers on the table before him and moved it an eighth of an inch to the right.
‘Well, he was carrying the documents all right,’ he said. ‘Or at least one set of them.’
Everyone stared at the little pile of papers.
‘May we have a look at them?’ said Aubrey Nash at last. ‘That’s why we’re here, after all.’
Henry glanced at the Foreign Secretary.
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Sandy Buchanan with a sigh. ‘Goodness knows, we’ve been to enough trouble to get them back. But don’t expect to understand them—as I said, they’re in code and they may not be the genuine article anyway.’
‘Then we still have no idea where the other copy is?’ said Aubrey.
‘No,’ said Henry, handing him the papers. ‘Burford won’t tell us. As a matter of fact, he claims he doesn’t know where they are.’
‘What?’ said the Earl.
‘Yes,’ said Henry thoughtfully. ‘It’s rather odd. He admits to having blackmailed Mrs. Buchanan, but says he knows nothing about what happened to the other copy of the documents.’
‘Do you mean he didn’t think to search Klausen’s body after he shot him?’ said Aubrey.
‘No,’ said Henry. ‘He says he didn’t shoot
Klausen at all.’
There were one or two exclamations of surprise and disbelief.
‘But that’s nonsense,’ said Gabe Bradley. ‘He must have done it. Who else could have dumped the professor’s body in the chest?’
‘Oh, he did that all right,’ said Sandy Buchanan.
‘Then I don’t understand,’ said Aubrey. ‘Suppose you start at the beginning and tell us exactly what he has admitted to. Where have you put him, by the way?’
‘We’ve locked him in the bedroom next door to the one where we put Klausen,’ said Henry.
‘How is he?’ said Aubrey.
‘Somewhat battered. We’ve patched him up and made him as comfortable as possible. Young Freddy appears to have given him rather a pasting.’
‘Odd, that,’ said Lord Strathmerrick. ‘I shouldn’t have thought the fellow had it in him—he looks far too much of a milksop to me.’
‘Far from it,’ Gabe assured him. ‘It took two of us to pull him off. He was quite beside himself. I dare say I’d be the same if someone had just taken a chunk out of my ear.’
‘But going back to Burford,’ prompted Aubrey.
‘Go ahead, Jameson,’ said the Foreign Secretary.
‘Very well,’ said Henry. ‘Burford’s story is this: he never intended to get involved in the whole spying thing, but two or three years ago he met Lady Priscilla and they became engaged. At that time he was a lowly secretary to Beresford Ogilvy, but he had strong connections within the party and planned to stand for Parliament in a year or two once a safe seat could be found. He admits that when the engagement was first suggested, he—er—exaggerated the extent of his private wealth to Lord Strathmerrick, since he did not wish it to appear that he was a poor prospect for a son-in-law, even though at that time he would have been unable to support Lady Priscilla in the style to which she was accustomed. The deception did not worry him, since he was confident that once his ambitions had been realized, his fortunes would improve and they would be able to live very comfortably. However, not long after the engagement was announced, he became entangled in an unfortunate financial speculation and lost a large amount of money—almost everything he owned, in fact. As is the way of these things, he attempted to recover his losses by throwing good money after bad, and soon afterwards found himself in an even deeper hole than before and facing ruin.